Something Walked the Boreen

Some stories begin with a character. Some begin with a mystery. What Walked the Boreen began, in many ways, with a road.

A boreen is a narrow rural lane in Ireland, and there is something wonderfully atmospheric about the word itself. Put an old farmhouse at the end of one, surround it with the landscape of County Kerry, add a local legend people would rather not discuss too seriously, and my imagination is already causing trouble.

The novel follows investigative journalist Ria Brennan, who inherits a house in Ireland and discovers that the property comes with considerably more history than she expected. Including a legend.

I’ve always been fascinated by folklore because the supernatural explanation is sometimes less frightening than the human one. A story can survive for generations because people believe it—or because someone benefits from everyone believing it. That idea sits near the heart of What Walked the Boreen. There are dogs in the darkness. Scratching at doors. A woman in black. Old stories told as warnings. But there are also very real people who can use those stories for their own purposes.

One of the challenges I’ve set myself with this novel is maintaining that uncertainty. I want the reader to wonder where folklore ends, and human manipulation begins. And perhaps whether that boundary exists at all.

The book is also different from The Shape Inside. Ria has her own voice, her own history, and her own way of approaching danger. Ireland gives the story a completely different atmosphere from Atherton as well. That difference is one reason I enjoy moving between projects. I can leave a strange little town in Vermont, cross the Atlantic, walk down a lonely boreen in Kerry, and discover an entirely different kind of trouble waiting for me.

Apparently, wherever I write about, somebody is keeping a secret. I’m beginning to think that might be my fault.