Fallen Feathers by Adam Howorth published October 28th and is described as ‘an accomplished time-slip novel, combining myth and folklore with a contemporary tale of family, love and dangerous secrets in a London suburb.’ I am delighted to be sharing an extract with you all today with additional information about Fallen Feathers so I do hope you enjoy.
Reminiscent of Kazuo Ishiguro and Angela Carter, debut author Adam Howorth shows a real gift for world creation, as he skilfully weaves an evocative, fantastical tale and deftly explores the nature of faith and existence, through the dual lens of childhood innocence and increasingly desperate parenthood.
[ About Fallen Feathers ]
Elizabeth Fairchild loved the moon. For as long as anyone could remember, she knew instinctively when it had risen and where it was in the sky. But when the south of England experiences a rare super blood moon, Elizabeth goes missing and the race is on to find her before the eclipse is over and she is lost forever.
A priest tells Elizabeth’s father about another local girl who went missing years before and was never found. They discover a number of other similarities, including a strong physical resemblance between the two girls. As they start to piece together what happened, they find they are not the only ones searching for Elizabeth.
A stranger visits the church and tells the priest the clues to her disappearance lie in an ancient prophecy from a book found in a house in the middle of the woods. The prophecy states that Elizabeth is special, a golden child, and generations of people have waited for her, she is their messiah. But to save them she has to die. When the past collides with modern-day life, the hunt for Elizabeth begins.
Fallen Feathers is a spellbinding, epic contemporary tale of family, love, and dangerous secrets.
[ Extract ]
Chapter 1
Under a Corn Moon
When he was a boy, Edward wanted to be a farmer like his father. That was, until one summer when he was in the fields behind his home and saw a man coming up the track. He was riding a brown-and-white horse that walked slowly, catching the dirt with its hooves, and Edward had the strange feeling that this moment had come before.
‘Hello, young man,’ the man said, pulling on the reins. ‘Enjoying this fine weather, I see.’
‘I’m checking the corn for my father,’ Edward replied. ‘There should be at least twenty grains on every head.’
The man laughed. ‘Very good; so there should.’
They looked at each other, and Edward felt he should say something else.
‘You have sad eyes.’
The horse lifted its head and bared its teeth. It sighed heavily, expelling the air through flared nostrils. Edward watched the fine mist from the animal’s lungs dissolve in the sunlight. He knew better than to make personal comments but was unable to help himself.
‘That’s all right, girl,’ the man said, patting the horse on the neck. ‘There is truth in what you say, child.’ He turned to Edward and smiled, but the boy saw no happiness. ‘My eyes see the sins of the world, and that makes me sad. But like you, they also find beauty in a blade of corn. Turn it slowly in your hands and watch the light dance on the grains.’
Edward did as he was told and saw the contours of each kernel come into focus as it caught the sun.
‘Where you find beauty, there is hope. It doesn’t matter how many times we cut the corn and burn the straw; when the sun returns and the rains touch the soil, the fields of gold will return.’ The man pulled again on the reins, pointing the horse back up the track.
‘Where are you going?’ the boy asked.
‘Wherever I am needed,’ the man replied, attempting a smile again.
A pair of swallows chattered high above the trees and decorated the pale sky with their swirling signature.
‘How big is your father’s farm?’
‘This is his field, and the one next to it, and the one after that,’ Edward answered. ‘It will soon be harvest time, and we will provide bread for the village.’
The man nodded. ‘That is a fine way to use your time. And will you take over the farm from your father?’
‘One day these fields will be mine,’ the boy said, looking out across the swaying heads. ‘My family have always been farmers.’
‘Then you and I have much in common,’ the man said. ‘A farmer sows seeds to feed the people. I sow ideas to feed their souls.’ His smile was more convincing when he saw that Edward was confused. ‘I am a holy man, child,’ he continued. ‘But my church is not made of stone and wood and lead. It is wherever I go.’ He sat up straight in the saddle and raised his arms. ‘Come to me,’ he said, leaning down from the horse. ‘I have something for you.’
Edward went over, and the holy man gave him a book. It was heavy and smelt of its home in the leather saddlebag.
‘This as well,’ the man said, handing the boy a small wooden cross. ‘Keep them close to your heart and follow where they lead,’ he instructed, before tapping his heels against the horse and moving along the path. ‘We all must eat to survive,’ he said, raising his voice without turning to face Edward, ‘but the key is finding what we need to live.’
It had been two hours since the man had left, and Edward continued to think about their encounter. He sat cross-legged in the field, playing with the grains, watching them fall through his fingers into the dust.
I sow ideas to feed the soul.
He traced the last bit of corn as it fell to the earth before getting to his feet and tilting his head to enjoy the soft breeze on his face. A faint moon started to show above the trees. He imagined the field of corn as thousands upon thousands of tiny ideas waiting to germinate and transform the world. Edward was struck by the majesty of the image.
By the time he heard his mother calling him home for tea, he knew that he would not take over the farm from his father. He walked along the path and back towards their cottage. The late-afternoon sun shone through the branches of an overhanging tree and bathed the scene in a warm honey glow.
[ Bio ]
Adam Howorth was born in Stamford, Lincolnshire and grew up in rural Northamptonshire. After moving to London to work in the music industry, he later contributed to The Times and Billboard before joining Apple. Adam lives near the river in Southwest London, with his wife and two daughters.
He was inspired to write his debut novel, Fallen Feathers, after having his daughter, where he imagined what it would be like seeing the world through her eyes. It was out walking one night in his local area that Adam had the idea for the book, inspired by existing landmarks, including the Octagon at Orleans House, the ferry service and White Swan Pub at Twickenham riverside, and historical locations such as Sheen Priory, above-ground traces of which have since disappeared.
With a belief in being unconfined by genre, Adam is currently writing his second novel, a historical fiction set in rural Scotland.
The Inspiration for Fallen Feathers
Drawing on his decades-long experience working at the forefront of technological innovation, where he saw first-hand how ‘technology has really democratised the creative process’, Howorth is applying the same disrupter model to the publication of Fallen Feathers. This includes collaborating with other creatives – industry-pioneer Jenny Todd leads the project, designer Paul Denton on the striking cover, with Troubador on production, sales and distribution, and book PR agency FMcM on communications, to reach a broad readership through traditional and non-traditional routes. He also brings his background in the music industry to the novel; Adam has curated a playlist of songs that have inspired the book’s ghostly setting, featuring eclectic, ethereal songs, including Glen Campbell’s ‘The Moon is a Harsh Mistress’ and ‘Chopin’s Nocturne No.2 in E Flat’.
