On Writing Mrs. McPhealy’s American
by Claire R.McDougall
“Every village has its idiot. Locharbert in Scotland had three.” This is the opening line of my novel “Mrs. McPhealy’s American,” and I think in those couple of lines the tenor of the book is set. I grew up in Scotland in a wee town like Locharbert, and then, like Steinbeck did in Cannery Row, I sought to portray this place and its people with my tongue firmly embedded in my cheek. I suppose it was a way of exorcising the hold Scotland has on me. It didn’t work.
The other side of my biography is that I have lived in America for several decades, and so I have these two quite disparate world views and places vying constantly in my mind. In this book, I brought them together. I invented the most extreme American, in the shape of Steve McNaught, an alcoholic, burned-out Hollywood director, who buys a one-way ticket to Scotland to see if he can recover himself in this land of his ancestors. His plan is to stay with Mrs. McPhealy, a not-too-distant cousin, whose life he sends into a “bourach,” for she is a widow and has kept herself buttoned in for all these years. Mrs. McPhealy, it will turn out before the end of the story, has a few secrets of her own she’d rather not let see the light of day.
Steve and Mrs. McPhealy are on a collision course from day one, especially when her cleaning girl takes a shine to him. It just doesn’t seem like the newcomer fits into Locharbert at all. He is regarded, if not with suspicion, then with bemusement, like a passing balloon. He might have his roots in the area, but for the local inhabitants, he may as well come from a different planet.
The comely midwife and former hippie, Georgie, is counting down the hours until rural living becomes too much for the intruder and he leaves. But she is not beyond being charmed by an American, and eventually sparks begin to fly.
All of this, of course, is noticed and recorded through an almost metaphysical network of information that seems to hover over the town like a fine mist. The three “idiots,” who are not really idiots at all but, like a Greek a chorus, are the last word on what is so about Locharbert: past, present and possibly future.
When I was growing up in this atmosphere, I had the misfortune to be one of those tall tulips that appear every season in a field of otherwise uniform flowers. I didn’t fit in. For whatever reason, that skein of Scottish mist hanging over my life was something I felt driven to get away from. I had grand ideas about university and of becoming a writer. The locals would say to this day that I had highfalutin notions. And, probably for very good reasons, they couldn’t take that on board.
They shouldn’t be judged for this. A lot of this attitude has to do with Scotland’s history, having been constantly invaded by their neighbour to the south, England. This activity finally coalesced in the year 1707 and a spectacular power grab by England called “The Treaty of Union.” The Scots, I should mention, are not ones to lie down and die. Resistance began to build from the day the treaty was enacted to the present day, but the wily invaders, well versed in the art of colonization (cf. The British Empire) used all kinds of well-worn techniques to take the ground from under the feet of these impudent subjects. They banned the speaking of their native Gaelic and the playing of the bagpipes. They banned the wearing of the kilt, and up until my day in school they made sure Scottish history was not taught in Scottish schools.
To this day, a nice little conspiracy makes sure that (as one Scottish publisher told me), it is very hard to get Scottish books into Scottish bookstores. When the TV series made from the highly successful book series “Outlander,” by Diana Gabaldon, was about to come out in Scotland, the prime minister of England asked Sony to hold it back until after the independence referendum of 2014, so that the Scots would not latch onto any notion that they were in any way special. I have a Scottish time travel series of my own (to be published Sept. of this year) and other books about Scotland in the offing, but it is hard to impact the Scottish market. Scots still don’t like tall tulips!
The history, the land and the people of Scotland run in my veins. I would sorely like to move back. But for now, I am in place in the Rocky Mountains, co-existing with ghosts who will not lie down. This is the bedrock of my writing. Maybe a sense of longing like this lies beneath everyone’s literary venture. But, for me, I have ghosts to offer: Steve McNaught, Mrs. McPhealy, Georgie McBrayne, the randy postmistress, the English window cleaner, and, of course, the three wee fellas that haunt the shore.
Maybe I can draw you into that world for a little while. I think you will like it.
—
Claire R. McDougall was born and raised in Scotland. She gained an M.A. from Edinburgh University and an M.Litt. from Oxford. After an early start as a newspaper columnist, her career in creative writing moved through the genres of poetry and short stories to settle on Scottish novels. For the past thirty years, she has made her home in Aspen, Colorado. Visit her at www.clairemcdougall.com
With a one-way ticket to Scotland, the story begins…
The entire rural town of Locharbert is abuzz because Hollywood director Steve McNaught is moving in. Putting two failed marriages, three sons, and a drinking problem behind him, he embarks on a quest for the uncomplicated life of his ancestors in the home of his distant relative, Mrs. McPhealy.
But from the start, the newcomer is eyed with suspicion, not least by ex-hippy and local midwife, Georgie. Drawing on his well-honed charm, Steve tries to woo her, and though there is spark, she sends him packing … until she doesn’t. Everything would be on track, if Steve could only lose his tendency to see the world through a camera lens, if only the funny local characters, like the tinkers on the shore or the randy postmistress, weren’t begging to be put on the screen. Georgie warns him against turning her town into a film set, but the die is already cast. He makes matters worse by buying up the dilapidated cottage by the shore where Georgie grew up and which she has always hoped to restore. Rejected and dejected, his drinking back in full swing, he packs up his film reels and returns to California.
And then, months later, in the daft days of Hogmanay, Steve reappears, sober and brandishing his newly edited film. The secret life of Locharbert is about to tumble out.
Published by Sibylline Press Oct. 24
Winner of the Eric Hoffer award for fiction
Booktrailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIWkW6DUOK0&t=35s
BUY HERE
Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing
Subscribe
If you enjoyed this article, subscribe to receive more just like it.
