The Sisters of Straygarden Place by Hayley Chewins
Publication date: October 13th, 2020
Synopsis:
A riveting middle-grade fantasy about sibling bonds, enchanted houses, and encroaching wildness, lyrically told in eerily beautiful prose
The grass grew taller than the house itself, surrounding it on all sides. It stuffed the keyholes and scraped against the roof. It shook the walls and made paintings shiver.
Seven years ago, the Ballastian sisters' parents left them in the magical Straygarden Place, a house surrounded by tall silver grass and floating trees. They left behind a warning saying never to leave the house or go into the grass. "Wait for us," the note read. "Sleep darkly." Ever since then, the house itself has taken care of Winnow, Mayhap, and Pavonine--feeding them, clothing them, even keeping them company--while the girls have waited and grown up and played a guessing game: Think of an animal, think of a place. Think of a person, think of a face. Until one day, when the eldest, fourteen-year-old Winnow, does the unthinkable and goes outside into the grass, and everything twelve-year-old Mayhap thought she knew about her home, her family and even herself starts to unravel. With luscious, vivid prose, poet and author Hayley Chewins transports readers to a house where beloved little dogs crawl into their owners' minds to sleep, sick girls turn silver, and anything can be stolen--even laughter and silence.
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Praise for The Sisters of Straygarden Place
"Lyrical and imaginative, rich and riveting. This is Hayley Chewins at her best, writing about magical girls with secrets and sisters who rise above the odds. An absolute must-read!" -- Christian Day, author of I Can Make This Promise, an American Indian Youth Literature Award Honor Book
"Chewins' prose is exquisite, her eerie concepts heart-wrenching... Superb, spooky, and unforgettable." -- Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
"Chewins (The Turnaway Girls) weaves a vivid, otherworldly tale of family and secrets, with a gothic setting that serves as a character in its own right. Through themes of identity, forgiveness, and longing, Mayhap's unpredictable quest becomes intensely personal, especially as the sisters reinvent their familial relationship." -- Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"A strong opening and consistent sense of urgency makes this an ideal choice for reluctant readers interested in slightly spooky fantasy. Give to fans of Neil Gaiman's Coraline, Kenneth Oppel's The Nest, or The House in Poplar Wood by K.E. Ormsbee." -- School Library Journal
Excerpt - Chapter Two
Porcelain plates sat on the long dining table like lily pads, and candles glinted their light down its middle, but the air was rigid with silence.
The Ballastian sisters took their seats in high-backed chairs that curved over their heads like cresting waves. the droomhunds hopped onto stools beside them. Evenflee and Peffiandra curled up right away, lying per-fectly still except for their blinking eyes, but Seekatrix squirmed and sniffled.
"Shhh, Seeka," Mayhap whispered to him.
As usual, Winnow went first. There were rules to be followed in their family, hierarchies and orders, even if their parents were gone--especially because their par-ents were gone.
"I'll have apple charlotte," Winnow said, 2nunciate- ing
the words.
Evenflee sneezed Pavonine giggled.
Mayhap said, "Pudding for dinner? You don't like your favorite?"
Winnow usually had a bowl of vichyssoise for din- ner. That had been their mother's preferred dish. Mayhap knew she shouldn't be upset about what her sister ate, but this was yet another thing that made her feel uneasy, as though the house itself would peel away from her the way the skin is peeled off a Christmas orange.
Winnow shrugged. "I'm celebrating," she said. "Celebrating what?" asked Pavonine,
bouncing up
and down in her chair "It's a secret."
"I love secrets," said Pavonine. "You can tell me."
Winnow looked at her plate. "Maybe I will tell you tomorrow."
Mayhap wanted this conversation to end. It made her feel weary and helpless, like an old purse with a hole in the bottom. There had been a time when she had been the keeper of Winnow's secrets, when they had both lain awake in bed after Pavonine's droomhund had put her to sleep, whispering their hopes and reveries to each other under the cover of embroidered linen. But now Winnow had begun to say, "I want to be alone. Please leave me alone. Leave. Me. Alone." She said it when Mayhap sug- gested she play a guessing game with them, or drink tea by the fire with them, or do anything they used to do three weeks and three days ago.
Mayhap sat up straight, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap. "I'll have my usual dinner, please," she said defiantly. Her mouth watered at the thought of it: a steaming aubergine pie shaped like the letter D
Pavonine looked at Mayhap out the side of her eye, then said, "I'll have pudding-dinner, too. Chocolate marble cake." She showed all her teeth when she smiled The droomhunds stayed curled up on their cush- ions eyes open, waiting for bedtime. They never ate or
drank a single thing. They lived off dreams alone.
Once all three sisters had asked the house for their dinner, the plates that sat on the table were topped with their requests: apple charlotte for Winnow, a golden pie for Mayhap, and a slice of chocolate marble cake for Pavonine
Mayhap watched Winnow, who picked up her des- sert spoon and prodded the apple charlotte with it.
"Why did you lock yourself in the upstairs sitting room?" asked Pavonine through a mouthful of cake. "This is delicious," she added. "We should have pudding- dinner more often."
Winnow paused, her heaped spoon raised. She looked at Mayhap, and then at Pavonine, and then at the space between them. She seemed to be balancing whether to keep with Mayhap's lie or tell Pavonine where she'd really been. She filled her mouth. "I needed to think," she said.
"What did you need to think about?" asked Pavonine. "About Mamma and Pappa," said Winnow. "And
about --" She glanced at Mayhap. "About things.
"Things? About the thing you're celebrating?" said Pavonine
"I said I would tell you tomorrow, Pav," said Winnow. She took another quick bite of apple charlotte and stared straight ahead.
Pavonine adorned the silence that followed with a story about how Peffiandra had found a little wooden jewelry box and chewed the lid off. "I couldn't stop laughing at her," she said. "For hours." She stroked the droomhund. "You're a clown of a girl, aren't you?"
Peffiandra stared up at Pavonine with big black eyes, then went back to licking her front paw.
By the time Pavonine and Mayhap had finished their dinner, Winnow's apple charlotte was left mostly uneaten. She pushed her silver- rimmed plate away from her, sighing. "Time to sleep," she said. "Tomorrow the day will wear new shoes."
These were words Mayhap usually used to com- fort Winnow when she was sad.
Together, they would imagine the type of shoes the day would wear next: boots fashioned out of carmine suede, or Grecian san- dals braided with ivy, or amaranth ballet slippers cov- ered in little beaded periwinkles.
Perhaps Winnow meant them as a bridge between silence and lies. But Mayhap--full and exhausted and still shaky from her interaction with the grass--could only press her lips into a forced smile and nod.
Tomorrow, she feared, the day would be barefoot.
The Ballastian sisters took their seats in high-backed chairs that curved over their heads like cresting waves. the droomhunds hopped onto stools beside them. Evenflee and Peffiandra curled up right away, lying per-fectly still except for their blinking eyes, but Seekatrix squirmed and sniffled.
"Shhh, Seeka," Mayhap whispered to him.
As usual, Winnow went first. There were rules to be followed in their family, hierarchies and orders, even if their parents were gone--especially because their par-ents were gone.
"I'll have apple charlotte," Winnow said, 2nunciate- ing
the words.
Evenflee sneezed Pavonine giggled.
Mayhap said, "Pudding for dinner? You don't like your favorite?"
Winnow usually had a bowl of vichyssoise for din- ner. That had been their mother's preferred dish. Mayhap knew she shouldn't be upset about what her sister ate, but this was yet another thing that made her feel uneasy, as though the house itself would peel away from her the way the skin is peeled off a Christmas orange.
Winnow shrugged. "I'm celebrating," she said. "Celebrating what?" asked Pavonine,
bouncing up
and down in her chair "It's a secret."
"I love secrets," said Pavonine. "You can tell me."
Winnow looked at her plate. "Maybe I will tell you tomorrow."
Mayhap wanted this conversation to end. It made her feel weary and helpless, like an old purse with a hole in the bottom. There had been a time when she had been the keeper of Winnow's secrets, when they had both lain awake in bed after Pavonine's droomhund had put her to sleep, whispering their hopes and reveries to each other under the cover of embroidered linen. But now Winnow had begun to say, "I want to be alone. Please leave me alone. Leave. Me. Alone." She said it when Mayhap sug- gested she play a guessing game with them, or drink tea by the fire with them, or do anything they used to do three weeks and three days ago.
Mayhap sat up straight, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap. "I'll have my usual dinner, please," she said defiantly. Her mouth watered at the thought of it: a steaming aubergine pie shaped like the letter D
Pavonine looked at Mayhap out the side of her eye, then said, "I'll have pudding-dinner, too. Chocolate marble cake." She showed all her teeth when she smiled The droomhunds stayed curled up on their cush- ions eyes open, waiting for bedtime. They never ate or
drank a single thing. They lived off dreams alone.
Once all three sisters had asked the house for their dinner, the plates that sat on the table were topped with their requests: apple charlotte for Winnow, a golden pie for Mayhap, and a slice of chocolate marble cake for Pavonine
Mayhap watched Winnow, who picked up her des- sert spoon and prodded the apple charlotte with it.
"Why did you lock yourself in the upstairs sitting room?" asked Pavonine through a mouthful of cake. "This is delicious," she added. "We should have pudding- dinner more often."
Winnow paused, her heaped spoon raised. She looked at Mayhap, and then at Pavonine, and then at the space between them. She seemed to be balancing whether to keep with Mayhap's lie or tell Pavonine where she'd really been. She filled her mouth. "I needed to think," she said.
"What did you need to think about?" asked Pavonine. "About Mamma and Pappa," said Winnow. "And
about --" She glanced at Mayhap. "About things.
"Things? About the thing you're celebrating?" said Pavonine
"I said I would tell you tomorrow, Pav," said Winnow. She took another quick bite of apple charlotte and stared straight ahead.
Pavonine adorned the silence that followed with a story about how Peffiandra had found a little wooden jewelry box and chewed the lid off. "I couldn't stop laughing at her," she said. "For hours." She stroked the droomhund. "You're a clown of a girl, aren't you?"
Peffiandra stared up at Pavonine with big black eyes, then went back to licking her front paw.
By the time Pavonine and Mayhap had finished their dinner, Winnow's apple charlotte was left mostly uneaten. She pushed her silver- rimmed plate away from her, sighing. "Time to sleep," she said. "Tomorrow the day will wear new shoes."
These were words Mayhap usually used to com- fort Winnow when she was sad.
Together, they would imagine the type of shoes the day would wear next: boots fashioned out of carmine suede, or Grecian san- dals braided with ivy, or amaranth ballet slippers cov- ered in little beaded periwinkles.
Perhaps Winnow meant them as a bridge between silence and lies. But Mayhap--full and exhausted and still shaky from her interaction with the grass--could only press her lips into a forced smile and nod.
Tomorrow, she feared, the day would be barefoot.
About the Author:
Hayley Chewins is an author and writing coach. She grew up in Cape Town, South Africa, in a house so full of books that she learnt to read by accident. She's fond of telling people that she writes books about magical girls with secrets--even if that's not an actual genre. Her books are literary fantasy, surreal fairy tales, or weird magic. (Or: all of he above.)
Her debut, The Turnaway Girls, was a Kirkus Best Book of 2018 and made the American Library Association's Amelia Bloomer List of Best Feminist Books for Young Readers. Her second book, The Sisters of Straygarden Place, is forthcoming from Candlewick Press on October 13th, 2020, and has already been called "superb, spooky, and unforgettable" in a recent starred review.
Hayley lives in Johannesburg, South Africa, with her soulmate/husband/fellow coffee addict, Liale, and their toy poodle, Darfer.
She is represented by Patricia Nelson at Marsal Lyon Literary Agency, otherwise known as The Most Amazing Agent Ever.
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