"A young woman runs away to see the northern lights"
Reviewed by Clare O'Beara
Posted October 5, 2013
Romance LGBTQ | Women's Fiction Historical
Bespelled by Robert Service's poems about the Yukon, young
LaVerne Guyer dreams of running away from the family farm
and taking ship to Alaska disguised as a boy. Washington
State seems too staid and she doesn't want to be married
early like her sister Ivah, who scoffs and promises to make
her life miserable if all she wants is hardship. The SONG
OF THE YUKON is calling and in 1921 LaVerne sets out in
secret.
Calling herself Verne, the youngster takes ship on a
freighter to Anchorage as a kitchen boy. She gets advice on
homesteading in Fairbanks; eighty acres of free land,
provided a cabin is built within two years. Working for
months as a girl in a trading post and handling goods,
she's able to ride out and prospect for land in the
beautiful rugged country. A native man called Black-Eyed
Joe agrees to be her guide upriver - there are no maps. She
meets a woman called Charlie who lives alone in a cabin.
The tale struck me as idealised - other stories I've read
show the prospectors taking pot shots at dolphins and
whales, reeling around drunk, assuming that women were good-
time girls and having to carry the immense weight of goods
that winter survival required. We are shown 'fifteen
beautiful sled dogs' which would have looked very much like
lean wolves. It's hard to credit that LaVerne has kept her
innocence about both men and grizzly bears. Finding flakes
of yellow rock in a stream, she wonders what kind of
mineral would be this colour, and decides to bring them
back to the trading post... anyone who had lived in Alaska
for a week would instantly wonder whether it was gold or
fool's-gold.
This short novel is a fine adventure in rugged country and
young adults may well enjoy the read, laced through with
poetry and friendship. Trisha Sugarek has written several
other works including gay fiction and brings her settings
vividly to life. Try SONG OF THE YUKON for a slice of life
less ordinary.
SUMMARY
ExcerptLater that night LaVerne pulled her cot over to the door of
her shack. On mild nights like tonight she loved to sleep
with the door open and her head sticking out just enough to
watch the stars and the northern lights. Tonight swirls of
red, green, gold and purple danced across the night sky.
Silent and slightly eerie, they made for a spectacular show.Earlier at Charlie’s cabin they had dined on venison steaks,
red potatoes and a cabbage salad from Charlie’s garden.
Charlie had announced that the venison was to celebrate the
first wall going up on LaVerne’s cabin. After supper LaVerne
had played her guitar and sang some of her original songs.
Just at dusk LaVerne set out back to her place, Howler
trotting at her heels. Now she lay staring up at the billions of stars in the
midnight blue sky. Over the tree tops and off to the east
ribbons of color churned and twirled across the sky. It was
one of LaVerne’s favorite sights. She sighed with deep
contentment on all that she, with Charlie’s help, had
accomplished so far. The walls of the cabin were going up;
her garden was planted; a root cellar was waiting for her to
finish and to fill. The sound of her chickens, muttering in
their sleep gave her a feeling of deep peace. Howler yipped and jerked, under her cot, as he chased a
rabbit in his dreams. Does life get any better than this?
She asked herself. To make such a wonderful friend in
Charlie and to have neighbors who cheerfully help me at
every turn? And this land, this place! Home is a pristine
clearing in virgin forest with snow capped mountains to the
east and south. A river, two miles wide, practically at my
doorstep, teaming with fish. LaVerne drifted off to sleep as
she thought about all the things that she was grateful for. Several hours later she was startled out of a deep sleep by
Howler’s crazed barking. He stood by the side of her cot and
when she reached out to reassure him she felt the hair on
his back standing straight up. “Hush, Howie, what is it?” LaVerne fumbled for the flashlight that she kept by her side
and her gun lying within easy reach. Then she heard it. A
low rumbling, guttural, growling. Suddenly her chickens were
squawking and trying to fly, hitting the sides of the wire
enclosure. Her goats had set up a terrible din of cries.
LaVerne swung her legs over the side of her cot and slipped
into her boots in one fluid motion. With her light in one hand and her pistol in the other, she
stood and carefully walked out of the shack and towards the
enclosure where the animals were.
The growling had deepened and LaVerne thought she could hear
the distinct sound of bones being crushed. Her dog whined. “Howie, stay.” She told him. When she was half way to the enclosure and with her gun
cocked and ready, she turned on the flashlight. Crouched in a corner of the pen, his front claws holding
down a dead chicken, was the largest wolverine LaVerne had
ever seen, alive or skinned. He growled and barred his teeth
at the unexpected light and then went back to his meal. The
nerve of this monster! LaVerne thought. He doesn’t care one
whit about me. Not afraid at all. He’s killed my chicken,
the bastard! Then rational thought took over. LaVerne knew that if she
placed her shot well she would have a skin that was worth
about fifty dollars on the fur market.
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