Welcome to the ARC tour for Village of Salt and Sorrow by Laura Holt. Read on for more details and stay tuned for the cover reveal on August 11th!
Village of Salt and Sorrow
Expected Publication Date: Coming Soon!
Genre: Adult Fiction/ Magical Realism
Nova McIntosh has been called many things—a witch. Dangerous. The girl with fire in her hair and salt water in her veins, whose eyes will drag you in and crush your heart like an under tow—and they’re all true.
It’s said that Loch Moira was once home to a flock of selkies, until its fishermen made a deal with a sea witch to steal their pelts. Unable to transform, the selkies were forced to retain their human forms and wed their captors. But the sea is unforgiving and eternal and demands restitution: the lives of two girls after every storm as penance for the selkies who perished on land, or it will swallow the town whole.
The youngest in a long line of magical women bound to perform these sacrifices, Nova understands the need to be cold and merciless. So, when she finds a boy washed up on the beach after a storm, she doesn’t expect to feel anything for him. However, the ocean has never given back anything alive, either, and the closer Nova grows to Arron, the closer she comes to unravelling the mystery behind his survival and discovering the key to ending her town’s curse.
Village of Salt and Sorrow by Lauda Holt is a beautifully written magical realism novel that tells the story of the McIntosh Women, who, through town gossip, are thought to be witches.
The story is very compelling. I love the history of the family and the twists and turns I didn’t see coming. The mystery is very well thought out and I was surprised around every corner.
The story alternates between Nora in the present and Undine in the past. It was interesting how the stories played out. I wasn’t sure how they would intertwine but when they did, it all made sense.
Village of Salt and Sorry deserves five stars. Brilliant writing and a compelling plot. I highly recommend this!
Thank you to R&R Book Tours for the free review copy and tour invite. All opinions are my own and unbiased.
The storm that brought the boy to my doorstep was worse than any we’d ever had, and Loch Moira has had its fair share of storms over the years. Up until now, the record-holder was the gale of 2004, when a hurricane off the coast of Great Britain whipped the waves into a frenzy and flooded the coast from Loch Moira to Inverness. We were cut off from civilization—no power, no roads, no way out—for almost two weeks.
This storm was worse.
The weatherman on the radio said it was going to be a regular summer storm brought on by the unseasonably warm weather we’d been experiencing for August. A few inches of rain, maybe some wind, and a couple of downed trees. Nothing major.
Instead, it rained for two months without pause.
Lightning and thunder split the sky and more than a couple of trees. When a bolt hit the power lines, cutting off all of our communication with the mainland, we knew it was going to be bad. When the water rose over the docks, submerging the fishing trollies and washing out the only road in and out of town, we knew it was going to be the worst we’d ever seen.
The wind howled like a demon possessed, ripping shingles from roofs, picking up bikes not tied down.
It even took the McDougals’ doghouse, though thankfully Nelly was inside with the family, or she would have gone with it. No one dared venture outside. If you hadn’t stocked up on canned goods and jugs of water from the grocery when the storm first hit, you made do with what you had and prayed the rain let up soon. The sea rose like an angry leviathan intent on swallowing the land whole. I saw it through the windows, a great, grayish-blue wall of water, heard it hammering at my door, helped my mom put down towels to keep it from coming through the crevices where the wood no longer sealed all the way, separated in cracks from years of exposure to the salt air.
When it finally stopped, the entire town held its breath, waiting to see if the ocean was appeased or if it would come back for more. Once the sun had been out for almost an entire day, I kicked the towels out of the way, unbolted the locks, and stepped outside.
The tang of brine hit me in the face, as strong as it was during fishing season. If I wasn’t used to it, hadn’t lived my whole life around it since the day I was born, I would have gagged. As it was, I breathed deeply, gladder than words could say to be free of the confines of the old lighthouse cabin my mom, my two aunts, my grandmother, and I called home and made my way down the barnacle-encrusted steps to the beach below.
The sand is like thick, wet mush beneath my bare feet. It squishes between my toes and into my nails almost immediately, the way a crab nestles into its shell. I see a fair few of those as I make my way down to the water’s edge, scuttling toward the ocean in a desperate attempt to escape the hungry gulls whirling overhead. One bird with a particularly long wingspan swoops down and snatches a crab in its beak moments before its legs touch the surf. I hear the crunch of shell as it bites down on its prey.
I am not here for the crabs, though, nor the empty shells or sea stars that dot the shore, pretty as they are. I am here for the other things, the special things, the gifts the sea has always seen fit to leave the women in my family for serving it so well over the years. It is not an easy job, serving the sea. It is a cold, merciless entity, with an eternal memory and a mood as fickle as a newborn babe, as like to drown you as to let you swim in it. Still, someone has to do the hard work, as my grandmother is fond of saying, normally when she is up to her elbows in tea leaves and has had a few. While the men might be good at tilling the fish, who better to please the sea than a sea witch? As everyone in town knows, though maybe they don’t say it out loud anymore, because superstition is best kept behind closed doors and not spoken of in normal, polite society, all McIntosh women are sea witches.
Laura Holt is the award-winning author of Fathoms Below, Fathoms Above, Fathoms Between, Fathoms Across, and the forthcoming final book in the Star-Crossed series, Fathomless. She is a self-professed word witch with a passion for mythology, history, and caffeine. When she’s not writing, you can find her stretched out on a yoga mat, hiking down wooded trails, or wandering the aisles at a local bookstore searching for her next great read. She lives in small-town Georgia with her daughter, three cats, and a lot of fake plants.
Follow her on Instagram at @authorlauraholt to stay up to date on bookish news, events, and book and music recs, or subscribe to her seasonal newsletter for even more exclusive content and writer resources at https://holtlara2.wixsite.com/lauraholt.
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