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Narrated by Justine Eyre
Sarah MaineUnabridged — 12 hours, 7 minutes
Narrated by Justine Eyre
Sarah MaineUnabridged — 12 hours, 7 minutes
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I really enjoyed the ambiance of the book... It felt like a great harmony between the environment and the mystery taking place. You could feel the mood of people in keeping with the landscape, the mood adapting to the elements... A very enjoyable atmospheric novel, spanning over a few generations, rich in landscape descriptions and suspense."
The House Between Tides reminds me of books written by Phyllis Whitney, Victoria Holt or Mary Stewart in that they all have the same style of writing, moody, dark and atmospheric stories that involve romance and mystery where the male characters are often brooding and the women are bound to fall in love them in spite of their moodiness and mystery."
"Evocative...Much is left up to the reader to interpret, which showcases the skill of this debut author. The novel is a haunting story of loss and longing in an unusual setting. Recommended."
Maine contrasts Hetty’s present-day consternation with the past story of Blake and his wife, delivering details at a perfectly suspenseful pace... the historic mystery will keep readers guessing right up until the end.
The stark setting proves to be the perfect backdrop for Maine's well-plotted debut. The novel weaves secrets from both past and present with a bit of a romance and the feel of the Outer Hebrides to build a mystery that is as eerie and complex as the house of Muirlan itself.
Reminiscent of the Gothics of the 1970s, THE HOUSE BETWEEN TIDES by Sarah Maine takes the reader on a stimulating stroll through two time periods, igniting the senses with a classic mysterious aura. The moodiness of the location easily placed my mind on holiday in the past while unraveling the mystery in the present.
The House Between Tides reminds me of books written by Phyllis Whitney, Victoria Holt or Mary Stewart in that they all have the same style of writing, moody, dark and atmospheric stories that involve romance and mystery where the male characters are often brooding and the women are bound to fall in love them in spite of their moodiness and mystery."
The House Between Tides reminds me of books written by Phyllis Whitney, Victoria Holt or Mary Stewart in that they all have the same style of writing, moody, dark and atmospheric stories that involve romance and mystery where the male characters are often brooding and the women are bound to fall in love them in spite of their moodiness and mystery."
Maine contrasts Hetty’s present-day consternation with the past story of Blake and his wife, delivering details at a perfectly suspenseful pace... the historic mystery will keep readers guessing right up until the end.
Narrator Justine Eyre imbues Maine’s debut novel with just the right sense of gothic mystery. In 1910, newlyweds Beatrice and Theo Blake move to Theo’s estate, Muirlan House, on Muirlan Island in Scotland’s Outer Hebrides. In 2010, Theo’s distant relative, Hetty Deveraux, becomes the estate’s new owner. After Hetty takes possession, long-buried human skeletal remains are found, apparently indicative of foul play. Eyre delivers the alternating time periods and characters, keeping the voices unique and the period diction spot-on. The mystery of the skeleton connects to the conflict that arises when Hetty wants to turn the house into a luxury hotel despite the objections of a local man who wants to preserve the land as a nature sanctuary. It’s all somewhat predictable, but in the nicest way, Eyre makes this entertaining listening. S.J.H. © AudioFile 2017, Portland, Maine
2016-05-18
Last night, debut author Maine dreamed of a contemporary spin on classic Gothic tropes.Orphan Hetty Deveraux has inherited a crumbling, wind-battered mansion on remote Muirland Island in western Scotland, "on the edge of the world." The day she arrives to inspect her new property, however, local assessor James Cameron finds a skeleton beneath the floorboards. Who is it, and how long has it been there? Abandoned since the war, the house was the refuge of Theo Blake, a Turner-esque painter-turned-mad recluse and a distant relative of Hetty's. At loose ends since the deaths of her parents, Hetty hopes restoring the house will serve as a new beginning. Meanwhile, in 1910, Theo Blake brings his new bride to Muirland House, whose landscapes have inspired some of his most famous paintings. Maine skillfully balances a Daphne du Maurier atmosphere with a Barbara Vine-like psychological mystery as she guides the reader back and forth on these storylines. The two narrative threads are united by the theme of conservation versus exploitation: Muirland is a habitat for several species of rare birds, threatened in the 1910 plot by Blake's determination to kill and mount them for his collection and in the 2010 story by Hetty's half-formed plans to transform Muirland House into a luxury hotel. Local man Cameron wants to see the island preserved as "a precious place, wild and unspoiled, a sanctuary for more than just the birds." The setting emerges as the strongest personality in this compelling story, evoking passion in the characters as fierce as the storms which always lurk on the horizon. A debut historical thriller which deftly blends classic suspense with modern themes.
| BN ID: | 2940175574310 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Dreamscape Media |
| Publication date: | 08/30/2016 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
The House Between Tides
The first bone he had dismissed as dead sheep. There’d been others—ribs decaying amidst rabbit droppings and debris from the collapsing ceilings, or bleached vertebrae. But the next one was a long bone, and he held it, considering a moment, then rocked back on his heels.
This was no sheep.
He leant forward, interest sharpening, and scraped at the sandy soil, revealing more stained bones and recognising a tangle of threads from decaying textile. A rotting plank half-covered the remains. He tried to move it aside, but it stuck fast, then he straightened, aghast, as certainty came. The plank was an old floor-board, nailed down, and the bones were underneath it.
He stared down at the remains, thrown off-balance, then bent again, his mouth dry, and explored further until he came to the pale orb of the skull. Then he stopped.
The body had been placed on its side with the head hard up against a boulder in the foundations, the chin dropped to the chest, exposing the side of the skull. Exposing not a smooth roundness but a fissured depression, choked with sand. His mind roared as he reached forward to clear crumbs of mortar from the half-buried jaw, flicking an indifferent wood louse from the bared teeth, his hand trembling as he uncovered more of the crushed temple and the dark orbit of an eye. Then he straightened again and stood looking down, the trowel hanging loose in his hand.
It was the snapping of fast wing beats that broke the spell, and he ducked instinctively as a rock dove bolted from its roost in an alcove—bloody bird!—and he glanced at his watch, twisting it on his wrist. Out of time. The tide had turned, and the wind was strong. Storm coming. He quickly bent to cover the bones again, then grabbed his jacket and ran to the Land Rover.
The empty stretch of sand which, for a few short hours twice a day joined Muirlan Island to the main island, was disappearing fast. Had he cut it too fine? He revved the engine hard as the vehicle descended the track and he reached the point where track met sand. Then the battered vehicle sped across, through the shallow water, spray arching from its wheels as it rounded the rocky outcrop at the midway point, following the vanishing tracks which had marked his route across that afternoon. Swooping terns accompanied the incoming tide as it flooded the sandy stretches between the headlands, closing in behind him. He glanced in his rear-view mirror at the grey bulk of the house silhouetted on the ridge, and gripped the steering wheel. A body, for Christ’s sake!
Then, as he tore across the wet sand, he glimpsed a figure in a long dark coat standing on a little headland, staring out towards the house. A woman? He looked more keenly. A stranger— The Land Rover plunged drunkenly into the last deep channel and he revved the engine again to pull up the other side, releasing his breath as he felt firm ground beneath the tyres. Then he swung the vehicle to the right, wiping damp palms on worn jeans, and headed down the single-track road, skirting the edge of the bay, to find Ruairidh.
