Shy, charming, peculiar, and web-toed,
Alice Riley has suffered for years at the hands of her dead
mother's self-righteous family, while she hides a bevy of
secret abilities. When Alice rescues a drowning child, her
amazing talents are exposed. Alice can remain underwater for
extraordinary periods of time, and she can locate submerged
objects through some type of natural sonar ability.
Her new fame/notoriety puts Alice in the national news,
amidst allegations that she has somehow faked or manipulated
the rescue for her own glory. Alice is trapped and desperate
until three amazing older women arrive in her hometown. They
are the regal and flamboyant Bonavendier sisters--dignified
Lilith, acerbic Mara, and whimsical Pearl--of Sainte's Point
Island, their ancestral home off the coast of Georgia.
They've read Alice's story in the news and are convinced
that she is their long-lost (and much younger) half sister,
conceived in a reckless seduction their elderly father
confessed to before he died.
Like Alice, the Bonavendier sisters have webbed toes and
certain amazing abilities, though none of them have Alice's
marked talent for finding things underwater. Alice is no
oddity to them. They explain that--like them--she is
descended from a mermaid.
Lured to a beautiful island off the
Georgia coast by her newly discovered sisters, Alice
transforms into a glamorous new person and finds love with
an adventuring treasure hunter who has his own mer heritage.
When people think of the Southern
coastline they tend to picture Florida with its
semi-tropical beaches and wavy palms. But the "other" coast
is farther north, along Georgia and the Carolinas, a
mystical and windswept chain of barrier islands covered in
magnificent maritime oaks. The lure and lore of Georgia’s
"golden isles" has always intrigued me. My husband and I
spent a wonderful weekend on Cumberland Island, staying at
the famous Greyfield Inn. (John Kennedy Junior held his
wedding on the island some years later.) When I came up
with an idea for a southern-belle mermaid fantasy, I knew
there was only one suitable home for my mer-belles: An
island off the coast of Georgia.
I had so much fun with the
Mer
Society that they have their own website!
1. One of the book's major themes is personal
transformation. Aren't most of us secretly hoping for
Cinderella moments in our lives?
2. What is the appeal of the story's major premise--that
a secret society of extraordinary people might live among
us? As with similar themes in books and film, is there a
universal desire to believe that something or someone
supernatural really does exist?
3. Sisterhood is a major plot element in ALICE AT
HEART, and the bonds of women working together are
emphasized. Does the modern world encourage women to form
strong friendships? Considering the transient nature of
modern families, is it still possible for most sisters to
remain close and supportive of each other in the ways that
were once common?
4. If you knew that your life span would typically reach
100 years or more, as the Bonavendiers claim, how would you
live your life differently?
5. How do you envision mermaids, and what is the appeal
of the mermaid myth? Do you see the mermaid as a symbol of
powerful strength and allure in women, or as a frivolous
emblem of female seduction?
6. In ALICE AT HEART, the title character is
treated as an oddity and an outcast by her mother's family,
the ordinary Rileys. In real life, don't both animals and
humans tend to ostracize those who are different and
perceived as weak? In some ways, cruel though they may be,
isn't that Mother Nature's mechanism for weeding> out those
who shouldn't reproduce?
7. The wooded barrier islands of the southeastern
seaboard are unique and historic sites much different from
the better-known tropical islands further south. What do you
know about the history of famous barrier islands such as
Cumberland and St. Simons (Georgia) and the famous islands
of North Carolina's Outer Banks? What is the difference in
the appeal of these islands compared to the stereotypical
image of< life on tropical islands?
8. In the novel, psychic communication between the
"Water People" is vivid and includes physical effects. Do
you believe people are capable of psychic communication to
any degree in real life?
9. The novel includes a fanciful collection of writings
by one of the main characters, Lilith Bonavendier, in which
she relates myths and legends to explain the origins of the
Water People. Clearly, some of these tales are drawn from
universal traditions such as the Great Flood and the story
of Atlantis. Do such fables have any real meaning in modern
life? As the basis for shared cultural touchstones in
societies all over the world, they seem to have some grain
of ancient truth in them. What fascinates you about the
creation mythologies from around the world?
10. Lilith Bonavendier classifies all human beings as
descendents of three mythological couples comprised of three
"ordinary" men and three full-fledged mermaids. As such,
most of us are either "Landers" or "Floaters," according to
Lilith. Have you ever wanted to believe you're part of a
secret tradition that might explain your most whimsical or
unusual traits? Why do we try so hard to assign ourselves to
a clan or "tribe" who share our view of the world?
The Old Ones
are all wayward women with tales behind them, you might
say--luring ordinary men to mate and meander and
occasionally drown. Those Old Ones give us, their halfling
descendents, a lurid reputation but also great charm, and we
had best remember to use both wisely. By nature, you see, we
are very hard to believe in, but very easy to love. --Lilith
ONE
We are all bodies of water, guarding the mystery of our
depths, but some of us have more to guard than others. I’ve
never known quite who I am, but worse than that, I’ve never
known quite what I am.
This morning I stood naked beside the icy waters of Lake
Riley, high in the Appalachians of north Georgia, above the
fall line where the tame Atlanta winters end and the
freezing wild mountain winters begin. A mile away, in my
dead mother’s hometown, Riley, people were just breaking the
ice on their gravel roads and barnyards and church lots and
sidewalks, stomping the mountain bedrock before little
stores with mom-and-pop names, most of which belong to
heavy-footed Rileys. But there I was, alone as always, Odd
Alice, the daughter of a reckless young mother and an
unknown father who passed along some very strange traits. I
had slipped out to the lake from my secluded cabin for my
morning swim. Doing the impossible.
I should freeze to death, but I don’t. It is February,
with a high of about twenty-five degrees, and the lake has
an apron of ice like the white iris on a dark eye, narrowing
my peculiar view of the deep world beneath. I should fear
its dangers, but I don’t. Water is the only element in my
life I trust fully and completely. I stood there in the cold
dawn as usual, not even shivering.
As I stretched and filled my body with frigid air, I
looked out over the icy mountain world and heard a thin
trickle of sound. It stroked the frosty branches of tall fir
trees so far around a bend in the lake my ears shouldn’t be
able to recognize it if I were like anyone else. The sound
was a child screaming. And then I heard a splash.
I dived into the cold, safe water, deep into the heart of
the lake, faster than anyone imagines a person can maneuver,
fluting the currents with the iridescent webbing between my
bare toes, able to go farther, deeper, quicker, and for
much, much longer in that netherworld than any human being
possibly can. Across the lake, down twenty feet, then
thirty, then forty. Into the darkness of a world I love.
I’ve never had a vision before and never wanted to. But
there he was--not the very real child whose scream I had
heard, but a man, or the illusion of one. He was so vivid in
my mind’s eye, floating in front of me as if he were flesh
and blood. He was clothed in a diver’s wet suit, torn and
bloody. His dark eyes, half-open and dreaming of death, were
set in a handsome, determined face. He gagged and fought. I
felt his pain, his fear, his confusion. Yet I knew he could
live if he wanted to. The oxygen had not failed in his
lungs; he had failed to believe in it.
No, no, no, I sang out. Breathe.
He looked straight at me, and a kind of wonder appeared
on his face, infusing him. He understood. He breathed.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t alone.
