fiction book of the month
WHY DO HORSES RUN ?
Cameron Stewart
$ 32.99 $ 27.99
The Fiction Book of the Month for May is Why Do Horses Run ? by Cameron Stewart . This debut deeply resonated with us . The character-driven narrative follows the story of two outsiders who are dealing with complicated and traumatic pasts . At once both meditative and menacing , it is an exploration of the breadth of the human spirit and what we can endure ( whether we want to or not ). The story has a powerful sense of place , and anyone who has spent time in rural Australia will feel the descriptions of the land in their bones . This book will linger long after you turn the final page .
Congratulations on being the Collins Fiction Book of the Month ! Can you tell us a bit about your new book ?
Thank you ! Why Do Horses Run ? is a story about a man ’ s search for a home when no home can be found . After a traumatic event , this man , Ingvar , wanders the country for three years and refuses to speak . If he ’ s forced to communicate , he uses a pencil and a pad . He walks in all weather , across all kinds of terrain , day or night , until he can go no further , then he gets back up and does it again . Day after day . Month after month . He sleeps rough and bathes in creeks . Sometimes he ’ s forced to eat roadkill . Having been an ecologist in his professional life , he takes solace in the natural world , but he also sees extinction and death everywhere he walks . Eventually , he comes to a remote tropical valley where he meets Hilda , a tough woman in her mid-seventies , recently widowed . She allows him to stay in a shed at the bottom of her property for a few days . But Ingvar stays longer . Over time , he interacts with other characters and misfits from the valley and the local town , and the story develops from there . My book asks questions about love and loss and what might make a person never want to be found , but is also about the redemptive power of kindness , that people still need each other , despite desperately wanting to run away . My novel acknowledges and celebrates human resilience and a respect for the natural world .
The book delves into the darkness of pain and loss while reminding us of the redemptive power of kindness . Was this always something you wanted to explore in your writing ?
I ’ ve always gravitated towards fiction that is dark , with a sprinkling of beauty . Writers such as Lucia Berlin , Sam Shepard , Raymond Carver and Annie Proulx , all write about broken or disconnected people , and that ’ s something that interests me – flawed people doing their best . The themes in Why Do Horses Run ? were never planned . I just asked questions of the characters and followed my nose . The first scene I fleshed out was when the main two characters first meet – when Ingvar walks up Hilda ’ s steep driveway and asks her ( via pencil and pad ) if he could stay in a shed at the bottom of her property . I liked the idea of a vulnerable man who doesn ’ t speak , having to contend with a strong older female character . But it was after writing this scene of a couple of pages , that a few questions leapt out and became the genesis of a novel – why doesn ’ t this man speak ? Why does this old woman live alone on a cattle farm ? And what could these two very different people want from each other ? The more building I did of backstory to investigate those questions , the more the story grew and some of the themes you mentioned in your question emerged . Cormac McCarthy once said about writing : ‘ If it doesn ’ t concern life and death , it ’ s not interesting .’ I imagine he was being metaphorical as much as literal , in that death can be psychological as well as physical – the death of a dream , death of hope , death of community . I interpret it like this : if done well , through bleakness and pain and loss , we sometimes discover what is precious .
The protagonists , Ingvar and Hilda , seem to struggle against the innate and interminable human need for connection . How do you think readers will interpret their plight ?
I ’ m a bit reticent about interpreting how readers will respond to my novel – because how a story speaks to a reader will vary from person to person , due to our different lives , our different experiences , and upbringings . I ’ ll say that for myself , the need for connection with other people can be a malleable experience , depending who we ’ re connecting with and on what level . Sometimes being alone is a marvellous experience and sometimes it ’ s horrid , and there can be times when you mistakenly think that it ’ s a good idea to cope with things by shutting yourself down , when human contact is what you most need .
The interactions between the two central characters , Ingvar and Hilda , are mired in their own individual grief and trauma . How did you approach the depiction of such a delicate and complicated relationship ?
Hopefully with sensitivity and a light touch . I didn ’ t want the story to get bogged down in grief . I wanted to push Ingvar and Hilda in uncomfortable places and move their characters forward . Balancing the intrusion of past events into the present and leaking out pertinent pieces of information at the right time was a challenge . For both Ingvar and Hilda , the lens of the past and the present and an unknown future sit over each other . But in many ways the past tumbles constantly into the present and propels the action forward .
This story is deeply rooted in the Australian landscape . How important was it to you to establish such a strong sense of place ?
For me , landscape is as important as character or story . Growing up , I had no hope of escaping the natural world . My father is an ornithologist , my mother is a botanist , and an uncle of mine worked at the CSIRO as an expert on birds and bats . So , my school holidays were spent in the Australian landscape , in deserts and rainforests or wetlands , walking across mudflats , or birdwatching at sewage treatment plants – such as the one in Darwin , affectionately known as the Shit Pit . I ’ m no expert on flora and fauna , but I grew up among experts , so I know enough to know that it ’ s important to get it right . I ’ ve been living and working in the city for decades now , so writing my manuscript gave me an opportunity to reflect on some of the remote places I spent time in as a kid . And while writing about Ingvar ’ s wandering through the landscape , stripped of everything valued and loved , where he is no more or less important than an ant or a dead twig , I often found myself thinking about how we relate to nature – that we readily recognise beauty in the natural world , and feel excited to be in a beautiful place , but is beauty really the point ? Does nature exist only to be admired or exploited ? We humans are very good at viewing ourselves as having value , but as one species among millions , don ’ t other species , all species , have value in their own right ? Intrinsic value ? It seems that the original custodians of this land have always understood intrinsic value and the multitude of interconnections that exist , with not just living things , but the land – with mountains and deserts , rivers , stars and planets . Didactic bludgeoning isn ’ t the way to go in fiction , but I hope that these concepts are subtly embedded in my novel .
While this is your first novel , you ’ ve got a background in theatre and film . How did the creative process of writing a novel differ from your previous experience ?
When writing a novel , apart from receiving occasional feedback from trusted friends , you ’ re pretty much on your lonesome until your editor and publisher gets involved . This has its advantages and disadvantages . At times I missed the collaboration that comes with working in theatre or film , but mostly I enjoyed the battle of having to complete something to the best of my ability by myself . I ’ ve got no one else to blame !
Finally , do you have any recommendations of books you have loved recently ?
Richard Flanagan ’ s Question 7 was astonishing . Other books that have really stayed with me , and some of these are re-reads , include Child of God by Cormac McCarthy , Horse by Geraldine Brooks , The Everlasting Sunday by Robert Lukins , Train Dreams by Denis Johnson , Green Dot by Madeleine Gray , Chloe Hooper ’ s The Tall Man , The Rain Heron by Robbie Arnott , Everywhere I Look by Helen Garner , Days Without End by Sebastian Barry , and Tim Winton ’ s superb essay , Writing in Nature .
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