We have updated our Privacy Policy Please take a moment to review it. By continuing to use this site, you agree to the terms of our updated Privacy Policy.
A magnificent, moving ecological fable: welcome to The Real, where Pyn-Poi’s people live in harmony with nature – until a killing stink threatens their whole world.
Pyn-Poi’s mother Marak wants her to grow up to be the matriarch of the tribe, learning how to cook, to make medicines, how to care for everyone, but Pyn-Poi would rather be out among the trees like her father Sook-Sook, learning how persuade tree roots into bridges, to feel when shoots are too crowded, when drooping leaves need attention.
‘A moving ecological fable, written with her signature grace and compassion’ Elaine Isaak, author of The Singer’s Legacy
Then something starts going wrong in The Real: when the rains come, instead of nourishment, they bring a noxious stench that’s poisoning people and plants alike. Pyn-Poi is the treewoman now: it’s her job. Their only chance is for her to climb to the land beyond the Wall, where the Ancestors live, to plead for their intercession
Pyn-Poi never expected to find a whole new world up there, with people who are very different from her own family and friends – a land where they are killing nature, and that’s killing The Real.
The trees have a job for Pyn-Poi, and to succeed, she is going to have to be brave and strong and true – no matter what.
Pyn-Poi’s mother Marak wants her to grow up to be the matriarch of the tribe, learning how to cook, to make medicines, how to care for everyone, but Pyn-Poi would rather be out among the trees like her father Sook-Sook, learning how persuade tree roots into bridges, to feel when shoots are too crowded, when drooping leaves need attention.
‘A moving ecological fable, written with her signature grace and compassion’ Elaine Isaak, author of The Singer’s Legacy
Then something starts going wrong in The Real: when the rains come, instead of nourishment, they bring a noxious stench that’s poisoning people and plants alike. Pyn-Poi is the treewoman now: it’s her job. Their only chance is for her to climb to the land beyond the Wall, where the Ancestors live, to plead for their intercession
Pyn-Poi never expected to find a whole new world up there, with people who are very different from her own family and friends – a land where they are killing nature, and that’s killing The Real.
The trees have a job for Pyn-Poi, and to succeed, she is going to have to be brave and strong and true – no matter what.
By clicking ‘Sign Up,’ I acknowledge that I have read and agree to Hachette Book Group’s Privacy Policy and Terms of Use
Reviews
Modern bard Donna Glee Williams delivers a moving ecological fable, written with her signature grace and compassion. The Night Field weaves wonder, loss and renewal into a narrative that resonates with the past at the same time that it suggests fertile ground for a new future. Highly recommended!
Donna Glee Williams' simple, beautiful prose transports us to a sylvan wonderland with woven bridges, mysterious currents, magical flora and more familial love and conflict than most mainstream novels. When the child Pyn-Poi led me into in Williams' word-forest, I did not want to leave
With lyrical prose, Williams delivers her finest performance yet. Her masterful storytelling unearths depth and colour in subtle nuance. The characters are real and believable, and their journey will stick with you for many years to come
A beautifully written, poetic book that showcases resilience on many levels. The heart of this story is the resilience of one young girl on the brink of womanhood who makes it her personal mission to discover the source of the poison impacting her way of life and her resolve to fix it. Donna Glee Williams weaves a story that mirrors our own society's capacity to take brutal advantage of the natural world that supports us, but also gives us hope that it doesn't have to be this way - through the efforts and energies of young people
This is such an original premise and such a perfectly wrought world. It feels like an early Ursula K. Le Guin