With all due respect to Margaret Craven’s amazing and powerful 1967 I Heard the Owl Call My Name, I invite you to sit somewhere quiet, increase the volume on your device, and listen to one of Susan’s girls.
You can ask Susan what I mean by that.
I first read Craven’s novel in the late ’60s while staying with some friends in Quebec’s Eastern Townships.
The novel’s stayed with me ever since.
So an homage if you will.
Or more correctly, a biblioage, or perhaps a librage.