Toward the Sea of Freedom (86 page)

Authors: Sarah Lark

BOOK: Toward the Sea of Freedom

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My depictions of the conditions in Australian prisons are also historically accurate, especially the female factories. The bizarre marriage markets for female convicts I described really did exist. And a prisoner really did once try to escape the prison in Hobart disguised as a kangaroo. He was caught, but that no ever escaped from Van Diemen’s Land back then can certainly be doubted. On New Zealand’s West Coast, at any rate, there were so many refugees from Australia that extraditions were negotiated between the two countries.

A few historical New Zealand personalities play a role in this book: James Busby, Robert Fyfe, and Robert’s cousin George with the three Fs in his name. The story of the whaling station Waiopuka is as authentic as that of the settling of Port Cooper, later called Lyttelton, and Tuapeka, near the present-day town of Lawrence. The old whaler Johnny Jones really did donate the building site for the Anglican church in Dunedin, and he also resettled emigrants disappointed with Australia in Waikouaiti, New Zealand.

My Reverend Peter Burton is, however, fiction, just like all the other main characters. Also fictitious are the names and dates of the immigration ships and the ferries between New Zealand and Australia. I’ve fudged a bit with Reverend Burton’s fatal attraction to Darwinism: Charles Darwin’s
On the Origin of Species
was first published in 1859, so it is unlikely that a figure like Peter Burton would have read it by the beginning of the gold rush in Dunedin. This epochal work of science did not yet consider the evolution of humans; Darwin put forth his theories of human evolution in 1871 with
The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex
. However, passionate discussions were already taking place in scientific and intellectual circles before the publication of
On the Origin of Species
, a text directed at interested laypeople above all. So Peter could already have heard of it and drawn his own conclusions. In any case, I ask my readers to forgive me if he is perhaps a little too far ahead of his time.

The authenticity of the all the descriptions of Maori customs and traditions is a harder question. Maori culture is very unlike my own. It is difficult to incorporate here, since it is no longer alive in the same sense. The Maori keep up their traditions, and over the last few decades they have received more and more support from the New Zealand government and tourist board. Yet the whites, their culture, and their diseases were thorough: of the original Maori population, only a fraction survived, particularly on the North Island, and their lifestyle was so incompatible with
pakeha
culture that, more or less under pressure, it largely disappeared. The Ngai Tahu on the South Island separated themselves quite willingly from the traditions and
tapu
, which they had never treated as strictly anyway. For them, the whites’ lifestyle offered such a higher quality of life that they quickly assimilated.

One expression of my Kahu Heke in this book cannot be denied: the climate on New Zealand’s South Island has more in common with Scotland and Wales than with Hawaiki in Polynesia. The plants and animals brought by the British immigrants thrived more, and the culture, house construction, and lifestyle of the
pakeha
were more compatible with the land than were those of the earlier immigrants from Polynesia. In my view, it speaks to the intelligence and flexibility of the Ngai Tahu that they assimilated instead of fighting the new arrivals. That they were often cheated in the process is a story for another time. In part, the courts today are still busy with restitution for tribal claims regarding deception in land sales.

If one wants to reconstruct the lives of the Maori tribes 150 years ago, there are two paths to take. One is through publications of Maori themselves, which I prefer at heart. I draw a great deal of information from official Maori sources. But Maori, too, are human: they tend to present themselves as positively as possible. Thus, Maori representatives do not like to give information about strange customs like the
tapu
around the chieftains and their families, for instance, while one can draw from them very precise accounts of harmless activities like greeting rituals, dances, fishing, and the like.

The second path is to study the publications of contemporary white ethnologists. These sources often offer more information but have their own perils. The modern studies of history and sociology were still in their infancy in the nineteenth century, particularly in the area of ethnology; the research and data gathering often fell to interested laypersons. Though they often made detailed descriptions, fundamental perceptions escaped them—for instance, that there was no Maori culture in the sense that we mean the term. Today, many emphasize the commonalities between the tribes, but back then, every
iwi
and
hapu
had its own customs, commandments, and
tapu
.
Pakeha
researchers of the day tended incorrectly toward generalization, so that, about the historical accuracy of my research, I can only say the following:

Doubtless, all the
tikanga
and
tapu
in this book existed—only, no one knows in which tribe, in which region, or just how characteristic it was. On the other hand, one can reliably say what tribe lived when and in which region. Often, even the names of the chieftains have been passed down.

For me as an author, this presented a dilemma. Kahu Heke’s tribe must be an
iwi
of the Ngapuhi whose great chieftain Hongi Hika signed the Treaty of Waitangi. But could I simply impress any customs and
tapu
on the Ngapuhi just because they fit so nicely into Lizzie and Kahu’s story? After thinking long and hard, I decided against it, replacing the Ngapuhi with the fictive tribe Ngati Pau. I hope they do not hold it against me, should this ever get to them. I did it out of respect for their actual history, which I did not wish to falsify:
Kia tu tika ai te whare tapu o Nha Puhi
—may the sacred house of the Ngapuhi stand forever.

In closing, one last note for purists who love to check even the smallest detail in historical novels—and thus, to my eyes, perform a benefit, since they hold an author to careful research: Claire refers to Stratford-upon-Avon in the naming of her farm in Canterbury. She is convinced that the Avon River is named after Shakespeare’s place of birth. This is not true, however. The river received its name from John Deans, a Scotsman who named it as a reminder of the River Avon in Falkirk, Scotland.

Acknowledgments

A book such as this cannot be made alone.

And so, I thank everyone who has helped out, especially my editor, Melanie Blank-Schröder; my copyeditor, Margit von Cossart; and my miracle-working agent, Bastian Schlück. But also the graphic artists who designed the jacket and drew the maps, the inventive marketing department—and, of course, the sales department and all the booksellers who finally brought the book to market. As ever, Klara Decker earned her keep as a test reader, finding answers on the web when I could get no further with my research. It never wore out the horses when, while riding, I drifted off to New Zealand in my mind. And the dogs always fetched me back—at least by feeding time.

Thanks also to the AmazonCrossing team that prepared the book for my English readers, especially Rebecca Friedman and Dustin Lovett. Thank you, Gabi and Bryn—it is always nice to work with you!

With Jacky and Grizabella, Pocas and Nena on my mind,

Sarah Lark

May 2015

About the Author

Sarah Lark’s series of “landscape novels” have made her a bestselling author in Germany, her native country, as well as in Spain and the United States. She was born in Germany’s Ruhr region, where she discovered a love of animals—especially horses—early in life. She has worked as an elementary-school teacher, a travel guide, and a commercial writer. She has also written numerous award-winning books about horses for adults and children, one of which was nominated for the Deutsche Jugendbuchpreis, Germany’s distinguished prize for best children’s book. Sarah currently lives with four dogs and a cat on her farm in Almería, Spain, where she cares for retired horses, plays guitar, and sings in her spare time.

About the Translator

D. W. Lovett is a graduate of the University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign, from which he received a degree in comparative literature and German as well as a certificate from the university’s Center for Translation Studies. He has spent the last few years living in Europe. This is his fourth translation of Sarah Lark’s work to be published in English, following
In the Land of the Long White Cloud
,
Song of the Spirits
, and
Call of the Kiwi
.

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