No one has surpassed her chilling, literate prose: she is the mistress of quiet horror. This story was written in tribute to her work. It does not imitate her style—that would be both rude and impossible—but it does, I think, I hope, catch something of her mood. * * * Cape Cod girls they have no combs Heave away, haul away, Comb their hair with codfish bones We are bound for Australia. Heave away my bully bully boys Heave away, haul away, Heave away and don’t you make a noise We are bound for Australia.... traditional sea chanty * * * The island sat in a ring of stone and a nest of fog. It was a flat and sandy land, treeless, silent, smooth and white. Its toothy wet escarpment looked like a good place to lay lobster pots, but the fishermen never did. The way to it was treacherous. Once there had been a bell-buoy marking where the secret rocks began their rise, but something had happened to it. Fog lingered round it. Its name on the sea charts was variously rendered as Seal Island or Silk Island.
What do You think about Woman Who Loved The Moon (1981)?
