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River Sing Me Home: 'The strength of Rachel’s maternal love is a miracle' The Times by [Eleanor Shearer]

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Eleanor Shearer

River Sing Me Home: 'The strength of Rachel’s maternal love is a miracle' The Times Kindle Edition

by Eleanor Shearer (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

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A mother can never be free until she finds her children...

A soaring novel inspired by true events. The Good Morning America Book Club Pick February 2023.

'A strong and beautiful novel that stares into the face of brutality and the heart of love' Jeanette Winterson

'An intense, absorbing debut, concerned with the power and persistence of maternal love' The Sunday Times

'Action-packed, the novel paints an extraordinary portrait of motherly love and hope' Daily Mail

----------------------------

Mary Grace, Micah, Thomas Augustus, Cherry Jane and Mercy.

These are the names of her children. The five who survived, only to be sold to other plantations. The faces Rachel cannot forget.

It's 1834, and the law says her people are now free. But for Rachel freedom means finding her children, even if the truth is more than she can bear.

With fear snapping at her heels, Rachel keeps moving. From sunrise to sunset, through the cane fields of Barbados to the forests of British Guiana and on to Trinidad, to the dangerous river and the open sea.

Only once she knows their stories can she rest. Only then can she finally find home.

----------------------------

'Magnificent and epic. A story about love and the power it brings us' ' Frank Cottrell-Boyce

'A powerful story, beautifully told' Jessica Moor

'Immersive. A tender exploration of one woman's courage in the face of unbelievable cruelty. The heart of the novel lies in its celebration of motherhood and female resilience' Observer

'The compelling premise of a mother in search of her children powers a moving and dynamic novel' Guardian

'A powerful, gripping novel about the strength of a mother's love' Red - The best books of January 2023

'Full of love and compassion, this will be everywhere next year' Stylist - Pick of the big fiction books for 2023

'Powerful, moving and lyrical' Woman & Home

'A glorious and compelling story' Prima

'It slices you open, lays out your parts, reassembles them and knits you back up again. A powerful account of love, loss, defiance... Breathtaking' Chikodili Emelumadu

'Beautiful. A masterclass in how to speak of unspeakable things' Meg Clothier

'Eleanor Shearer is a remarkable writer' Natasha Lester

'An extraordinary odyssey of pain, love, and homecoming' Kate Quinn

'A searing debut. Heartbreaking, hopeful, and unforgettable' Kristin Harmel

Print length

349 pages
Language

English
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19 Jan. 2023
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From the Publisher

Product description

Review

Every once in a while, a book comes along that is so assured and so powerful you can't believe it's a debut novel. RIVER SING ME HOME is just such a book . . . Eleanor Shearer is a remarkable writer and she brings this story of a mother's courage to the page with compassion, tenderness and pitch-perfect prose -- Natasha Lester, New York Times bestselling author of The Riviera House

An extraordinary odyssey of pain, love, and homecoming . . . RIVER SING ME HOME is a haunting and powerful debut -- Kate Quinn, New York Times bestselling author of The Diamond Eye

A strong and beautiful novel that stares into the face of brutality and the heart of love -- Jeanette Winterson

Epic and lyrical, a story about love and the power it brings us -- Frank Cottrell-Boyce

A searing debut full of love, loss, and the shadows of the past . . . Heartbreaking, hopeful, and unforgettable. Both a powerful ode to the endless depths of a mother's love and an important meditation on what freedom really means, this is the kind of book that will stay with readers for years to come -- Kristin Harmel, New York Times bestselling author

An extraordinary and gripping debut. Rachel's love for her children resonates through each page as she fights for her freedom and theirs. A must-read! -- Chanel Cleeton

A powerful story, beautifully told. Shearer skilfully depicts the cruelty of the British slave trade, contrasted with one mother's indomitable love for her children, and her burning will to live. An empathic, elegantly rendered and deeply humane novel -- Jessica Moor

A powerful novel that explores how freedom and family are truly defined -- Marie Benedict, New York Times bestselling co-author of The Personal Librarian

RIVER SING ME HOME is a masterclass in how to speak of unspeakable things. A beautiful read -- Meg Clothier

RIVER SING ME HOME slices you open . . . and knits you back up again. A powerful account of love, loss, defiance and the lengths to which a mother will go in order to make herself and her family whole again. Breathtaking -- Chikodili Emelumadu

Lyrical, heartbreaking, thought-provoking . . . A book about love, motherhood and survival that will stay with you long after you've finished it' -- Costanza Casati

I absolutely loved this book and Eleanor Shearer's lyrical prose kept me gripped as the story moved from Barbados to Demerara and Trinidad . . . a beautifully written debut -- Stacey Thomas

Propulsive . . . This compelling premise of a mother in search of her children powers a moving and dynamic novel. The pacing is swift, and Shearer writes in clear, energetic prose. There is an accessibility to the language that is refreshing; it buoys the narrative, giving us intimate access to a complex period in history ― Guardian

An immersive debut . . . the heart of the novel lies in its celebration of motherhood and female resilience. A tender exploration of one woman's courage in the face of unbelievable cruelty ― Observer

The beautifully written depiction of a mother longing for her children makes this transcendent ― Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Early readers of RIVER SING ME HOME are evangelical about this story . . . Full of love and compassion, this will be everywhere next year ― Stylist

A powerful, gripping and poetic novel about the strength of a mother's love -- Sarra Manning ― Red

Such a glorious and compelling story ― Prima

A cracking debut ― Belfast Telegraph

Hugely profound, hopeful and emotive this is written in lyrical prose that demonstrates Shearer's mastery of language ― Glamour

Lyrical, heart-wrenching and so well crafted -- Goodreads Reviewer

A triumph of tragedy and hope -- Goodreads Reviewer

An extraordinary tale of fearlessness, passion, motherly love and hope -- NetGalley Reviewer

This debut novel does exactly what I want historic fiction to do - teach me something while telling me a good story -- Goodreads Reviewer

The most moving, beautiful, heart-breaking yet hopeful book I've read this year. -- Goodreads Reviewer --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

About the Author

Eleanor Shearer is a mixed-race writer and the granddaughter of Windrush generation immigrants. She splits her time between London and Ramsgate so that she never has to go too long without seeing the sea. For her Master's degree in Politics at the University of Oxford, Eleanor studied the legacy of slavery and the case for reparations. Her fieldwork was in St. Lucia and Barbados. The inspiration for River Sing Me Home came to Eleanor after she discovered a tiny footnote in an exhibition she was attending about the Windrush. Mothers in slavery in the British colonies lived in constant fear of their children being sold. When the Slavery Abolition Act came in in the 1830s, it didn't mean freedom, so many mothers went in search of their lost children. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Book Description

A mother's desperate search to find her stolen children and her freedom takes her across the Caribbean in a gripping, moving, redemptive and unforgettable story of survival and hope. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The soil on the island was fertile, but everything laid down shallow roots. When the hurricanes came, they ripped up even the sturdiest trees; and when the white men came, they tore children out of their mothers' arms. And so, we learned to live without hope. For us, loss was the only thing that was certain.

Many of us had already lost one home. A home of deep roots and of ancestors delved down into history. Those roots did not save us. Those roots rotted in the hulls of the slave ships, in darkness and filth. We had little left to plant in the new world, and whatever we had was the white men's for the taking. So we tried to live only on the island's surface. We planted cane, but nothing of our own. Mothers turned their heads when a baby was born, refusing to meet its eyes.

We tried to glide through this half-life, this life without history or future, but our endless present had ways of stretching itself out, lying across time, until our lives had movement and color again. At night, we whispered stories to the children of old gods in our homelands, in a tongue the white men couldn't understand.

Still the hurricanes came. Still the children were taken away and sold across the sea. But they were sold with a little seed inside them that sang to them of another life.

Everything laid down shallow roots. But what couldn't go deep went wide, tapping the oceans, tunneling to the islands nearby, where others were also trying and failing to live without memory of yesterday or thought of tomorrow.

Without roots, things die. Many of us did die, at the hands of the white men or in the heat of the midday sun. The soil ran rich with our blood, and the roots fed on our bodies. It made the roots strong. Shallow, but strong.

There was hope for this new world, after all.

Barbados

August
1834

1

It was the blackest part of the night and Rachel was running. Branches tore at her skin. Birds, screeching, took flight at the pounding of her strides. The ground was muddy and uneven, slick with the residue of recent rains, and she slipped, falling hard against the rough bark of a palm tree. She slid down to the soil, to where ants marched and beetles scurried and unseen worms burrowed through the earth. With ragged breaths she gulped the heavy, humid air into her lungs. She could taste its dampness on her tongue, tinged with the acidic bite of her own fear.

What had she done?

She looked behind her. Looming in the darkness was the outline of the mill on Providence plantation, its arms splayed out like four sharp-edged daggers marking an angry cross into the sky. Terror clawed at her throat, as if the mill itself had eyes and could whisper to the overseer what it had seen.

It was not too late. She could still climb back over the wall and creep through the fields of half-planted cane, where gaping holes awaited young green stalks. She could return to her hut, one wooden square among many, and lie back on the sleeping mat that was worn thin from forty years of use. She could wait for dawn and another day of labor . . .

Scrambling to her feet, she kept running. Her legs plunged her deeper into the half-formed shadows of the forest.

Her chest ached. She wanted to collapse but could not; her body, unbidden, carried her farther and farther away from Providence. Every snap of a twig sounded like a gunshot; the murmuring of cane toads became the distant cries of searching men. She must keep running.

Alone, mud-streaked, with weariness sinking into her very bones, a question haunted her-

Was this freedom?

The empty forest. Her fleeing, sick with dread. Was this what they had hoped for, all along?

The day before, all the slaves of Providence had gathered outside the great house. A stone-faced set of white people waited for them-the master, on horseback, flanked by the overseer, with the master’s wife and three children standing on the steps of the house. The white people stared at the slaves. The slaves stared back.

They all knew what was coming. Some of the slaves even smiled. Rachel was among those who didn't. She was old enough to remember other times when there were whispers about the end of slavery. She would not believe it until she heard it for herself from the master's own mouth.

The master's balding forehead glistened with sweat in the heat. As he brought his horse forward, Rachel caught a glimpse of his wife's face, her lips pressed into a line of seething contempt. It was this sight, more than anything, that weakened Rachel's resolve. She dared to hope.

The master kept his remarks short. He told them that the king had decreed an end to slavery. As of the following day, the new Emancipation Act would come into effect.

They were free.

Some people cried. Others yelled and danced in delight. They were a mass of shouting, sweating bodies, a river bursting its banks. The master and the overseer barked useless orders, unable to be heard over the noise. Eventually, the master rode his horse through the crowd at a gallop, just to get them quiet again. Its hooves kicked one woman's head in, and she died instantly. But she died free.

There was more, the master said. They were no longer slaves, but they were instead his apprentices. By law, they would work for him for six years. They could not leave. When the sun rose, Rachel and all the rest would be going back out to finish the planting. They would tend to the cane until the next harvest, and the harvest after. Six years of cutting and planting and cutting again.

Freedom was just another name for the life they had always lived.

An ugly hiss went through the crowd. The overseer, gun slung over his shoulder, reached to bring it down. A hundred pairs of eyes watched the arc of his hand. The master's horse blew air through its nostrils, its reins pulled taut.

The hiss died, and the crowd was still.

Rachel heard the news of hollow freedom in silence. For years, she had lived in perpetual twilight. Those she loved were long gone. Her life had shrunk to the size of the plantation, the routine of endless toil and the long shadows of what had once been. So, there was sense to it. Freedom was an emptiness that could only be filled with sugarcane.

That night, everything was the same. The press of the ground on her back. The shape of her limbs, thin and knotted with sinew. The musty smell of her hut. Days of labor lay ahead, her life as neatly plowed as the furrows in the field.

In sleep, she dreamed of her mother. Or maybe it was the idea of a mother, an outline of warmth and kindness. She couldn't remember her own mother.

The mother was there in front of her, but somehow Rachel knew that she was also not there. She was somewhere far across the sea. She was fragile, a wisp of smoke. She could not stay long.

The mother spoke a name, and Rachel knew that it was her name-the name she was meant to have before some white man called her Rachel. What the white man gave, he could always take away. But this other name-this was hers. Rachel repeated it. The syllables felt strange in her mouth, but as the thrum of speech vibrated through her, they gave her strength. She was able to stand without stooping. She could feel the pleasant weight of her body, solid and powerful.

The mother stepped back and began to dissolve, one drop at a time, soaking the earth underneath her. When she was gone, the soil glistened a deep, rich red.

Rachel had awoken in pitch darkness-wild, trembling and glistening with sweat-and her body could not be stilled. It moved without her asking it to; it moved on animal instinct alone, crawling out of the hut, unfurling and flinging itself out of Providence and into the night.

In the forest, Rachel asked herself again: Was this freedom? A violent rupture, a body driven to flight, a mind paralyzed with horror as it watched things unfold beyond its control?

The trees had no answer. Their leaves whispered in the wind, and Rachel imagined them taunting her-

What now?

Her body moved beyond the range of thought, with a desperate will of its own.

She kept running.

She had no way to mark the passing of time on that moonless night, but by the burning in her legs Rachel knew she had traveled an hour or more when she heard it. So faint she thought she was imagining it at first. Singing.

She saw a speck of light, flickering between the tree trunks. She advanced slowly, her mind filled with thoughts of ghosts and nighttime spirits. But as the singing swelled, accompanied by drumming, filling the forest with sound, her fears receded. The noises were joyful and human and drew her in.

A clearing. A tight circle of bare earth in between the trees. At its center, dozens of people were dancing round a crackling fire, with still more lingering at the edge. As the dancers spun past, Rachel heard snatches of different words and melodies all blending into one. She heard some English, but also other languages, older languages that spoke not to her ears but to her bones.

Rachel stood in shadow, watching. She had been to dances before, as a younger woman, but not like this. Those dances had always been folded into plantation life. They took place in the slave quarters, or in the market square of a nearby town. At any time, a white passerby could appear, or the face of the master in a window of the great house, reminding all present that their joy was not boundless; it could not overflow the confines of slavery. The clearing sparkled with a different kind of magic. With no prying eyes to break the spell, the dancers moved with an unencumbered grace.

The insistent pull of the drums drew Rachel closer, closer, into the light. She found herself one body among many, swaying in time to the beat. She began to tap her foot and hum a song of her own.

A woman threw out her arm, her eyes wide and white, with glittering circles of firelight at the center. She seized Rachel by the wrist.

She sang the command, her voice low and sweet. "Dance!"

Rachel was swept into the throng. In an instant, she lost all sense of herself. She had no end and no beginning, no edges or limits at all. Her whole body dissolved into the rhythm. The dance rippled through the crowd as if through water, and Rachel gave herself up to the music.

Every ache in her body eased. She emptied her lungs of a song she had not even known was inside her. Someone was holding Rachel's hand; she reached out and grabbed another's hand, who grabbed another's hand. As the flames leaped into the sky, Rachel thought she could see the chain of hands climbing to the heavens, a line of people through time and space, united by a single drumbeat.

As the last embers of the fire died, everyone stopped dancing. The dawn was beginning to break, gray light leaking through the trees, and the rising sun brought an end to whatever magic had bound them together. People began to leave, most of them tacking west, the sun on their backs, returning to their plantations. Hovering at the edge of the clearing, standing between two broad oaks, Rachel wondered momentarily if she should follow them. Her absence on Providence might not yet have been noticed. But she hesitated too long. Soon, everyone was gone and she was alone. She slipped eastward, back into the forest.

All of the running and the dancing weighed her down. She ached everywhere. It forced a slow pace. The terror of the first flight had faded to a kind of daze, and she stared up through the canopy at the sky. Somehow, the darkness had been easier-it had a kernel of mystery to it, a sense that the night held many possible worlds, their boundaries worn thin, so that anyone may pass between them. Sunlight was a reminder of the endless march of one day into the next, the unstoppable passage of time to which Rachel had been enslaved all her life.

Still the question plagued her-

What now?

It had a weary edge, a hopelessness. Her run from Providence had been pure survival. Now, she wandered aimlessly through the undergrowth; there was no path, and she stumbled over exposed roots. Her head throbbed with thirst and her limbs were heavy, but her body kept carrying her forward, away from Providence. Apart from the soft thud of her feet on the bare earth, the only sounds were the chattering grackles that flitted overhead.

She climbed the gentle slope of a hill. When she reached the top, suddenly there was the sea. The sight of it spread out below stopped Rachel in her tracks. She had reached the limits of the island.

The rising sun dipped its lower rays into the water on the horizon. Against the gray sky, the sea was a shocking shade of blue, dappled with white-gold sunlight. Its burst of color cut loose the fear that had wrapped itself around Rachel's throat the night before. As if she had plunged into the gently rolling waves, she felt at peace.

All her life, nothing had belonged to her, not even the children pushed out of her own body. With her world boxed in by Providence's walls, and its perimeter patrolled by the overseer's whip, it had seemed as if there was nothing the white men did not own. But now, here was the sea. Vast, defiant and unowned, for who, even white men, could claim it? However much they grasped at it, its waters would run through their fingers and plunge back into the depths.

At the plantation, Rachel had always been made to feel small. With the sea spread out in front of her, she felt small in a different way-not small in herself but a small part of everything that surrounded her. Immersed in the infinite sea. There was freedom in this new kind of smallness, an exhilarating sense that she was in the world, and not just passing through it at a white man's pace.

The question came to mind once again-

What now?

This time it had a new quality-it looked forward, outward, across the water. Not back over her shoulder to anyone who might be pursuing her. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Inside Flap

We whisper the names of the ones we love like the words of a song. That was the taste of freedom to us, those names on our lips.

Mary Grace, Micah, Thomas Augustus, Cherry Jane and Mercy.

These are the names of her children. The five who survived, only to be sold to other plantations. The faces Rachel cannot forget.

It's 1834, and the law says her people are now free. But for Rachel freedom means finding her children, even if the truth is more than she can bear.

With fear snapping at her heels, Rachel keeps moving. From sunrise to sunset, through the cane fields of Barbados to the forests of British Guiana and on to Trinidad, to the dangerous river and the open sea.

Only once she knows their stories can she rest.

Only then can she finally find home.

(Review logo)

£14.99

--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Back Cover

'Freedom mean something different to me,' she said softly. 'The search, that is the freedom.'

9781472291363

(Also available in ebook and audio)

--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B09VKLJD52
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Review (19 Jan. 2023)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 5341 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Not Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 349 pages

Best Sellers Rank: 4,909 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- 11 in Historical African Fiction
- 23 in U.S. Historical Fiction
- 54 in Motherhood (Books)

Customer reviews:
57 ratings

About the author

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Eleanor Shearer

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Eleanor Shearer is a mixed race writer from the UK. She splits her time between London and Ramsgate on the coast of Kent, so that she never has to go too long without seeing the sea.

As the granddaughter of Caribbean immigrants who came to the UK as part of the Windrush Generation, Eleanor has always been drawn to Caribbean history. Her first novel, RIVER SING ME HOME (Headline, UK & Berkley, USA) is inspired by the true stories of the brave woman who went looking for their stolen children after the abolition of slavery in 1834.

The novel draws on her time spent in the Caribbean, visiting family in St Lucia and Barbados. It was also informed by her Master's degree in Politics, where she focused on how slavery is remembered on the islands today. She travelled to the Caribbean and interviewed activists, historians and family members, and their reflections on what it really means to be free made her more determined than ever to bring the hidden stories of slavery to light.

Customer reviews

4.3 out of 5

57 global ratings

5 star		56%
4 star		29%
3 star		7%
2 star		3%
1 star		4%

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Mrs Joanna L Park

Beautifully written, emotional story that will stay with me for a long time

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on 26 January 2023

Wow this was a beautifully written, emotional story that will stay with me for a long time.

Firstly I loved the vivid descriptions in this book that made me feel I was actually there experiencing everything alongside the characters. The Caribbean seems like a beautiful place and I enjoyed seeing what flowers and animals they had there. The writing in the book has a lyrical style to it which helps draw the reader into the story. It sometimes felt like the river Rachel travels along was the narrator in the story because of this and it gave the book a kind of dream like quality to it.

Rachel was a strong lady who I thought was incredibly brave after all she’s gone through. As a mum myself I know I’d do anything to get my kids back in a similar situation so I really sympathised with her and wanted her to succeed in finding her children. I felt it took a while to get to know her properly though as the reader is thrown straight into the story and it takes a while for her background story to be explained.

Overall I really enjoyed this story which is hard to believe is the author’s debut. It’s a very emotional read and my heart broke reading about the hardship of life in the plantation and how awfully the slaves were treated. Rachel’s journey to find her children was definitely not an easy one and I found myself very invested in the story, wanting to keep reading to see if she finds her children. I look forward to reading more from this author in the future.

Huge thanks to Anne Cater for inviting me onto the blog tour and to Headline for my copy of this book.

2 people found this helpful

Helpful

Amanda

River Sing Me Home

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on 20 January 2023

“We whisper the names of the ones we love like the words of a song. That was the taste of freedom to us, those names on our lips.

Mary Grace, Micah, Thomas Augustus, Cherry Jane and Mercy.

These are the names of her children. The five who survived, only to be sold to other plantations. The faces Rachel cannot forget.

It's 1834, and the law says her people are now free. But for Rachel freedom means finding her children, even if the truth is more than she can bear.

With fear snapping at her heels, Rachel keeps moving. From sunrise to sunset, through the cane fields of Barbados to the forests of British Guiana and on to Trinidad, to the dangerous river and the open sea.

Only once she knows their stories can she rest. Only then can she finally find home.

Inspired by the women who, in the aftermath of slavery, went in search of their lost children.”

I read this book on the Pigeonhole app, one stave per day over ten days, commenting along with other readers. River Sing Me Home is a powerful story and it is beautifully written. I loved how it put the emotions to the history. Although slavery has been abolished, Rachel cannot be free until she finds out what has happened to her children and this search takes her to British Guiana and then on to Trinidad. As a mother, Rachel is a strong character and represents those mothers who did exactly the same thing in real life after slavery was abolished.

2 people found this helpful

Helpful

Mrs Sarah Farmer-Wright

A story beautifully told.

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on 23 January 2023

In 1834, on the Caribbean island of Barbados, a law has decreed that all slaves are now free. But for Rachel her true freedom is not as simple as that - five of Rachel’s surviving children were all brutally ripped away from her and all sold as slaves themselves. Freedom for Rachel means finding her children and she knows she will go to the ends of the earth to be reunited with them once again.
Rachel’s journey is a tireless, desperate and dangerous one taking her from the cane fields of Barbados through the forests of British Guiana and across the sea to
Trinidad. Nothing will make her give up on her search for them and for her true freedom.

The story tells us of the brutality in the plantations, the cruelty of the white men who owned them and about the horrors of being a slave: the pain, fear, loss and the destruction and dislocation of families and loved ones. But, ultimately, more than anything else it is a story about bravery, courage, strength, survival, hope and the power of a mother’s love.

This is a wonderful debut novel inspired by the true stories of the Caribbean women who went looking for their children when slavery was abolished. It’s beautifully and powerfully told and I’m sure it will be destined to find a place in your heart as it did in mine.

2 people found this helpful

Helpful

Laura Jayne

A beautiful debut

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on 21 January 2023

What a beautifully written debut novel!

River sing me home is the absorbing tale of a mothers journey to find her lost children.

Shearer has done a brilliant job of bringing Rachel’s world to life. I was gripped by the story from the start and needed to know how Rachel’s story would end.

I admit to finding it a little hard to connect with Rachel’s character at the beginning. I think this might be due to the fact that we jumped right into the story of her running away from the plantation to find her children, there wasn’t much of an introduction, we didn’t get to know Rachel first.
However, I soon felt connected to her character, particularly in the second half of the book. I think the use of Rachel’s dreams to convey her thoughts, feelings, and fears worked really well and was a great way for the reader to get to know Rachel better.

There is also a cast of extremely loveable supporting characters who are just as heartbroken yet resilient as Rachel.

At times this felt like a real adventure story. I particularly enjoyed the scenes on the river, for me this is when the story really came alive.
I enjoyed the vivid descriptions of the flora and fauna.

River sing me home is tender and heartbreaking. Rachel had endured so much and yet remains so strong.

Themes:
-Love
-Motherhood/mothers love
-Hope
-Family
-Freedom

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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

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Eleanor Shearer

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