As Meat Loves Salt [Paperback]

Maria McCann enters the fray of 1640s England and Civil War with considerable gusto in this ambitious first novel. A coldly gruesome murder committed by her youthful narrator opens his account, and the bloody siege of his lover's Diggers colony ends it. Narrator Jacob Cullen, educated but now a servant, flees his royalist household, taking his bride of just an hour and his brother. In a second act of terrible brutality, he beats and rapes his wife. Becoming a pikeman in Cromwell's New Model Army, he befriends Christopher Ferris, an idealist disaffected by the Army and in search of a less tainted freedom. And so the two desert and head for London and the pleasures of Cheapside--and each other. Jacob becomes "a fornicator of unnatural appetite, in thrall to an Atheist... I was in love". But Ferris is intent on establishing a commune, a prospect Jacob reviles, yet to keep his lover he has no choice but to join the motley band.

McCann's writing is rich in detail and colour--the muck and mud of battlefields, London's crowded stench, and the colonists' back-breaking work on the land; she manoeuvres her large cast of characters adeptly, and her dialogue is nicely pithy. The flaw that blights the plot is a yawning gap of credibility: Jacob's acts of violence--the murder, the rape and much more--which occur almost out of the blue simply don't fit his persona. His motives are too thin; nor is he presented as an unbridled brute masquerading as sanity itself. So how are we to "read" him? Even Ferris's accusation--"A man's own evil is his devil and yours, Jacob, is mastery"--suggests too little and comes too late. Jacob's pivotal place in the narrative is discredited by the lack of psychic underpinning and this mars an otherwise robust debut. --Ruth Petrie --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

‘A fat, juicy masterpiece. Jacob, who destroys what he loves with the rapacity of his desire, is as compelling as he is appalling…Most impressively, the writing here is flawless. These pages flow like claret.’ Economist

‘A novel teeming with life…a triumphant piece of historical evocation. McCann’s unflinching descriptions of battle are matched by the power of her depiction of London in all its fetid splendour. And in the character of Jacob himself, a strong but selfish man weakened by a violent temper and haunted by guilty dreams, McCann shows the imaginative empathy that is the hallmark of a true novelist.’ Vogue

‘A true delight, vivid, well written and, best of all, accessible…Maria McCann’s characters leap off the page and speak in contemporary voices that entirely convince.’ Daily Express

‘An intriguing and disturbing first novel which lingers in the mind…Tense with anguish, intimacy and shame, it imaginatively re-creates the mentality of a society racked by war and intoxicated by radical new ideas of freedom and change.’ TLS

'An unusual and memorable achievement... highly accurate as a historical novel and electric as a story of love and war.'

'A true delight. Maria McCann's characters leap off the page and speak in contemporary voices that entirely convince.'

'Outstanding... with all the dirt, stink, rasp and flavour of the time.'

'An intriguing and disturbing first novel which lingers in the mind.'

A sensational tale of obsession and murder from a wonderful writer. ‘An outstanding novel, fresh and unusual [with] all the dirt, stink, rasp and flavour of the time.’ Daily Telegraph

‘Early in the English Civil War, a body is dredged from the pond of a Royalist estate. “As Meat Loves Salt” is the testament of Jacob Cullen – homicide and fugitive. Obsessed with the graceful Christopher Ferris, he follows him to become a London printer, a Digger and, finally, an emigrant to the New World…An electrifying erotic thriller, rich in secrets and surprises.’ Independent

“Early in the English Civil War, a body is dredged from the pond of a Royalist estate. 'As Meat Loves Salt ' is the testament of Jacob Cullen – homicide and fugitive. Obsessed with the graceful Christopher Ferris, he follows him to become a London printer, a Digger and, finally, an emigrant to the New World… An electrifying erotic thriller, rich in secrets and surprises.”
INDEPENDENT

”A fat, juicy masterpiece. Jacob, who destroys what he loves with the rapacity of his desire, is a compelling as he is appalling… Most impressively, the writing here is flawless. These pages flow like claret.”

”An intriguing and disturbing first novel which lingers in the mind.”
TSL

Maria McCann was born in Liverpool in 1956 and spent most of her childhood there devouring novels at every opportunity. She read English at the University of Durham and then embarked on a series of jobs including Citizens’ Advice, telephonist, artist’s model and EFL teacher. Since 1988 she has been a Lecturer in English at a Somerset college. An Arvon course gave her the confidence to write after years of ‘scribbling’ and she later read for an MA in Writing at the University of Glamorgan. She loves plays, gin, dancing and dogs. This is her first novel.

The pond at Beaurepair had a runway sloping down into it on one side, made in past times to let beasts down into the water. It was coated with cracked greenish mud, which stank more foully than the pond itself. We grappled, splashing and squelching, to drag the thing to the bottom of this slope, then Zeb and I crawled to the top, our shirts and breeches clinging heavily to us. Having forgotten to take off my shoes, I felt them all silted up. Izzy, who lacked our strength, stayed in the water to adjust the ties.

‘Pull,’ he called.

Zeb and I seized an end of rope each and leant backwards. Our weight moved the body along by perhaps two feet.

‘Come, Jacob, you can do better than that,’ called Sir John, as if we were practising some sport. I wondered how much wine he had got down his throat already.

‘Her clothes must be sodden,’ said Godfrey. He came over and joined Zeb on the line, taking care to stand well away from my brother’s dripping garments. ‘Or she’s caught on something—’

There was a swirl in the water and a sucking noise. Izzy leapt back.

The body sat up, breaking the surface. I saw a scalp smeared with stiffened hair. Then it plunged forwards as if drunk, sprawling full length in the shallower waters at the base of the runway. I descended again and took it under the arms, wrestling it up the slope until it lay face to the sky. The mouth was full of mud.

‘You see?’ whispered Zeb, wiping his brow.

The corpse was not that of Patience Hannah White. Our catch was a different fish entirely: Christopher Walshe, late of this parish, who up to now had not even been missed.