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The Raven's Pool

by Deborah Cannon

235 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-1332; ISBN 1-4120-3504-X; US$18.27, C$21.50, EUR18.00, £13.00

A ruthless New York developer torments the lives of two archaeologists. A bold, tense thriller set in the San Juan Islands.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book "Jake accelerated and recklessly took the next curve in the road. He slowed and shifted gears. Twelve years, thirteen, he had searched for clues to the Raven. It was not going to be easy. But he hated Clifford Radisson, hated him for hurting Angeline. He couldn't kill the man so he would kill his dream. Even if it meant the destruction of his own -" When half-Haida archaeologist Jake Lalonde arrives in the San Juan Islands in search of the origins of the Raven myths, he is embroiled in a battle with a ruthless developer who plots to turn his archaeological sites into a theme park. He falls for a grad student, Angeline Lisbon, who is faced with a tough choice. Jake and the protection of a sacred site or Radisson and his promise of wealth and power. The developer is relentless, determined to take what he wants. And what he wants is something much more sinister and much more ancient than either archaeologist can imagine.

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About the Author Archaeologist and museologist Deborah Cannon was born and raised in Vancouver, British Columbia. Her love of the Pacific landscape and of the Northwest Coast Native myths inspired much of her fiction. She writes articles on "Writing Bestsellers" for Suite101.com and is published by Simon Fraser University's Archaeology Press, The Canadian Journal of Archaeology, and The Canadian Writer's Guide. Her fiction has appeared in Farsector SFFH in conjunction with Fictionwise.com. The Raven's Pool is her first novel. The sequel, White Raven will be released shortly. She lives in Hamilton, Ontario with her archaeologist husband and two Shihpoos, Ming and Tang. In Memorium: The Raven's Pool began as a student project at the Humber School for Writers. In January 1998, I contacted Joanne Kellock, a literary agent in Edmonton, Alberta. The novel, she said, needed work and if I did the work, she would read it again. She read it and helped revise the manuscript a total of 6 times over a period of five years. In October 2002, she offered me representation in a 3-year contract. She submitted the novel to HarperCollins and New American Library; both declined. She died of cancer in November, 2003 before the novel was sold. I have published it with Trafford in her memory. Reviews "This novel is simply wonderful in so many ways. Author Cannon is an archaeologist born in British Columbia and now living with her archaeologist husband in Ontario. Her knowledge of and love for the cultures of the Northwest Coast Native Americans is demonstrated over and over within the pages of this mystery/thriller/romance/ethnography. Yes, it is all of these in a brief 235 pages. Archaeologist Jake Lalonde, orphaned as an infant, and straddling the two worlds of the white man and the Haida culture, is directing an excavation of shell middens on Cedar Island, one of the San Juan Islands off the coast of northwest Washington State. The dig was but an economic necessity for Jake, as he pursued his true passion: the investigation of shamanism and ritual and in particular, the derivation of the Raven myth so prevalent in much of Northwest Native American myth and legend. The discovery of a raven rattle by one of the local inhabitants gives Jake the impetus he needs to legitimize his quest. Jake and his crew, which seem to be largely made up of Jake's former, present and hoped-for lovers, are confronted by P. Clifford Radisson, a high rolling entrepreneur and land developer who sets out methodically to win over Jake's crew and the local residents to his dream of building an archaeology theme park, complete with rides, concessions, hotels, and restaurants-an undertaking, he says, will honor the heritage of the various cultures of the Northwest Coast, as well as providing much-needed employment for the local population. Jake finds the prospect to be an abomination and fights the power and clout of Radisson Enterprises with all the skill and passion he can muster, but it seems to be a futile effort. He is almost literally and figuratively crushed by Radisson, especially when Radisson appears to have won the heart and soul of Jake's lover, the beautiful Angeline Lisbon. The struggle between Jake and Radisson takes on almost epic proportions as both begin to realize that they are alike in that Radisson's obsession is to develop Cedar Island and to sexually conquer Angeline, and Jake's obsession is to prove that the Raven myth was based on a real human being living some 10,000 years earlier to keep Angeline from surrendering her body and soul to the millionaire developer. Deborah Cannon has created real characters who achieve, in many ways, mythic personas as they struggle for what they want; she lovingly paints word pictures of the beautiful San Juan Islands; and with great respect she invites us to not only learn much of the lore and legend of the ancient cultures of this part of the world, but to share in the world of contemporary Native Americans of the Northwest Coast, including a wedding potlatch ceremony that brings together the apparently dissonant worlds of native peoples, archaeologists and developers. She also skillfully describes the work of real archaeologists doing real archaeology. As Jake struggles to win Angeline's love, to save the island from what he sees as a theme park hell, and to prove his Raven myth theory, we find that in a real sense Jake is struggling to find himself, his identity and the family that had abandoned him so long ago. Deborah Cannon has written a sequel, entitled White Raven, and I intend to read it as soon as possible. In the meantime, four trowels for The Raven's Pool." Bill Gresen, Mississippi Valley Archaeology Center "I finished your book at 1:15 am . . . What an emotional read, a disturbing read, a fascinating read. So many levels, I can't stop thinking about it. Now I need to read more about the Haida and others out west. You are a great storyteller. Thank you for an amazing book." Pam McColgan, Hamilton Ontario "I enjoyed it immensely!" Bill Fox Archaeologist Parks Canada, Ucluelet B.C. "Cannon's book is a refreshing change for archaeologists, anthropologists or cultural resource specialists who are looking for a relevant novel to read in their spare time. The book is a blend of current issues in archaeology, Northwest Coast mythology, and a little romance. The novel begins with the main character, Dr Jake Lalonde, an archaeologist who is accompanied by a graduate student Angeline Lisbon to investigate the discovery of a Raven's rattle. The setting is the west coast, Cedar Island in the San Juan Islands, which P. Clifford Radisson wants to develop into a tourist theme park called "Ravensworld". Jake's distaste for Radisson's mega-developments, destruction of nature and purchase of Haida artifacts is clear from the beginning and he had good reason to be concerned. Josie Davis, Jake's co-director does not seem to share his dislike of Radisson and the Regional Archaeologist, Tom Jelna, offers little support to Jake's opposition to the theme park. From Jelna's perspective, the island is government property and is scheduled for development. This is exactly what Jake Lalonde is trying to avoid but Radisson is a man who gets what he wants. Jake faces political obstacles and personal challenges in his efforts to save the archaeological heritage of Cedar Island and investigate the myth of the Raven. For most of the novel, he's seen as acting like a renegade with few supporters. Jake's crew are tempted by Radisson's offers for employment in the theme park and seem to support the development. This crew is an interesting mix and any reader who has spent time in the field, has spent time with one of these characters. Although the setting of Cedar Island and the specific events are fictional, there is an authenticity to Jake's passion for archaeology and his struggles with developers that makes this novel a must read. Once you read The Raven's Pool, you will want to read the sequel - White Raven." Nadine Gray The Midden (Vancouver) "Deborah Cannon Is A Writer To Watch". Quite frankly, I've found very few fiction authors who've managed to grab my attention enough to make me continue reading. Deborah is one who does. In this first novel of what appears will be a series, Ms Cannon intoduces us to Jake Lalonde, a half-Haida archaeologist endeavoring to find and protect relics and treasures of his West Coast native heritage. Just as determined, developer Clifford Radisson will do anything it takes to get what he wants - in this case, to build a large theme park. Unfortunately, it's going to be right on top of Jake's digs. Ms Cannon raises questions and introduces intrigue from the very beginning of this novel; but that's not all, she carries them through to the gripping, and unexpected, climax. Along the way, she weaves historical and mythological background information that doesn't intrude on the story. Interesting characters, a driving plotline, colorful writing, and short chapters all make this book an easy, but excitingly good read. Drawing from her passionate interest in First nation mythology, and her own archaeology background, Deborah Cannon weaves a tale of mystery, danger, folklore, and generational revenge on the west coast islands of British Columbia and Washington. Get your copy of The Raven's Pool soon, and keep your eyes peeled for the next installment. They'll be worth it." Tristan Parrish TCM Reviews (Calgary)

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Excerpts

CHAPTER ONE

Jake shivered, though he was not cold, and released the clutch on his Bronco. Angeline, his passenger, turned to the sunny, sea swept beaches of Cedar Island outside his window.

What was the matter with him? It was only a nightmare. In the brilliant turquoise day, he could see that. But the design on her T-shirt was making the hairs lift along the backs of his arms.

"Dreams don't tell us anything," she said, measuring her words carefully. "They are manifestations of our fears and anxieties. You're anticipating seeing the rattle; it's as simple as that."

"Do you believe in inherited memories?" he asked her.

Angeline smiled, her gold-green eyes tilting at the corners like a cat's. She was part Chinese and part White, and pretty as a peach. "I don't think so, Jake."

Her black hair wrestled with the breeze from the open window. She was the kind of woman you couldn't help but stare at. She had the kind of looks that fascinated because they were so enigmatic. Her personality was a mystery, her face unreadable. They were not a couple. Jake was a professor and Angeline was a graduate student. She was from Toronto, now attending the University of Washington where he taught. She had joined his archaeology crew in the San Juan Islands for the summer.

The crew had been working almost a month, not bothering the locals much. Then, late last week, Joe Redleaf had found a Raven rattle in Connie Amos's bog. The find had attracted the attention of Clifford Radisson, a New York developer, who wanted to turn the islands into a theme park.

Jake did not want a theme park.

A windstorm last night had scattered twigs and leaves all over the road, and as he drove over a branch, it snapped and shot out the side. He swerved along the shoreline and the asphalt cleared of debris. A gnarly arbutus with thinly peeling orange bark reminded him of onion skin. The arbutus tree zipped by and a grove of hemlock took its place. Left of him, a tongue of land jutted out. Above the tumble of sandstone, a lighthouse, red and white, chrome fixtures flashing in the sunlight, stood nestled in deep yellow grass.

Jake glanced to his right, then back at the road. He slammed on the brakes.

"Dumb mutt," he grumbled, just missing a dog galloping across his path. An orange pickup truck was parked on the shoulder, and he had almost plowed into it.

He got out to see if he had done any damage to his truck. The bumper looked fine. The pickup didn't look touched either. There was no one inside it and on the driver's door an image of twin eagles fenced.

Jake clenched his fists. He recognized the logo. Did Radisson have someone scouting around here? He braced his hand on the hood of his Bronco and squinted to the east. No one was around.

A long ramp led from a twist in the road down to a wooden dock. Beneath it, ferns, salal, and tall grass dwindled to yellow rock. The tide was out and wet sandstone textured with seaweed glistened in the sun. Further out in the shallow bay, another ramp joined the dock to floating planks where colourful boats bobbed up and down. Beyond that, the craggy peak of Lookout Island loomed sharp and green.

Angeline poked her head through the opened window. "Maybe we'd better go see if that dog is okay."

Since Connie Amos wasn't expecting them for another half hour, Jake agreed. He got back in the truck, parked properly, and followed Angeline to the beach.

Waves lapped the rocks, some birds squawked, and he could hear a helicopter somewhere.

The dog, a brown beagle, was nosing a sandwich out from a paper bag wedged between some rocks. Two ravens appeared, and one of them slipped behind, tweaked the dog's tail, while the other snapped up the food that fell from its mouth. The dog scampered away.

Jake chuckled. "The old mutt looks okay to me."

Angeline laughed too, then gestured to one of the birds with a crooked wing. "Poor thing. What do you suppose happened? Can it fly like that, do you think?"

Jake shrugged. He extended a hand and the raven hopped up and nudged his fingers with its bill. "Probably not."

He darted a look to the road above the beach. The orange pickup truck was still there.

"What's bugging you?" Angeline asked, then grinned. "You've been acting so skittish. Is the sky about to fall?"

Jake slanted his chin upward.

"Do you recognize that logo on the orange truck?" he asked. "That pickup belongs to corporate super magnate P. Clifford Radisson. He's turned more than one island paradise into a concrete haven for tourists. He's destroyed more forests and beachfronts than I have fingers or toes. The man has no regard for the natural world. I understand why he builds beach resorts and mega shopping malls, but does he have to turn my archaeology sites into a theme park?"

Angeline nodded down the beach at a lanky figure with red hair and an equally fiery beard headed their way. "We have company."

The red-haired man was dressed in jeans and a khaki vest with a surveyor's tape hanging from his hip. He glanced up as the helicopter broke through a small bank of cloud. He came closer, cracked a peanut with his teeth, and popped the contents of the shell into his mouth. The remainder of the nuts went into his pocket, and he flung the crumpled cellophane and empty shells to the ground. He lunged at the ravens and they squawked.

When he saw Angeline, a leering grin spread over his face.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Jake asked coldly as the man stopped in front of them.

"Is this Otter Cove?" he asked.

This dip of beach had no particular name and linked the lighthouse with the marina.

"Otter Cove is up past the town, north of here," Jake said. He indicated with his head the orange pickup parked on the road. "Is that your truck?"

A roar of propelling rotors descended just as the surveyor started to answer. A blast of wind slapped Jake's face. Water splashed, swirled and spun, soaking his shirt. Before he could get out of the way, another wave crested and spat in his eyes.

"What the hell is that idiot doing?" he yelled.

"Get out of the way!" the man hollered. "He's going to land!" Jake shouted to Angeline to run as the huge shadow of the helicopter lunged. It veered, swayed, swung crazily, and came right back at him. If he didn't know better, he would swear the pilot had singled him out and was harrying him deliberately.

Angeline bolted toward the marina. Jake flew at her heels. He glanced up and the helicopter flitted and flickered, blocking the sun. Rotors spiralled overhead. They both hunched, scooting between the pylons, and under the boards of the dock.

The helicopter righted itself, hovered. It lowered, rotors whirling, slowly settling onto the ground. The surveyor waited, then went over to where the helicopter had landed and opened the cockpit door. A tall pale-haired man stepped out, and sauntered toward the marina, his expensive linen shirt fluttering in the breeze.

"I'm terribly sorry. Did I frighten you?" he asked, peering under the dock.

Jake's skin crawled. This guy was a jerk. He hunkered out from between the pylons, followed by Angeline.

"I haven't flown this machine for a very long time, a bit out of practice I'm afraid. I am truly very sorry. No one was hurt, I hope? I was looking for a place called Otter Cove. Am I anywhere near it?"

The man did a double-take and his manner suddenly changed. He extended an immaculately manicured hand.

"What a marvellous coincidence, Dr. Lalonde. Just this morning I was telling Mr. Smythe here that I must try to meet you today."

Jake stared. How did he know who he was?

He ignored the outstretched hand. The muscles in the pilot's face twitched ever so faintly. "You missed Otter Cove by miles. What did you want to know for?"

"It's renowned by the locals for its beauty. A wildlife preserve, isn't it? I wanted to see it for myself."

The man's eyes were light, almost colourless. He had a slick veneer, heightened by the stylish garb, making Jake self-conscious of his own appearance. Jake's hair was hanging in wet tangled strings, and his shirt was damp from the chest down. He glowered. He turned to look for Angeline who was standing just to the side, slightly behind him.

"I'm Angeline Lisbon," she said, offering her hand.

He took it graciously. "Yes, I know. I believe you're an archaeologist too?"

He looked at the surveyor who was teasing the injured raven with an empty peanut shell.

"Mr. Sam Smythe, this is Ms. Angeline Lisbon and Dr. Jake Lalonde. And I am Clifford Radisson."

Jake flinched. Angeline smiled as the developer turned her hand palm up and rubbed it with his thumb.

"So nice to meet you at last Mr. Radisson," she stammered. "We've heard so much about your wonderful plans to boost tourism around here."

Jake had no time for this. He gestured to Angeline to start up the beach. "We're late for an appointment."

"I'm sorry Mr. Radisson," she said as Jake grabbed her arm. "We really do have an appointment. But do you know where our lab is? Please come and visit any time. I'd be pleased to give you a personal tour "

They started to leave and Radisson called out. "There's been talk in town about a Raven rattle, Dr. Lalonde. I understand it was found in a bog?"

He came and stood directly in Jake's face. Jake glanced from him to Sam Smythe who was tossing peanut shells onto the beach, taunting the raven with the broken wing.

"I collect Native art. I had the good fortune to purchase some very fine pieces from your museum. I think the rattle will make a lovely addition to my collection. Tell me, Dr. Lalonde, do you think Mrs. Amos will sell it?"

Jake answered, sharply. "Just what is the Cedar Island Museum doing selling off their collections?"

"Easy, Dr. Lalonde. I am just helping out. The museum is suffering from financial difficulties. Surely you don't begrudge my giving them a helping hand?"

"Which pieces?" he demanded.

"A chief's and a shaman's masks. Both Haida. One is an eagle, a lovely piece, perhaps you know it? And the other is the Raven."

Radisson's eyes moved to Angeline. Toe to hooked toe, two solid black birds, one with a violent streak of turquoise across its belly, were gripped in a death struggle, wings arced against the red of her T-shirt. Beneath their claws, a solitary salmon, outlined in black, fought to get away. The birds were solid forms, but the fish was a hollow outline, empty on the inside.

A breeze blew across Jake's neck, pricking his flesh.

He was half-Haida.

"We have to go," Jake said.

He walked to the Bronco. Over the truck's hood he saw the two men talking near the helicopter. In his stiff white shirt, Radisson moved toward the ravens. He dropped to his knees, and extended his hand to the injured bird.

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Catalogue Information

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