In a place of shadows and light ... a time of magic ...
Spain, 1825. The young and poetic Sofia-Elisabete Fitzwilliam, a British-Portuguese girl, lives in a world of restrictions and expectations, where repression is the order of the day. Her acts of freedom are to find humor in the absurd and to see magic in the mundane. The girl is drawn to a longing to heal others, but her own heart is troubled. Once abandoned by her mother, she struggles to trust people, and doubts whether she's worthy of love. When her mother attempts to sell her into an arranged marriage, she feels betrayed.
Strong currents always end in calmer waters—but first, you must fight the tides ...
With family ties pulling her in different directions, Sofia-Elisabete rebels against tradition by running away. Ferdinand VII's Spain is certainly no female paradise for one so bold as she, or a girl who is forever finding trouble and prone to misadventure. Sofia-Elisabete loves a Scotsman, Kitt Munro, who treats her as an equal and can offer her a new life in England. But Kitt is torn between family duty and his love for her. Can she ever let go of her past and trust Kitt's love and the healing power in her hands?
If you enjoy heartfelt and funny coming-of-age stories, then you'll fall in love with Sofia-Elisabete in this, a magical-realism drama that sweeps from Spain to the Scottish Hebrides.
Named to Kirkus Reviews Best Books of 2021 Indie
Down the river I went, where the terrain became smoother, to flow with the tranquil current through the land of earthen pots in Andújar, through the groves of olive trees in Montoro, through an arch of the old Roman bridge at Córdoba where a friendly tortoise swam alongside me, and then on to Sevilla, past the bridge of boats, past the rows of fragrant acacia and the sweetly-scented orange and lemon groves, past the sandy plains that stretched to the horizon, past the lazy cows and sheep and the fierce Andalucian bulls, past the shining pyramids of salt twenty feet high, until I found myself in a marsh where a colony of bright flamingos lounged in the waters.
Mr. Munro waded into the tidal marsh to join them. He stood upon one leg, posing like the other flamingos, and it made him laugh at his own silliness. All at once, the flamingos took flight, bursting into the sky with their showy, black-trimmed, rosy-pink wings—a thousand V’s and upside-down W’s hurtling overhead. Mr. Munro, having sighted me, cried out “halloo,” his arms shaped into steely-blue wings. “Let us journey together,” he sang sweetly, admiring his glossy feathers. He plunged into the waters, and emerged as a swallow with a spritely long tail, soaring high, diving low, whirring and singing, when, quick as a flash, he darted towards me to alight on the crown of my harp.
We floated into the mouth of the river, where the currents were strong, I gliding my toes on the golden strings of our musical bark, he warbling in his soft warm voice, “O my Luve is like a harp that’s sweetly played in tune.” A balmy breeze swept us to sea, and so, I raised high my mantilla to make a sail, guiding us into the bay of Cádiz, past the tangle of ship masts, past the naked sea-bathers, past the urchins angling for St. Peter’s fishes.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Norberta Silva
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