Beneath the Mother Tree (MidnightSun Publishing 2018), the debut novel by DM Cameron, is an absorbing and magical tale of rich Irish mythology braided with Indigenous history and language. The story flies, dream-like, through fantastical possibilities whilst remaining firmly grounded with a real-life narrative of mystery. A confounding mixture of genres, Beneath the Mother Tree exudes the wisdom of Aboriginal elders, the unpredictability of psychological disturbance, the fear and confrontation of family violence and divided loyalties, the mystical wonderment of faery folklore and the urgent determination of young love.
It reminded me a little of The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart, particularly in the way the well-researched and approved Indigenous content was woven into the tale to demonstrate cultural practices and to record historical events.
The Mother Tree of the title refers to a large tree noted by scientists for its symbiotic connection to the land, some even believing communication occurs underground through a complex root system. There is an actual Mother Tree in this book, revered by both Aboriginal people, and also white people of Irish heritage, for its permanence, its meaning, its sense of custodianship of the land. The connection between people and place is strong throughout this story; each character and every subplot seem to pose the questions: What is belonging? To what does our history entitle us? How does our story connect with the land? D.M. Cameron has really done her homework in identifying key historical and cultural facts and blending them with fictionalised embellishments to produce writing that is clearly of the imagination, and yet also moored in tradition and truth.
The nature writing is descriptive, evocative and sensual. She writes of native flora and fauna, of exotic introduced species, of wild weather, and of the touch of humans on the landscape. Reading the depictions of environment is a sensory experience as she describes each leaf and feather, every shell and bird call. The book is a love song to nature, a plea to respect and treasure the land we occupy, a fervent wish to understand and value what we have, even if sometimes it seems to act against us.
The story itself is engaging – a page-turning mystery set in the isolation of the small fictitious island of Moondarrawah. The setting is ripe for intrigue – full of small-town gossip, relationships that flare and flounder, and plenty of local legends and loyalties. When Riley and his mother move to the island to recover from their grief and make a new start, they are viewed with suspicion and scorn. Local girl Ayla and her grandfather Grappa are nervous about sinister happenings in the small community and become worried when locals start looking for answers. Could it really be that Far Dorocha, the evil servant of the Faery Queen, has come into their midst? Or is that merely Grappa’s drunken imaginings? Why does Riley’s mother, Marlise, a renowned entomologist, seem to stir up trouble? And what is the dark family secret she is hiding? Who is protecting whom? Who is behind the series of deaths – both animal and people – on the island, or are they simply coincidental?
The cast of characters is so well-drawn that one suspects D.M. Cameron has spent a fair amount of time people-watching in just such a small community. The friends and neighbours, workmates and family members are sketched with their foibles and flaws, their mistrust and prejudices, and their underlying and deeply united bonds. The characters are never black and white, but always shades of grey; never wholly good or totally bad. Under even the worst behaviour we can sense comprehensible motivations. In even the most appealing characters we catch glimpses of malice. There is addiction and alcoholism, violence and sexual manipulation, psychological exploitation and injustice and narrow-mindedness. The notion of shame, what it signifies and what it creates, is explored with sensitivity, as is the impression of outsiders versus insiders, with what people will do to fit in, and what will they might do when their attempts to fit in fail.
The opening scene begins with Ayla setting free an injured pied cormorant, and this motif repeats throughout the story. The idea of themes and symbols, of the interpretation of signs and the hidden meaning of allegory, runs strongly through the story. Colour is used as metaphor, language as direction, the subtle hint of violence as a warning for the wary. The book is full of complicated relationships tangled and knotted by deceit, loyalty, familial bonds, expectation and promise. Some beautiful passages tie individuals and communities to country through past events – both atrocities and celebrations. The thrumming vibration of these ties are felt throughout the book. Stories are told and retold, as the author ponders who has the right to tell these stories; who has a right to claim them as their own. When Ayla says she feels she doesn’t belong, her mother reminds her that she is fifth generation Australian, and how far back does she have to go to belong? And yet, despite this, the author’s intention is clear: that the First People’s connection to country, historical and unbroken, remains foremost. The book explores the complex interactions between Indigenous and white people – not only how they are different, but all the many ways they might come together and create a common shared experience.
At one point in the story, Riley ‘held his breath at the possibility of magic’ – and this is really the heart of this book: the possibility of magic, the wonder of ancestral stories, and the power of Mother Earth.
Beneath the Mother Tree – DM Cameron
