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| My Map of Ceres, a fictive village in Gascony |
How Ceres was born.
Ceres is the name of the village where City of Ladies, my novel, begins. In history, Ceres is ancient Greek Goddess who presides over grains. Her daughter Persephone is trapped in Hades for half the year. Mother and daughter are reunited in the spring and summer.
This mythological story has always entranced me. Since a little girl, I’ve always been a little gypsy. Tales and legends ignited my imagination and spurred me to wander inside roped-off areas both at home and abroad. My favorite roped-off areas to explore were kitchens. From an early age, I loved ovens.
Then I had a dream of a faraway village.
One November a few years ago, I visited Gascony. I enjoyed lunch at a beautiful 14th century millhouse/auberge. The pond was like a mirror. A bridge spanned the Gelise River, the water running through and under the auberge and back down the riverbed, eventually emptying into the Mediterranean.
The setting was intoxicating; the scent of bread in wood-fired ovens mingled with the lore of pilgrimages, adding to the hidden strength of the sleepy village.
After that visit I sat down to write City of Ladies.
I hope you enjoy this excerpt.
There is great news to report! Out of over 500 manuscripts, City of Ladies has won the Anderbo's 2011 No Fee Novel Contest, Mercer Street Books Fiction prize. Read this post for more.
There is great news to report! Out of over 500 manuscripts, City of Ladies has won the Anderbo's 2011 No Fee Novel Contest, Mercer Street Books Fiction prize. Read this post for more.
Chapter One: The Path Begins.
Ceres, 1563
I defend my right to find the City of Ladies
Ceres, 1563
I defend my right to find the City of Ladies
The only light at this hour sits before me—the light from Ceres’ bread oven. I wipe sweat from my forehead. It beads against my foulard, the baker’s kerchief. Before Antoine comes back I must finish baking nine more crowns for the feast day of St. Gilles. And pack for the journey.
My hands stop kneading the dough. The book! Where is it!
I rise on tiptoe and search the shelf to the left of the oven. Carved bones and shells we’ve dug up from the garden tumble down and crack against the stone terrace.
Did the peel shove Maman’s Book of the City back too far? I can’t even see it. Thorns snag my hands. Dead leaves and dried rose hips from the canes that surround and encase the bread terrace.
More sticky spider webs. An empty nest of wasps.
Please, please - let it not be missing—Maman’s book with stories about the City of Ladies . I can’t find The City without it. Did I hide it back there?
With my chest pressed against the oven, my arm stretches as far as I can. One more inch. I push my hands under, through and around the bramble. The scratches don’t matter. I pull back and rest my arm, shaking it to revive any feeling, and scan outside the terrace for Antoine . . . continue reading the first chapter
