Synopsis
Calling is a story about women’s self-discovery and empowerment within Goddess spirituality and Pagan witchcraft. Although the progress of the storyline might suggest a sentimental, New Age journey to self-fulfilment, the detail of the narrative presents some of the contradictions and illusions of the spiritual quest, and the way in which it is pursued alongside the mundane desires and limited ambitions of much of contemporary urban life.
The narrative begins in Leeds, in the one bedroom flat of Frances Dryburgh, twenty-nine, in a nondescript clerical job, and single, with a string of failed relationships behind her. At the beginning of the story, however, she is upbeat; a desirable stranger called Nathan has moved into the neighbourhood and has asked her to go out with him. Frances is disturbed when he invites along two old friends: Debs, an initially unfriendly black woman, and Jose, a gay South Asian man from Goa. Yet something about Debs and her troubled history attracts Frances; in particular, the fact that she has used elements of witchcraft to move beyond the unhappiness of her childhood. Frances is desperate; her job is threatening to become very stressful, and so she takes Debs’ advice and tries to use magic to gain some control over her environment. She begins to have strange dreams, and experiences waking visions in which she sees an entrancing feminine figure. She visits the stone circle at Avebury for the Equinox with her new friends, where she has a vision of the Goddess whilst looking at the full moon. The feeling of empowerment this gives her, added to the fact that the witchcraft seems to bear fruit at work, convinces Frances that she is on the right spiritual path. Her companions are so convinced of her powers that they think she should take on something with global importance, and agree to support her in enacting magic to try and influence - from afar - the impending G8 conference. They want to ensure that the world’s wealthiest nations will take radical measures in responding to the global warming crisis. Thanks to Jose’s knowledge of popular Catholicism, they decide to enact twelve Pagan rituals at shrines of the Black Virgin, among the volcanic mountains of the Auvergne, in France.
There, amongst the dramatic landscapes, Frances has the most intense and awe-inspiring of her visions, and uncovers what she believes to be her special destiny. Yet the backdrop for this is the frustration of her unrequited attraction for Nathan, and she is misled into thinking that the spiritual journey includes the promise of sexual fulfilment. On arriving home, she has to come to terms with several challenging issues at once, and throughout her experiences, there are always doubts about whether the appearance of magical success is really a genuine one. Therefore the journey Frances is forced to make is one of faith in the Goddess. The novel ends with her preparing for a career as a self-employed witch and pagan ritual maker, and she charts the changes in her life when meeting up with old friends. The final chapter contains a quirky ending.
The writer and poet Debjani Chatterjee MBE has read the novel in its present form. She comments: “This extraordinary growth and transformation novel about ordinary folk in inner city Leeds reveals a world that is hidden for most people. I found its charting of a Goddess worshipper’s spiritual journey absorbing and uplifting. A wonderful debut novel!”
Samples from CHAPTER 1
(Including its opening and end, with three dots for omitted text.)
The figure of a woman appeared amongst the shadows high on the bedroom wall, as if suspended there. She held a baby, wrapped up so warmly and carefully that it could not be seen. Gently, she placed the infant in a cot, and stood smiling at it, a benign and caring mother comforting her child. Then she turned to look down at the little girl below in her bed. Her smile changed, became a menacing grin, the angelic being transformed into a terrifying witch demon. Inevitably, she advanced down the wall aggressively towards Frances, who peeped out as she cowered under the blankets. The witch floated towards the trembling girl, growing larger as she approached, the malevolent grin more and more terrible. No hooked nose or prominent chin or warts, her features neat and pretty, but her evil purpose clear. She disappeared out of sight behind the door open by the bed-head. Frances looked anxiously at the narrow slit between the door and its frame, so near to her unprotected head. The witch was there; her eyes sparkled and she laughed with pleasure as she began to poke her fingers through the crack towards Frances. She taunted her victim, relishing the terrible things that she was about to do to her.
Frances awoke with a start, and looked about nervously. The small bedroom that met her anxious stare was not the one she had slept in as a little girl; it was a far cosier and more comfortable place, a room of adult security. The shadows were no longer hiding evil spirits. Nevertheless she switched on her bedside lamp. She felt perplexed. Why that dream again after all these years? It was a repeat of a compelling childhood nightmare, her earliest memory…
Friday came. Yes! Frances went for the make-up, not too much, not too little, not too tarty, not too dowdy; sandy brown shoulder-length hair drawn back over the ears, with a little pony tail, nice look, highlighting the good cheek bones, make her look younger, top and skirt tonight, put them jeans away, girl, your legs aren’t bad, heels but not too high, tights, yes, you might feel warmth o’ love but it’s also February, the air is cold and your skin is white. Couldn’t eat, maybe we’ll catch summat later, she said to herself, very nervous, at my age why do I still feel like this, it’s even worse than when I were sixteen? Plans - ‘Stay in main part o’ town,’ Sal had advised, ‘You don’t want to be at rough end after 10.30, or someone’ll deck him and spoil evening’. Food for thought - avoid Red Lion, that bitch Becky goes in there, and I’m not losing this guy to her, in fact stay away from regular haunts to avoid trouble, although hopefully a few girls from work might see me on my way through town and be jealous, good for some crowing to cheer up dreary Monday morning...
On my way out, no - back in, feed cat, out again, no - back in, did you turn taps off? Third time out, no, third time in again, good idea to take switch card, bit rude to have no cash on first date. He won’t mind stopping at cash point, maybe with him protecting me from muggers, I can get fifty quid out all at once, instead o’ going back and forth for twenties. Last look in mirror, OK, maybe chew some gum to make sure breath is fresh, add a little extra perfume. Cass! Don’t walk in front o’ my feet, not right now! Dark outside, but not far to bus stop, and lots o’ people around. Really chilly, might be going to snow or summat. Stay on side o’ road away from dark trees on Woodhouse Moor, and always try to keep respectable-looking people in sight. Walking alone as a woman in this part o’ Leeds takes special street skills. Cyn had given invaluable advice on this: ‘If a weirdo comes near, call someone - anyone - on your mobile, and he’ll not touch you while you’re talking to someone, will he?’
Standing at bus stop, a bit early, looking at shapes as they go by, is it him, no, too short, too fat, too jerky, too drunk! Planning conversation pieces, he seems educated, maybe talk about music or my one-time interest in art and tell him things to do in Leeds, or summat. But what if he turns up with his real girlfriend! Or maybe wife? He would have mentioned it, surely? Not another evening o’ disappointment? Just him on his own, please. Is that him?! Is there somebody with him? It’s not going to be one o’ those situations, is it? No, please!
But the spirits of love were capricious tonight, because Nathan, coming closer and beaming at her as he emerged from the shadows into the street lighting, was certainly not alone...
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