An Irish Peasant Family Discovering the Blight of their Store by Cork artist Daniel MacDonald, c. 1847
First domesticated in South America more than 7,000 years ago, the potato was brought to Europe by the Spanish in the late 16th century after their conquest of the Inca. When a series of non-potato crop failures struck northern Europe in the late 18th century, millions of farmers in France, Belgium, Holland, and England switched to the potato as their staple crop.
The situation in Ireland was unfortunate for the native Irish. Under the Penal Laws, Irish Catholics were forbidden from owning land, so as a result, English and Anglo-English gentry owned most of the land in Ireland, leasing parcels to the Irish, who were tenant farmers who paid rent. In the mid-1700s, the landowners introduced one variety of potato, which quickly became a staple for both the Irish people and their livestock – cattle, which were largely exported to England. The “Irish lumper” could grow efficiently in poor soil on small farms (many were less than an acre), had three times the caloric value of grain, and were easy to store and slow to spoil – an ideal crop for hardworking farmers, many of whom consumed between 40 and 60 potatoes per day.
A blighted potato, blackened and corky
By the early 1800s, however, the potato crop had failed a few times, and what scientists now know to have been the plant pathogen Phytophthora infestans (or P. infestans) blighted crops across Europe; by late 1845, over one-third of Ireland’s crop had been ruined. The following year, three-quarters of the potato harvest was destroyed, and Irish were beginning to starve.
One of the underlying difficulties was that from 1801, when Ireland joined with Great Britain in the Act of Union in 1801, Irish Members of Parliament traveled to Westminster, and they were not the best advocates for the Irish farmers. Indeed, of the 105 Irish in the House of Commons and the 28 Irish Peers in the House of Lords, most were landowners or sons of landowners of British origin. They did petition Queen Victoria to repeal the Corn Laws (laws which inflated the prices of grain to protect English farmers), and this was done, but because Ireland lacked working mills to process grain, it wasn’t much use. Indeed, landowners continued to export livestock, peas, beans, rabbits, fish, honey, and dairy goods to England during the famine. Absentee British landlords evicted thousands of starving peasants when they could no longer pay rent, and the workhouses and charity institutions that were established to help the vulnerable were poorly managed and became centers of squalor and disease.
The potato blight continued for another six years, until 1852, with the result that 1 million Irish people – nearly one-eighth of the population! — died, and between 1 and 2 million were forced to emigrate to North America, Australia, and England. Many Irish made their way to Liverpool, the nearest English port across the Irish Sea; this is where I have Michael Corravan’s parents meet, as Saoirse takes a position as a maid and Patrick attempts to find work as a silversmith.
Irish feeling the famine traveled 135 miles from Dublin to Liverpool, across the Irish Sea
With the area around Liverpool’s Mersey River overrun with Irish, many opted to board “coffin ships” to Canada and America, so called because nearly 30% of the passengers died on them. It’s reported that sharks followed the ships because so many bodies were thrown overboard.
Those Irish who stayed behind, haunted by their country’s suffering, would form the basis of an attempt to return the Irish Parliament to Dublin (known as the push for Irish Home Rule), which underpins the plot of Under a Veiled Moon, and an independence movement that continued into the 20th century.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a mystery writer in possession of a good idea, must be in want of a friend or two.” – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, the first line, a little adapted
Recently, I visited the Poisoned Pen for a live author event for the book THE LOST SUMMERS OF NEWPORT, a triple-time-line novel by the three authors Beatriz Williams, Lauren Willig, and Karen White. Listening to them talk about how they build a plot-line, each contributing a piece here and there, was a heartwarming treat. They laughed. They made ridiculous sheep puns. They do not ever reveal which sections of the book they drafted. And having started their book, I can tell you, the words blend well.
Barbara Peters (owner of the Poisoned Pen) with Lauren Willig, Beatriz Williams, and Karen White
On the drive home, I found myself thinking about my 2019 book A TRACE OF DECEIT because I leaned heavily on two of my artist friends for help. Just as those authors sat on three stools, the image that formed in my mind was myself on a middle stool and my two friends on either side.
Back when the book was published, I thought a story about our collaboration—one writer, two artists, all here in Phoenix—was so cool that I even tried pitching it to various small publications around town. There were no takers, alas. Perhaps the story of three women working together to produce art isn’t a particularly interesting one.
But I think it could be. Indeed, I think it should be of interest. I didn’t want to let that story vanish without making its small impression on the universe. Which is why I’m blogging about it here.
Inevitably a book comes together like a stew, with ingredients from all different shelves in the metaphorical kitchen.
For A TRACE OF DECEIT, set in the 1870s art and auction world in London, one ingredient was my experience working at Christie’s auction house in New York, back in the scandal-filled 1990s, when the head of Christie’s and Sotheby’s were accused of price-fixing.
Christie’s Auction Room, illustration from “Microcosm of London” by R. Ackermann, 1808
Another ingredient was the true story of the Pantechnicon which burned down in Belgravia, London in February 1874. It was a warehouse for the (supposedly) safe storage of household valuables including pianos, furniture, libraries, historical documents, silver, paintings, and jewels. Somehow, it caught fire and burned for three full days, destroying millions of pounds worth of irreplaceable masterworks and antiques.
A third ingredient was a painting worth stealing. I chose one of François Boucher’s paintings of Madame de Pompadour, the official chief mistress of King Louis XV from 1745 to 1751. At my request the artist at Harper Collins who was designing the book cover inserted it into the frame in the upper right. (Originally, the image was just a bland reddish blur.)
An early class at the Slade School of Art, London (1880s)
But for the character of Annabel Rowe, for the way she thinks and speaks, for the metaphors she uses, for the way she looks at her world and describes it in words, I knew I needed to find an artist with a beating heart.
Fortunately, I have two longtime friends in Phoenix who are artists. One of them, Heidi Dauphin, has been a friend and fellow hiker since she arrived in Phoenix nearly twenty years ago. She works primarily in hand-cut ceramics, and her public art is scattered around town, including at the Heard Museum, Solterra Suns Development in Avondale, the Valley Metro Light Rail TPSS building at Goodyear/19th Avenue, the Pinnacle Peak Water Reservoir in Phoenix, and elsewhere. Currently the Exhibition Manager at the Shemer Art Center in Phoenix, Heidi arranges and installs all the exhibitions and select the jurors for their juried shows. She is also currently developing a public art project for Alamar, a new family living community in Avondale. Her blog showcases her art: http://heididauphin.blogspot.com/.
My other friend, Hallie Mueller, is the head art teacher at Phoenix Country Day School. She came to Arizona when she was 21 (around eighteen years ago—we all arrived within a year or so of each other) and was captivated by the desert landscape, which inspired her expansive, vivid paintings. Her work has been exhibited at Five 15Arts Gallery in Phoenix, the Tempe Public Library, the Fine Arts Festival in Mayer, and AZ on the Rocks in Scottsdale. Nearly two years ago, while rock climbing, she fell 60 feet off a cliff, sustaining injuries that she has recovered from, but which transformed her art and her approach to life and creativity. You can find images and more information on her website: www.halliemueller.com.
These two friends guided me while I developed the character of Annabel into a living, breathing painter, with an artist’s sensibility. Heidi and Hallie opened their hearts and answered innumerable questions on topics from which paintbrush bristles are best with oils to how to “read” a painting.
Heidi in her home studio
Most of my conversations with Heidi took place on hiking trails over many years, as I learned about her time as an undergraduate and a graduate student, how she worked in the studio, her time in the classroom as a teacher, the process of applying for projects, developing her craft and her blog, and balancing being an artist with being a wife and mother, daughter and friend. Her reflections and insights provided the broad strokes, the underpainting of my portrait of Annabel Rowe.
Hallie Mueller
The details for that portrait came one night over a long dinner with Hallie. She was still recovering from her rock-climbing accident, but she was getting around, and we met at Flower Child, not far from her house. I still have my scribbled notes from that meeting, dated 2/25/19. I asked the basic, first question: “How does Annabel think about a painting?”
Hallie began by talking about compositional options—overlap, cropping, size variation and distance, angles, and foreshortening. She explained that there is a focal point, which is the thing that first grabs attention; then visual pathways, implied lines that you can create, for example, through repetition of a color that can lead the eye around the canvas. Shapes can function as arrows, as can the direction of the gazes of people in the picture. Where they are looking matters. (I found myself thinking … hm, this holds true in novels, too.) She walked me through oil painting, underpainting, and glazes; tightness (say, Titian) versus looseness (the Impressionists) in a painting. She explained the importance of the “light source” and illumination; think of Caravaggio’s windows. And she explained that with colors, there are different degrees of saturation, and they aren’t really “fixed”; for example, browns change depending on what they are next to. Oils come in tubes; a flat brush will give you sharp edges whereas a bright brush, with the oval top, is good for blending; a round brush and fan brush will give you still different effects. As for smells? Linseed oil, which makes paint less viscous; Damar varnish adds gloss and enriches darks; turpentine weakens the integrity of paint. All can be added to pigment. There was more, but this gives you an idea.
When I finished the book, there were three significant scenes where Annabel paints or reads a painting. I talked them through with Heidi and sent them to Hallie to read. I have received comments from readers who write, “I’m an artist, and the author got it right.”
I didn’t get it right. I got friends.
If you have ever collaborated in your creative work, please share your story in the comments below.
