All the Birds, Singing, by Evie Wyld

WYLD: Oh, yeah. It could be any number of sick pranks. There's a lot of sort of mystery around whether or not it's a person taking some kind of revenge trying to scare her off or whether it's actually a large mythical cat or something else or even herself.

This is a revealing response from the author, Evie Wyld, to a question from NPR interviewer, Scott Simon. Read the complete interview here.

I like this review of the novel by Jeff VanderMeer.

I liked the novel quite a lot, but it isn't for the faint of heart. Especially if you're living alone on a gloomy, wind-swept island someonewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Stranger

There was a stranger at my sister’s funeral
He came in late and stood at the back
He was tall, but slightly stooped
His white hair swept back
Wearing dark glasses
He wants to be invisible, I thought

Sitting in the family pew
I watched him from the corner of my eye
“Who’s that man in the back?”
My husband turned to look
“Don’t turn around,” I hissed
“How would I know?” he said

I felt compelled to share
When the time came in the service
I said the things people say
The usual meaningless things
And I watched the man in the back
As he stood expressionless

As the benediction ended
I pushed out of the pew
“What are you doing?” my husband said
“I want to know who he is,” I said
But the stranger had already left the church
I rushed to the side door

I tore my heels off and ran
Rounding the corner I glimsed him driving off
My sister’s lover?
An ex-husband we didn’t know about?
“Wait!” I shouted
“Who are you?”

The Death of Innocence

What can we know

About this child lying dead

Here, in this trackless land

of fierce sun and shifting sands?

That he played and laughed

And stood gazing in wonder

At a night sky filled with myriad stars

Endless, like the ghibli blown dust

That Malak al-Maut came for him

Unbidden, as the angel is wont to do

For the warrior, the woman, the aged

For this innocent child

That the angel of death came swifltly

Across an azure sky

Streaked with feathery clouds and fire

And he took this boy’s breath

And he took this boy’s body

And his soul, breathed them in

And exhaled his being in ghlibli dust

And placed his soul in the garden of heaven

Speak to me of mercy

Speak to me of compassion

Speak to me of innocence

And show me this small child

What can we know

About this child lying dead?