Sapphire author, Edward Fahey will present his third novel on Friday, May 22nd at 6:30 p.m. The Gardens of Ailana explores the metaphysical, the idea that there are places on this planet not confined to the logic of men or limitations of science. In this modern-day fictional tale, four people with very different backgrounds, each scarred by a horrific childhood, meet at a place of healing where one’s most crippling darkness must be faced down. In the rubble of their lives and broken spirits they learn that in their weaknesses lie their most profound strengths. In their festering wounds they find hope. In The Gardens of Ailana we see through the souls of mystics, experience laying-on-of-hands from the healer’s point of view. Feel at home among wonders and magic. Fahey says of The Gardens of Ailana, “This is the book others have been laying the groundwork for and building towards.” Novelist and teacher, Fahey spent his life hunting magic, seeking out the other sides of reality. His previous novels are Mourning After and Entertaining Naked People. To reserve any of his books please call City Lights Bookstore at 828-586-9499.
Friday, May 22, 2015 – 6:30pm
3 E Jackson St.
Sylva, NC 28779
“It was a dense, moldering night, smelling of damp old basements and times best left unstirred. All those long dark hours, grief-strewn winds wailed through the trees. Calling like tender misplaced memories. Moaning, “Vrrommm … Mrroammm …” Not just lamenting, but beckoning. I took it in as someone crying out for me to “Comme … hommme…”
But I had no home. Homes were filled with loss and I’d had enough of that. I’d squandered my childhood locked up inside, catching glimpses of life and the world only through windows and books, as my parents had waited for my heart to finish me off. Then death had taken them first. I’d spent my few adult years running away from any threat of settling down, refusing to take in any more grief, but felt it following as I’d fled.
I’d gone out into the world, intricately lacing distractions and busywork around the long-gnawing emptiness, only to find I’d merely embellished rather than hidden it. I’d buried death under deep mounds of chitchat, but still heard it rustling in there.
This troubled old cabin with its veiled history had called to me from so far away. But even here I was infested with the roving misery of spirits who could never touch their loved ones again.
Especially here. I couldn’t heal their wounds, couldn’t even pat them reassuringly; but I would not be just one more who’d turned away.
It all felt so hauntingly personal. We were all lost spirits, neighbors in need, afraid to knock, lingering just along the fuzzy edges of each other’s most intimate buried memories.
On through those long hours, my heart shredded by the winds, I stayed up; unpacking, writing by moody, tossing candlelight, or stalling out to listen in on the sorrow. Letting it soak through me, draw me into its churning, writhing bosom.
Darkness crept through. Shadows pried at doors, teased dull edges of recollections that never quite took hold. Memories that would have shriveled under the blinding sun of daylight. And reason.” – Excerpt from “The Mourning After”.