Dagmar's Daughter

by Kim Echlin

  And when Dagmar stretched out that night in her old bed, her ears still ringing with her daughter’s music, she thought about how much she had pared life down. To planting and sowing. To a lover and children and her mother. She had cut off anything that had asked her to be other than what she was. She had loved as best she could. Had it been enough? In her loneliness she still hoped for the tap, tap, tap, of a coin on the window. She admitted that if she heard it she would rise stiffer than before to walk outside in the dark to be with him. To be once again and once more with the watery one who lived not in her wisdom but in his own.

  There is a time for the chatter of ice and a time for the passing of flesh. There is a time to test the mettle and a time for agon. There is a time to rest.

  Nyssa was whirled and spun below and divested of what she had once been. Ice filled her veins and she was in the lowest deep, a lower deep. There she achieved the silence that portends a new tongue. She grew stronger and she walked the shore and the gaze. She picked up the little fiddle Dagmar had left by the door and found in it strange new sounds. When she tried to write the sounds, they did not seem to belong on a musical staff at all. And then one day two full seasons after the storm she wrote down a new tune and she heard inside and unbidden, fingertips brushing against her skin and the rhythm of a ground bass. That day she mourned fitfully, Gone is my love, my sweet love.

  She walked along the shore to find Donal’s sister. She called outside her door, Madeleine!

  Madeleine was working on a large piece of plywood. She cut the board in half with two horizontal lines, one green and one blue. Above the green line, spaced evenly across the width of the board, were four trees. Under each tree was a different creature, a cow, a rabbit, a puffin and a deer. Below the blue line was a sea full of life, a whale and dolphins and seals and cod. She was painting a tiny border all around the picture woven through with creatures, birds at the top, animals on the sides, and fish along the bottom. She called her painting The World and wrote those words crudely in the border through the fish.

  Nyssa knocked and she opened the door, her crabbed hands covered with paint.

  Where is Donal? Nyssa asked.

  Madeleine paused and said, I promised never to tell.

  You know?

  The woman nodded her head. Of course.

  Will you help me find him? asked Nyssa.

  The older woman stepped outside and said, He did not ask for what he found with you. He is much changed.

  But he got it, answered Nyssa. Why does he think he can hide? All is the price of all.

  He is afraid, said Madeleine.

  His lips touched mine, said Nyssa. Our strings played together as one.

  The older woman said, Would you like to see my picture?

  She led Nyssa in to look at the large piece of plywood. Nyssa looked at Madeleine’s familiar bright colours and light touch, flying things and swimming things. She asked, Why is he afraid?

  Her eyes full of tears Madeleine answered, I cannot say. One can never know for another. I know only that I love him. I would do anything to end his suffering. I would give my life for him and share his fate.

  Here was compassion.

  Nyssa gazed at Madeleine’s sea, the whale rising out of the water as if to kiss with its great tongue the cow. Against the sister’s compassion the brittle bone of her judgement broke.

  Find him, said Nyssa. Tell him his fate is not to run away.

  And so it was that Donal, who now walked on a wooden leg, arrived back on the shore of Millstone Nether carrying his double bass.

  The people of the island joked when they saw him heading for Nyssa’s little house by the sea, It’s in the blood of those Nolans. They knit their twine with holes in it. There’ll be a party tonight.

  They gathered at the pole house to see the girl with all that kinked hair and the man with the wooden leg touch horsehair to sheepgut. Together they played their “Passacaglia” and after, other things. Many times that night Donal’s bull fiddle fell silent while Nyssa played her new sounds and new rhythms, unformed things that pleased no one but herself. When she was finished, Colin rose and said, Here’s one I’m calling “The Ice Storm Reel.” The young girls got up and danced.

  The Millstone Nether people called for more and played together the old reels and jigs and strathspeys. They were happy to hear again the playing of Nyssa, who went her own way and Donal, who went with her, to hear the sounds those two alone could wring from fiddle and double bass. They did not care what would come of it. They were happy to play their old songs. They accepted it all in the same way as the sea caresses or destroys whatever falls upon its waves.

  Near dawn when everyone was gone and Donal asleep, his wooden leg leaned against the wall, Nyssa heard Moll’s kettle in the woods. She rose and followed the low moan up to the hole lined with blackberry earth.

  She approached Moll warily. She listened to the bowl and to the dark one groaning her chant. When Moll fell silent and she laid down the bowl and bone, Nyssa asked, What bone is that?

  You ask too many questions.

  Is it the femur of a man?

  Too much knowledge makes you old.

  What man?

  The one once called world mighty.

  Nyssa said, Who were you before you came here?

  Moll rose then to her full bony height, taller than any man on the island. The eyestone was tied in a pouch at her waist. Her blank black eyes reflected the light of Nyssa’s gaze. Her fingers stretched toward the sky in an act of supplication and then she wrapped her long arms around her breasts to her back in solitary embrace. Her naked feet clenched the low browed rocks and she turned toward the seine-gallows by the sea. She said that she could not remember her former life, that she had been put in a state of perpetual mourning but did not know how or why. She said it was lost in the hold of a ship or perhaps beneath the sea. She said that what is lost must be found again because it mourns always under the surface but that she could find nothing and so she lived insatiable in the woods. She said that there was still more music to be played and that Nyssa might play it. She said that in former times a woman who went into the darkness was revered when she returned. She told how the people made processions and the women adorned their right sides with men’s clothing and the men adorned their left sides with women’s clothing and they poured dark and light beer for her. They played music for her. She said once again that music is a kind of practice for death. Then she was silent and she walked down toward the shore and disappeared into the dawn. Nyssa watched her go. There was more of her. Always more. There.

  a cognizant original v5 release october 08 2010

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  One of the oldest accounts of a woman’s descent to the underworld is the Sumerian story of the goddess Inanna. The best translation of this that I know is Inanna: Queen of Heaven and Earth by Diane Wolkstein and Samuel Noah Kramer (Harper & Row, 1983). The story of Inanna’s marriage to Dumuzi and her heroic encounter with Ereshkigal in the underworld was recorded in cuneiform by means of reed stylus on clay tablets that date to early in the second millennium. I have been much impressed by Inanna’s vitality and daring. The first line of her descent story is From the Great Above, she opened her ear to the Great Below. In Sumerian the word for “ear” and the word for “wisdom” is the same.

  Later, the Homeric Hymn to Demeter tells the story of Persephone, not striding freely into the underworld like her Sumerian predecessor, but abducted by Hades, and of her grieving mother, Demeter, searching for her. My favourite translation of this story is The Homeric Hymn to Demeter, edited by Helene P. Foley (Princeton University Press, 1994).

  The Dictionary of Newfoundland English, edited by G.M. Story, W.J. Kirwin and J.D.A. Widdowson (University of Toronto Press, 1982) has been invaluable. I have found traditional music and lyrics in Carmel O Boyle, The Irish Woman’s Songbook (The Mercier Press, Cork and Dublin, 1986), Traditional Folk Songs from Galway and Mayo, collected and edited by Mrs. Costel
lo, (The Talbot Press, Dublin, 1923) and Old Irish Folk Music and Songs: A Collection of 842 Irish Airs and Songs Hitherto Unpublished, by P.W Joyce (Longmans, Green, and Co., Dublin, 1909). I have listened to many contemporary artists working with traditional material. I am grateful to the Trinity Dance Company for their inspiring choreography and performances.

  I am much indebted to Ann Southam for her discussions about composition with me, and to Joel Quarrington for his knowledgeable, sensitive and witty answers to questions about the double bass and the string repertoire. Thank you especially for the “Passacaglia.” To Barbara Moon and to D.D. in New York, my thanks for incisive reading. Thanks to Alice Van Wart and to Cheryl Carter, Brian Mackey and Sandra Campbell for their insights through successive drafts. To Bruce Westwood and Hilary Stanley, many thanks for huge literary enthusiasm.

  A special thank-you to my publisher and editor, Cynthia Good, and to Mary Adachi, for editing and discussions that have been transformative. There were moments radiant with synchronicity.

  To Madeleine Echlin, Cynthia Lee, Adam and Ann Winterton, Leslie and Alan Nickell, I thank you each for your separate gifts of the love that “seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease. . .” To my husband, Ross, and to Olivia and Sara, I am daily grateful to you who live in the dailiness of it. I think Blake wrote, “Gratitude is heaven itself.” Let this be so.

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  As the legend goes, a barrel of musical instruments washed ashore on the island of Millstone Nether. The entire community, already obsessed by music, started to play fiddles, spoons, bass—anything they could get their hands on. Music is the heart of this community, binding the people together and keeping their traditions alive. Music, too, plays a central role in Kim Echlin’s courageous second novel, which effortlessly blends the ups and downs of music-making into a narrative that spans decades.

  Centred on the people of Millstone Nether, and following three generations of Nolan family women, Dagmar’s Daughter is a lush tale of female strength, duty, and love—at times fantastical and at others beautifully realistic. The story begins with the outsider, Moll, an abused and frightened girl who gives birth to a stillborn child—and then stows away on a ship that goes under. From the ocean’s depths she washes up, transformed, on the island of Millstone Nether. Always on the fringes of the community, Moll is an overriding presence on the island; like nature itself, she is a healer and a destroyer without conscience but driven by survival and primal urges that inspire in others both fear and respect.

  The grandmother of the Nolan clan is Norea, who, like Moll, arrives on Millstone Nether from the ocean: She comes from an impoverished Irish village, the eldest of eight children and the only girl. After her mother died her duty was to care for her family, and the village women stole her boots so she couldn’t run away. But her dying mother urged her to find a better life, and, spirit unbroken, she stole the boots from her dead mother’s body, made her way to Dublin, and then set sail for the New World, landing in the end on Millstone Nether. Norea finds love and purpose on the island but soon encounters heartache when her young husband, Rory, is killed in a flu epidemic.

  Norea and Rory’s daughter, Dagmar, is the next in the Nolan lineage. She is born with an uncanny ability to control the weather and all things that grow. Plants grow out of the ground from her very touch; flowers bloom in her presence; crops become abundant overnight; and storms form when she is discontented. When Dagmar comes of age she is torn between the affections of Donal Dob and Colin Cane, both superb musicians and best friends rivalling for her hand in marriage. Donal, though, is incapable of expressing his love for Dagmar and loses her to Colin. With an aching heart, Donal leaves the island and travels the world, finding solace only in music. Colin and Dagmar marry, but after their honeymoon, they never reside together again. Dagmar is too strong-minded to bend to the demands of traditional domestic life and so returns to raise her daughter, Nyssa, with her mother. But the lovers continue their romance over their lifetime.

  The title character, Dagmar’s daughter, is Nyssa, a girl who possesses her father’s charm and formidable musical abilities and her mother’s deep connection to nature, which draws her to Moll. When Donal returns to the island he is fascinated by Nyssa, so like her mother but his equal in music. Nyssa hears Donal play double bass and understands that only he can take her deeper into the heart of her own musical creativity. She runs away from the island with him in the dark of night. Dagmar in her fury causes the clouds to cover the skies and a winter ice storm unlike any Millstone Nether has seen before. Nyssa in the end must decide where her heart lies and struggle to find her way back home.

  Echlin’s second novel is as spellbinding as her first, Elephant Winter, for which she received a Books in Canada First Novel nomination. Complicated, and layered with allusions to mythology, this fantastical adventure reads like an epic poem, seamlessly leading the reader from one generation to the next.

  AN INTERVIEW WITH KIM ECHLIN

  Q: The myths in this book seem familiar and yet they are difficult to place. Can you talk about which old stories you used?

  When I was writing this novel I was interested in stories with strong female characters. In Greek mythology the story of Demeter and Persephone tells how Persephone is stolen from her mother, Demeter, by Hades, the god of the underworld. When Demeter discovers her beloved daughter is gone she destroys the seasons so that nothing can grow. In the end, it’s only when the gods agree that Persephone can return to her for six months of the year that she relents and the seasons are re-established. Demeter is a powerful mother, willing to sacrifice all life to rescue her child.

  I also love an ancient Sumerian goddess called Inanna whose stories predate the Greek myths. Inanna was queen of heaven and earth and her stories tell of the evolution of a woman’s spirit, from childhood and the discovery of her own powers to her discovery of Eros and her marriage. Next, she is compelled to search for her immortality and travels to the underworld to encounter Ereshkigal, goddess of death.

  Q: Why are these stories important today? Why would you make allusions to them in a contemporary novel?

  These stories give us images of women who seize their own powers. They are especially interesting because they show us women who do not find their identities primarily as spouses and mothers. Demeter, Persephone, and Inanna are characters who are willing to set relationships aside in order to explore their own strengths, and yet they are deeply related to the people around them, especially Inanna who is the subject of intensely erotic love poetry. At the end of her love affair and marriage is the line “The marriage bed was not wide enough for Inanna,” and at this point she sets out to conquer death and find her own immortality. Contemporary women continually explore their different relationships and struggle to make room for themselves to develop their passions, whether they’re directed toward their mothering, their work, their art, or their erotic relationships.

  Q: There is so much music in this book. Why? Are you a musician?

  I love music. Fortunately, writing about music doesn’t require being a musician! For me, one of the greatest pleasures of writing is research, and I learned about the double bass and the piano and fiddle by reading and talking to musicians. I was particularly helped by the double bass player Joel Quarrington, who introduced me to his large repertoire and showed me how, through a different tuning technique, he could get a truer sound at the deepest, sometimes almost inaudible registers of his instrument. I also did some research into musical composition and was especially helped by the composer Ann Southam. Working with these artists gave me insights and new ideas about how to work with language.

  Q: Which reminds me, the language in your book is full of odd words and expressions.

  Yes. Although Millstone Nether is a fictional place, it is set in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and to find the diction for this book I read an amazing dictionary, The Dictionary of Newfoundland English. This book was created by collecti
ng the oral language of fishermen, old politicians, and the women who salted the fish and tied the nets. Entries are accompanied by excerpts from old newspapers and quotations from storytellers, so each word is explained with little stories of the place. I loved the feeling of a living language developed by immigrants from Ireland and Scotland, and later by people born in the place. I was fascinated by how language shifts shape to express the experiences of the people on the land, their hard work, their survival of the sea, their pleasures.

  Q: It is true that the Nolan women experience a lot of hardship and yet seem filled with joy, through death and blindness and betrayal. Does this come from the land too? Is their suffering the reason for their strength or a consequence of it?

  I think it comes from their spirits, and their hard loving. They each have an irrepressible commitment to their own creativity: Norea to her daughter, Dagmar to her gardens, and Nyssa to her fiddle. When a man, or a member of the community, threatens that creativity, each woman searches for a way to keep loving and to honour her own needs. And each woman is connected to Moll, who embodies the forces in our lives that are beyond our control. The Buddhist phrase “With the body comes suffering” is another way of thinking about this. We are all subject to the pressures of our particular history and circumstances. How we live through suffering, how we retain our joy, is an expression of our spirit, and shapes who we are continually becoming.