Category: Newsletter

by Kate Whouley

“Should you call me Maestra? God, no. That’s as bad as poetess.”  

The speaker is Hannah Schaeffer, the musical protagonist of The Maestro and Her Protégé, at the pinnacle of her conducting career. Hannah was just 10 years old, though still pretty sure of herself, when she showed up one early morning in the 1990s, refusing to stay in the background of a novel I’d just started writing. A month or two later, this strong-willed character headed off to Paris to study with Nadia Boulanger. 

I’d never been to Paris, but I did know something about Mademoiselle Boulanger. A musical master, she was a teacher to almost any 20^th century American composer you can name—Aaron Copeland, Philip Glass, Elliot Carter, Quincy Jones; the list goes on. And through her American Conservatory in Fontainebleau, she influenced generations of musicians and music educators you might not be able to name, including my freshman-year music theory professor. Whenever he mentioned his studies with Boulanger, his tone was reverent—but there was also something else I could hear. Something that reminded me of the way I felt right before a dreaded theory “individual” with Dr. Hartzell. Something that made me pay attention.

Born in 1887, Boulanger was the first woman to guest-conduct the New York Philharmonic—in 1938—the same year she broke the gender barrier with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. (It wasn’t until 2007 that another woman took the podium at Symphony Hall.) A colleague of Fauré, a friend to Stravinsky, a mentor to Leonard Bernstein, Nadia Boulanger was an indisputable genius. As a teacher, she was known to be strict, unyielding, severe, and unapologetic. And she stopped teaching only weeks before she died in October 1979.

It was about sixteen years after Boulanger’s death that her imaginary student began to inhabit my pages. For the next few years, I followed Hannah around, listening, and also accumulating a serious reference collection to help out with all the historical and musical figures that were a part of her story. When an unrelated project took me to Paris, I hiked across town and up the hill to the cemetery where I knew Nadia Boulanger was buried. I can’t say why I started there; I’m not a grave-visitor by nature, and I could have located her apartment on Rue Ballu or visited Trinité, the church she attended every Sunday. But I headed to Division 33 at Cimetière Montmartre.

The tomb of Famille Boulanger hosts a coffin-shaped garden and a gray-white stone that rises up like a gothic window, sculpted with trailing flowers, etched with three generations of Boulangers, and worn by the work of guarding souls. That morning, I found a black and white photo hidden in the unruly groundcover that had overtaken the garden trough. A page cut out from a book, I was pretty sure, it had been slipped into a double-sided Lucite sleeve, edges scotch-taped against the elements. Another surprise: a single long-stemmed red rose soaking in a white marble vase. I touched the rose, not yet open, and I picked up the photograph. Mademoiselle, as she was known to her students, was seated at a grand piano, unsmiling, and, it seemed, looking straight at me.

Right then, I started to cry. Not little weepy-in-the-eyes-squint-back-tears kind of crying, but the uncontrollable, thank-God-I-have-a-Kleenex kind of sobbing. I felt bereft, inconsolable. Not to mention: puzzled. I sat down on the flat gravestone next to the Boulanger family tomb, blowing my nose, sipping from my water bottle, grateful that Division 33 was otherwise unoccupied.

Collecting myself, I understood something more about the people on my pages. Hannah, I realized, had grown up to be a remarkable woman—possibly breaking through a glass ceiling that Boulanger could barely see in the distance. I sensed that Hannah had paid a price for her prodigious talent and musical success. And I was beyond certain that she missed Mademoiselle. Because even though we’d never met, I missed her too.

For the next several years, whenever frequent flyer points and my day job allowed, I returned to Paris, borrowing an apartment in Boulanger’s neighborhood. I visited her grave, rehabilitated the garden, replaced the photograph every six or nine months, and delivered fresh flowers to the heavy vase. I took to feeding the cemetery cats and got to know some of the other cat-feeders who made their way into the book. Graveside, I met a handful of Mademoiselle’s students who came to pay their respects, and I was accepted into the fold, the student of a student.

Was I Kate or Hannah as I haunted the 9^th arrondisement, stopping by Boulanger’s apartment building, picking up buttery croissants at a nearby bakery, and shopping in the little grocery at the end of her street? It was a kind of “Method” writing that I loved, but alas, real life was also filled with stories that needed sharing. Two memoirs later, I felt the novel still tugging at me. Hannah and Nadia, persistent and not exactly patient, made new requests. In service of their story, I walked across the stage at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in Los Angeles, and visited the green room in Lincoln Center. I attended open rehearsals of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and was introduced to Philip Glass, who turned down my impromptu invitation to spend a winter afternoon remembering Mademoiselle. I’ve soaked in the neighborhood surrounding Carnegie Hall, and scoured the auction catalogue detailing the contents of Leonard Bernstein’s Manhattan apartment. I’ve read a lot of books. I’ve met Hannah’s parents, her grandmother, her kindly quintet coach (perhaps my favorite character in the novel), her first love, her best friend, her fire-starting student, and the Paris detective who annoys her at first sight. I’ve thought a lot about how it might feel to be an absurdly talented and ambitious woman in a profession (still) profoundly dominated by men. And thanks to Hannah and Nadia, I’ve visited a world where glass ceilings can be shattered, a world where dedication and determination matter, a world where the sky is visible, a world where a million kinds of love transcend the routine inconvenience of death. I invite you to join me there. We’ll be in great company.

Here is a story of foreignness, identity, and the leap into the unknown.

Blackwater Press is delighted to announce the launch of Running on Rooftops, by Andrea L. Stout, a poignant fictional memoir exploring what it means to step beyond one’s borders—geographical, emotional, and personal.

Anne Henry knows next to nothing about China—and even less about teaching. But when she accepts a one-year position at a Yinchuan English school, she finds herself navigating clashing worldviews, discovering friendship amid cultural collision, and confronting what it means to belong. From the dunes of the Gobi Desert to the dizzying heights of Mount Everest, Anne’s journey is a meditation on curiosity, connection, and courage.

With prose both vivid and tender, Stout captures the contradictions of being young and foreign—the beauty, the chaos, and the quiet heartbreak. As author Kate Mueser notes, “It’s a book for all humans, one that will inevitably leave you changed.”

About the Author
Andrea L. Stout is an American writer and university lecturer in literature, writing, and storytelling. She has spent more than two decades living and working abroad across Asia, Europe, and North Africa—experiences that deeply inform her reflections on foreignness, identity, and place.

by Robert A. Ford, author of The Battle of Cowpens, Reexamined

For me, the Battle of Cowpens has never been one more entry in a parade of dry facts. It has always been something that resonated very personally. Many years ago, my father taught tactics at the U.S. Army’s Command and General Staff College. He had a special interest in the Revolutionary War in the south. He was a brilliant man, and like many brilliant people, had trouble communicating with those of us less gifted. I was only seven years old, but he regaled me with tales of Nathanael Greene, the American commander. “An idiot!” “An incompetent!” I can still hear him deriding and mocking Greene, “the hero of Greene’s Disaster, Greene’s Defeat, and Greene’s Ultimate Humiliation!” Being only seven, I was not completely sure what Greene had done, but I could tell it was bad.  

But Cowpens; that was another story entirely. Morgan was a genius. Morgan was the finest tactical mind born on American soil. To him, Cowpens was the Holy Grail of tactics, the example he held up to his students as the right way to do everything. For my part, I was not at all sure what had happened at Cowpens, but I knew it was monumental.  

As I grew older, my father and I drew apart, and we shared very little. But history was one thing where we could always find common ground. When I retired, I finally found the time to catch up to my father’s extensive knowledge of the southern war, Cowpens in particular. It was, of course, everything he said it was. Morgan was a genius. His plan was a tactical masterpiece. Ultimately, for me, however, Cowpens will always be a window into my own past, a look into a sunnier time when as a small boy I sat by my father’s desk and marveled at things beyond my horizon.

Robert leads a solitary, sheltered life with his younger brother and Scottish father in a small Innu village haunted by dark, mysterious forces. He knows very little of the outside world, but he does know one rule:

NEVER TOUCH THE FLOOR AT NIGHT.

After all, doesn’t everybody know that? Doesn’t the whole world subscribe to this rule?

As his certainties crumble, Robert experiences spine-chilling events that no teenager (or grown up) should ever have to face.

… and if we’ve tickled your imagination, we’re happy to announce that R. R. Davis’ new book, Squid Boy Raven Girl, is officially out on the 12^th August!

R. R. Davis is author of another book published by Blackwater Press: The Various Stages of a Garden Well-Kept, the generational story of a Greek family who moved to America to escape a small life and remain stuck in old secrets and untold stories. A very different novel compared to his second one, which just goes to show how eclectic a writer he can be.

Happy reading!

Nearly 250 years ago, the American colonies defied a king, defeated one of Europe’s most formidable military forces, and laid the foundations for a nation built—at least in principle—on freedom, enlightenment, and equality.

At Blackwater Press, we’re excited to announce the first title in our new series, Recollections … The Long Eighteenth Century: The Battle of Cowpens, Reexamined by Robert A. Ford.

Recollections … The Long Eighteenth Century will showcase fresh research and new editions of works spanning roughly 1690 to 1820, with forthcoming titles exploring music, women’s history, and more.

Ford’s The Battle of Cowpens, Reexamined takes a hard, insightful look at a key turning point in the American Revolution. At Cowpens, Daniel Morgan—a backcountry American leading a largely backcountry militia—delivered a stunning defeat to Britain’s most feared commander, Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton, and his professional army. Historians have analyzed Morgan’s brilliant tactics for over two centuries, but Ford’s research brings a fresh perspective to this pivotal battle.

So even if you’re not exactly feeling patriotic this year, why not take a moment to reflect? Pre-order now for September publication. And remember, “Don’t Tread On Me” wasn’t always a symbol of the far right.

by Sheila McEntee

On May 15, we publish Sheila McEntee‘s debut essay collection Soul Friend and Other Loves Notes to the Natural World. Well-known to many in our home state of West Virginia, Sheila’s collection will be a welcome addition to the collection of any nature lover. Detailed black-and-white illustrations by Sophie Kromholz make this the perfect gift. 

NB: Orders made after May 13 are unlikely to arrive before May 21. This book has proven so popular! For our friends in West Virginia, Sheila has a number of events planned. 

Imagine lifting the window shade early one morning and finding a half-dozen neotropical birds, with deep-rosy breasts and jet-black wings, poised amid a maple’s budding branches. Or, in the midst of pandemic isolation, eavesdropping on a congenial trio of turkey vultures keeping company outside the kitchen window. Or, looking up from your cereal bowl to see a rare woodpecker, its head the color of red velvet cake, clinging to the side of an oak so close, you could almost reach out and touch it.  

Such are the discoveries that delight and comfort me, and that I write about in Soul Friend and Other Love Notes to the Natural World. It is these sightings and others that call me to slow down, pay attention, and embrace my own place in nature’s scheme. 

When I walk on a forest trail amid ferns, wildflowers, and birdsong, I feel not only joy but relief, as if a hefty pack has been lifted from my back. When I immerse myself in forest life, I know that I, too, am part of it. Though we may feel separate from it, our deepest selves are revealed in the natural world.  

We recognize ourselves in the box turtle’s slow, uphill climb, its valiant plodding through dry, crumbly earth. Watching a newly transformed swallowtail butterfly unfurl and flex its wings, we find hope in our own evolution. And how could we not be inspired by the tiny ruby-throated hummingbird’s arduous, nonstop flight across the Gulf of Mexico, and then continued journey north, to finally sip nectar from our flowers and feeders? 

In our hurried, technocentric world, even a minute can feel like an eternity, if we are waiting for an upload, a download, a login, or a new password. Yet, what might happen if we slowed down enough to stroll instead of scroll? To sit by a stream instead of streaming? To immerse ourselves, if only for a few moments, in a nature scene instead of a screen? Who and what might be revealed? 

In Soul Friend, I invite you to explore the natural world. It awaits in every landscape—city, suburb, forest, and field—for you to discover its wonders, and the wonders you hold within.  

In the current cultural and political climate, where Silicon Valley giants are deleting key social dates and celebrations like Black History Month, Women’s History Month, and Holocaust Remembrance Month from our calendars, we are proud to highlight the publication of one of our more recent books: Crosshatch: Martha Schofield, the Forgotten Feminist (1839–1916), painstakingly researched by author Christina Larocco.  

Martha Schofield left behind a legacy of letters and diaries from which Larocco has drawn a narrative following her steps towards emancipation from nineteenth-century social schemes. Schofield was an abolitionist, a women’s suffragist, and a white teacher of Black students. Her lifetime was spent attempting to develop an anti-racist feminist vision. She engaged in love affairs with both men and women, and struggled to come to terms with the atrocities she witnessed during the aftermath of Battle of Gettysburg as well as deeds of the Ku Klux Klan.  

A complex character, whose views at times required fine-tuning but which stemmed from a wholehearted desire to break free of preconceived notions, we are delighted for her story to be known. We’re sure you, dear readers, will appreciate this new publication as much as we do. 

Pre-order here.

Today, the 18^th February, marks the official publication date of Khanh Ha’s exceptional new book: the short story collection The Eunuch’s Daughter & Stories. John Gist describes it as Ha’s best effort to date, so don’t take our word for it!

Khanh Ha is an award-winning author: a ten-time Pushcart nominee; he is the recipient of the Sand Hills Prize for Best Fiction, the Robert Watson Literary Prize in Fiction, the Orison Anthology Award for Fiction, the James Knudsen Prize for Fiction, the C&R Press Fiction Prize, the EastOver Fiction Prize, the Blackwater Press Fiction Prize, the Gival Press Novel Award, and the Red Hen Press Fiction Award, to name but a few. His new collection takes us through Vietnam past and present, imperial and rural, idyllic and wrecked by war. There is as much charm and beauty in the luscious hair of a concubine as there is in the acrid smells of a fishing village, or in the troubled dynamics of a modern household.

Ha’s writing endows the world he creates with his pen with a grace and elegance that is unique to his style. We are delighted to be presenting The Eunuch’s Daughter & Stories to the world! Head over to our site to get your copy.

Once again, it’s Answer Your Cat’s Questions Day, and once again, Flòraidh MacDonald Ford has agreed to sit down and answer a few of ours. We’re delighted she was able to take time from her busy and hectic schedule to join us.

• Flòraidh, what have you been up to this year?

Thank you for inviting me back! It’s been a busy year. I moved and now have a house with windows on all the sides and trees and a bird feeder. When I’m not on my heated bed I have to check things out from all directions. And there are so many different sunbeams to chase.

• Have you acquired any new favorite things this year?

Well, there’s my heated bed, my scratchy mushroom, my scratchy Christmas tree, the little nest bed mommy made me in the fireplace that I don’t sit in, and the robot with feathers Santa brought me. Plus loads more fancy collars and toys to chase. I have a wee lobster called Floyd.

• Do you have any goals for the new year?

No, not as such. I’ve achieved perfection but those around me could always stand for some improvement.
(Arches back. Rolls and shows tummy.)

• Childless cat ladies?

I’m the cat of a childless cat lady and I just don’t see what the issue is. She’s happy with her life choices. She has me and I’m totally indulged. More people like mommy should run things. We’d have all the toys we want and plenty of laptime and belly rubs.

• How has the move changed your daily schedule?

It’s still very busy. I have a lot responsibility and there’s a great deal of pressure on me. But I do get held even more than I did before and now I have my own spot on the desk so I can really supervise what’s happening at Blackwater.

• What’s your favorite thing about your new house?

While the office only has one window and not an interesting one, I like how I can scratch my mushroom without having to leave my heated bed. And sometimes, if I want to bake a part of me that isn’t my tummy, I get under the bed and against the heat duct. And there’s a birdfeeder out front. It’s like cat T.V.!

• Hardbacks, paperbacks, or ebooks?

Paperbacks definitely. I tend to be held while other people read and hardbacks are a challenge if you’re multitasking (should one be multitasking while holding me…? That’s the real question.) and I don’t like being a rest for a hardback. I’m very small and hardbacks are heavy. Same problem with ebooks: I get moved or fussed at if I sit on electronics and I think they require two hands to use and I like to bite when people use their phones near me. And besides, the Ford household is a bit old-fashioned. We like actual paper.

• How has your manuscript selection method developed over the years you’ve been involved with Blackwater? Has anything in your process changed?

No, not really, though sometimes I chew on the paper.

• …because…?

Because I like how it feels.

• What have been the high points of the past year?

Moving. I don’t get carsick when we travel anymore. Breaking my carrier and getting to ride in a box. Getting my heated bed. Having mommy home with me a lot more. Oh…and I had my 32^st kill…

• How has fame changed your life?

It hasn’t.

• Have you ever knocked a book off a shelf just because you disagreed with the ending?

(Rolls to side, stretches slowly in all directions.)

• What was the name of Alexander the Great’s horse?

(Gives disdainful look.)
Everyone knows it’s Bucephalus.

• What do you all day when you’re on your own?

(Rolls over. Shows tummy. Pulls legs up into a shrimp position.)
And sometimes I get out Fish on a Stick and leave him some place new. I howl when I do that.

• What advice to you have for Blackwater Press in the coming year?

Cha dig ugh mòr a tòn an dreathain.

• We’ve touched on politics already: do you have any thoughts on today’s major world event you’d like to share?

(Contorts. Slowly licks behind.)

• Quite. Any parting thoughts for this year?

Sometimes I spring in a circle and grab my tail.