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{"id":6813792567355,"title":"The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart","handle":"the-lost-flowers-of-alice-hart","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAn enchanting and captivating novel about how our untold stories haunt us — and the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter her family suffers a tragedy, nine-year-old Alice Hart is forced to leave her idyllic seaside home. She is taken in by her grandmother, June, a flower farmer who raises Alice on the language of Australian native flowers, a way to say the things that are too hard to speak.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnder the watchful eye of June and the women who run the farm, Alice settles, but grows up increasingly frustrated by how little she knows of her family’s story. In her early twenties, Alice’s life is thrown into upheaval again when she suffers devastating betrayal and loss. Desperate to outrun grief, Alice flees to the dramatically beautiful central Australian desert. In this otherworldly landscape Alice thinks she has found solace, until she meets a charismatic and ultimately dangerous man.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSpanning two decades, set between sugar cane fields by the sea, a native Australian flower farm, and a celestial crater in the central desert, \u003ci\u003eThe Lost Flowers of Alice Hart\u003c\/i\u003e follows Alice’s unforgettable journey, as she learns that the most powerful story she will ever possess is her own.\u003c\/p\u003e","published_at":"2022-03-23T13:02:37-04:00","created_at":"2022-03-23T09:19:53-04:00","vendor":"House of Anansi Press Inc","type":"","tags":["Adult Audiobooks","Adult Bestseller","Book Club Pick","By (author) Ringland Holly","Feminist Reads","House of Anansi Press","pub date: 2018-08-07"],"price":1999,"price_min":1999,"price_max":3499,"available":true,"price_varies":true,"compare_at_price":null,"compare_at_price_min":0,"compare_at_price_max":0,"compare_at_price_varies":false,"variants":[{"id":40205706559547,"title":"trade paperback","option1":"trade paperback","option2":null,"option3":null,"sku":"9781487005221","requires_shipping":true,"taxable":true,"featured_image":null,"available":true,"name":"The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart - 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She is taken in by her grandmother, June, a flower farmer who raises Alice on the language of Australian native flowers, a way to say the things that are too hard to speak.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnder the watchful eye of June and the women who run the farm, Alice settles, but grows up increasingly frustrated by how little she knows of her family’s story. In her early twenties, Alice’s life is thrown into upheaval again when she suffers devastating betrayal and loss. Desperate to outrun grief, Alice flees to the dramatically beautiful central Australian desert. In this otherworldly landscape Alice thinks she has found solace, until she meets a charismatic and ultimately dangerous man.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSpanning two decades, set between sugar cane fields by the sea, a native Australian flower farm, and a celestial crater in the central desert, \u003ci\u003eThe Lost Flowers of Alice Hart\u003c\/i\u003e follows Alice’s unforgettable journey, as she learns that the most powerful story she will ever possess is her own.\u003c\/p\u003e"}
{"AlsoRecommendedISBN_0":"9781487002930","AlsoRecommendedISBN_5":"9781770893252","AlsoRecommendedISBN_6":"9781770898240","BASICMainSubject":"FIC000000","BASICMainSubjectLiteral":"FICTION \/ General","BiographicalNote":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong \u003eHOLLY RINGLAND\u003c\/strong\u003e is the author of the award-winning international bestseller \u003cem \u003eThe Lost Flowers of Alice Hart\u003c\/em\u003e, adapted into a seven-part TV series on Amazon Prime, starring Sigourney Weaver. After living between Australia and the UK for ten years, Holly has been based in the Yugambeh region of southeast Queensland since 2020, where she wrote \u003cem \u003eThe Seven Skins of Esther Wilding \u003c\/em\u003ein her “office,” a vintage caravan named Frenchie. hollyringland.com\u003c\/p\u003e","BISACSubjectLiteral_0":"FICTION \/ General","BISACSubjectLiteral_1":"FICTION \/ Literary","BISACSubject_0":"FIC000000","BISACSubject_1":"FIC019000","ContributorBio_0":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong \u003eHOLLY RINGLAND\u003c\/strong\u003e is the author of the award-winning international bestseller \u003cem \u003eThe Lost Flowers of Alice Hart\u003c\/em\u003e, adapted into a seven-part TV series on Amazon Prime, starring Sigourney Weaver. After living between Australia and the UK for ten years, Holly has been based in the Yugambeh region of southeast Queensland since 2020, where she wrote \u003cem \u003eThe Seven Skins of Esther Wilding \u003c\/em\u003ein her “office,” a vintage caravan named Frenchie. hollyringland.com\u003c\/p\u003e\n","ContributorRole_0":"By (author)","Contributor_0":"Ringland, Holly","Description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAn enchanting and captivating novel about how our untold stories haunt us — and the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter her family suffers a tragedy, nine-year-old Alice Hart is forced to leave her idyllic seaside home. She is taken in by her grandmother, June, a flower farmer who raises Alice on the language of Australian native flowers, a way to say the things that are too hard to speak.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnder the watchful eye of June and the women who run the farm, Alice settles, but grows up increasingly frustrated by how little she knows of her family’s story. In her early twenties, Alice’s life is thrown into upheaval again when she suffers devastating betrayal and loss. Desperate to outrun grief, Alice flees to the dramatically beautiful central Australian desert. In this otherworldly landscape Alice thinks she has found solace, until she meets a charismatic and ultimately dangerous man.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSpanning two decades, set between sugar cane fields by the sea, a native Australian flower farm, and a celestial crater in the central desert, \u003ci\u003eThe Lost Flowers of Alice Hart\u003c\/i\u003e follows Alice’s unforgettable journey, as she learns that the most powerful story she will ever possess is her own.\u003c\/p\u003e","EAN":"9781487005221","excerpt_0":"https:\/\/biblioshare.org\/BNCservices\/BNCServices.asmx\/Samples?token=fcf85c1c1b298e99\u0026amp;ean=9781487005221\u0026amp;SAN=\u0026amp;Perspective=excerpt\u0026amp;FileNumber=0","Height":"8.5","HeightCode":"in","Imprint":"House of Anansi Press","MetaKeywords":"Sigourney weaver; sue monk kidd; secret life of bees; weyward; emilia hart; the lost kitchen; erin French; remarkably bright creatures; nine perfect strangers; big little lies; white lotus; hello beautiful; ann napolitano; geraldine brooks; Elizabeth strout; lucy barton; erin benzakein; growing floret; the garden chronicles; trauma narrative; family drama; botany; mother daughter relationship; Alycia Debnam-Carey; bohemian","NumberOfPages":"400","OtherText_Accolades_0":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Lost Flowers of Alice Hart\u003c\/em\u003e is a book that glows — in the fire and heart of it; in the wonder and hope of it. Holly Ringland is a gifted, natural storyteller and her novel — about finding magic in the dark; about the power of freedom and the freedom of story — istruly a light-giving, tender thing. A vivid, compelling, utterly moving debut.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Accolades_0_Auth":"Brooke Davis, author of international bestseller Lost \u0026 Found, winner of 2015 ABIA Fiction Book of the Year","OtherText_Accolades_1":"\u003cp\u003eNot everyone who visits the central Australian desert understands the landscape of it. Holly Ringland does and shares her heart instincts in this epic telling. Each page arrives to us like the first flight of the butterfly from its cocoon. \u003cem\u003eThe Lost Flowers of Alice Hart\u003c\/em\u003e is a literary gift.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Accolades_1_Auth":"Ali Cobby Eckermann, Yankunytjatjara poet, 2017 Windham-Campbell winner.","OtherText_Accolades_2":"This novel shines with courage, with heart, and with love. Infused with a tender ferocity, and the beauty and warmth of native flowers, it invokes great stories of loss, kindness and home.","OtherText_Accolades_2_Auth":"Ashley Hay, author of The Railwayman’s Wife, winner of the 2013 Colin Roderick Award","OtherText_Back_cover_copy_0":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAN INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING EVENT:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\u003cli\u003eThe novel has been sold to than fourteen countries:\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eHarper Collins 4th Estate\u003c\/strong\u003e ANZ, \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003ePanMacmillan Mantle\u003c\/strong\u003e, UK\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eHouse of Anansi Press\u003c\/strong\u003e, Canada\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eRandom House Limes Verlag\u003c\/strong\u003e, Germany\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eLuitingh Sijthoff\u003c\/strong\u003e, Holland\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eGarzanti\u003c\/strong\u003e, Italy \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eEdiciones Salamandra\u003c\/strong\u003e, Spain \u0026 Latin America\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eEdiçions 62\u003c\/strong\u003e, Catalonia region\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eMarginesy Publishing\u003c\/strong\u003e, Poland \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003ePorto Editora\u003c\/strong\u003e, Portugal \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eYabanci\u003c\/strong\u003e, Turkey \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eTchelet Steimatzky\u003c\/strong\u003e, Israel \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eShueisha\u003c\/strong\u003e, Japan \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eVulkan\u003c\/strong\u003e, Serbia \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eAST Janri\u003c\/strong\u003e, Russia \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eFayard\u003c\/strong\u003e, France\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eA DEBUT LITERARY NOVEL WITH COMMERCIAL APPEAL:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\u003cli\u003eThis is a beautiful debut literary novel with huge commercial appeal, reminiscent of The Secret Life of Bees. It is also reminiscent of the novels Our Endless Numbered Days and Swimming Lessons by Claire Fuller.\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e","OtherText_Description_for_R_0":"\u003cdiv \u003e\u003cstrong\u003eFlannel flower\n\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\/\u003e\u003cbr\/\u003e\n Meaning: \u003cstrong\u003eWhat is lost is found\n\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\/\u003e\u003cbr\/\u003e\n \u003cem\u003eActinotus helianthi\u003c\/em\u003e | New South Wales\n\u003cbr\/\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eThe stem, branches and leaves of the plant are a pale grey in colour, covered in downy hair, and flannel-like in texture. Pretty, daisy-shaped flowers bloom in spring, though flowering may be profuse after bushfires.\u003c\/p\u003e\n *\u003cbr\/\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eThe first story Alice ever learned began on the edge of darkness, where her newborn screams restarted her mother’s heart.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eThe night she was born, a subtropical storm had blown in from the east and caused king tides to flood the river banks, cutting off the lane between the Harts’ property and town. Stranded in the laneway with her water broken and a band of fire seemingly cutting her in half, Agnes Hart pushed life and a daughter out of her body on the back seat of her husband’s truck. Clem Hart, consumed by panic as the storm boomed over the cane fields, was at first too frantic swaddling his newborn to notice his wife’s pallor. When he saw her face turn white as sand, her lips the shade of a pipi shell, Clem fell upon her in a frenzy, forgetting their baby. He shook Agnes, to no avail. It wasn’t until her daughter screamed that Agnes was jolted to consciousness. On either side of the laneway, rain-soaked bushes burst into a flurry of white flowers. Alice’s first breaths were filled with lightning and the scent of storm lilies in bloom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003e \u003cem\u003eYou were the true love I needed to wake me from a curse, Bun,\u003c\/em\u003e her mother would say to finish the story. \u003cem\u003eYou’re my fairytale.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eWhen Alice was two years old, Agnes introduced her to books; as she read, she pointed to each word on the page. Down at the beach, she repeated: one cuttlefish, two feathers, three pieces of driftwood, four shells, and five shards of sea glass. Around their house, Agnes’s hand-lettered signs: BOOK. CHAIR. WINDOW. DOOR. TABLE. CUP. BATH. BED. By the time Alice started homeschooling when she was five, she was reading by herself. Though her love of books was swift and absolute, Alice always loved her mother’s storytelling more. When they were alone, Agnes spun stories around the two of them. But never in earshot of Alice’s father.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eTheir ritual was to walk to the sea and lay on the sand staring up at the sky. With her mother’s gentle voice telling the way, they took winter train trips across Europe, through landscapes with mountains so tall you couldn’t see their tops, and ridges so smothered in snow you couldn’t see the line separating the white sky from white earth. They wore velvet coats in the cobblestoned city of a tattooed king, where the harbour buildings were as colourful as a box of paints, and a mermaid sat, cast in bronze, forever awaiting love. Alice often closed her eyes, imagining that every thread in her mother’s stories might spin them into the centre of a chrysalis, from which they could emerge and fly away.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eWhen Alice was six years old, her mother tucked her into her bed one evening, leant forward and whispered in her ear. \u003cem\u003eIt’s time, Bun.\u003c\/em\u003e She sat back smiling as she pulled up the covers. \u003cem\u003eYou’re old enough now to help me in my garden.\u003c\/em\u003e Alice squirmed with excitement; her mother usually left her with a book while she gardened alone. \u003cem\u003eWe’ll start tomorrow,\u003c\/em\u003e Agnes said before she turned out the light. Repeatedly through the night, Alice woke to peer through the dark windows. At last she saw the first thread of light in the sky and threw her sheets back.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eAlice’s mother was in the kitchen making Vegemite and cottage cheese on toast and a pot of honeyed tea, which she carried on a tray outside to her garden alongside the house. The air was cool, the early sun was warm. Her mother rested the tray on a mossy tree stump and poured sweet tea into two teacups. They sat chewing and drinking in silence. Alice’s pulse beat loudly in her temples. After Agnes ate the last of her toast and finished her tea, she crouched between her ferns and flowers, murmuring as if she was rousing sleeping children. Alice wasn’t sure what to do. Was this gardening? She mimicked her mother and sat with the plants, watching.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eSlowly, the lines of worry in her mother’s face vanished. Her furrowed brow relaxed. She didn’t wring her hands, or fidget. Her eyes were full and clear. She became someone Alice didn’t recognise. Her mother was peaceful. She was calm. The sight filled Alice with the kind of green hope she found at the bottom of rock pools at low tide but never managed to cup in her hands.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eThe more time she spent with her mother in the garden, the more deeply Alice understood — from the tilt of Agnes’s wrist when she inspected a new bud, to the light that reached her eyes when she lifted her chin, and the thin rings of dirt that encircled her fingers as she coaxed new fern fronds from the soil — the truest parts of her mother bloomed among her plants. Especially when she talked to the flowers. Her eyes glazed over and she mumbled in a secret language, a word here, a phrase there as she snapped flowers off their stems and tucked them into her pockets.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eSorrowful remembrance,\u003c\/em\u003e she’d say as she plucked a bindweed flower from its vine. \u003cem\u003eLove, returned.\u003c\/em\u003e The citrusy scent of lemon myrtle would fill the air as she tore it from a branch. \u003cem\u003ePleasures of memory.\u003c\/em\u003e Her mother pocketed a scarlet palm of kangaroo paw.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eQuestions scratched at the back of Alice’s throat. Why did her mother’s words only flow when she was telling stories about other places and other worlds? What about their world, right in front of them? Where did she go when her eyes were far away? Why couldn’t Alice go with her?\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eBy her seventh birthday, Alice’s body was heavy from the burden of unanswered questions. They filled her chest. Why did her mother talk to the native flowers in such cryptic ways? How could her father be two different people? What curse did Alice’s first tears save her mother from? Although they weighed on her mind, Alice’s questions remained stuck, lodged in her windpipe as painfully as if she’d swallowed a seedpod. Moments of opportunity came on good days in the garden, when the light fell just so, yet Alice said nothing. In silence, she followed her mother as her pockets filled with flowers.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eIf Agnes ever noticed Alice’s silence, she never said anything to break it. It was understood time spent in the garden was quiet time. \u003cem\u003eLike a library,\u003c\/em\u003e her mother once mused as she glided through her maidenhair ferns. Though Alice hadn’t ever been to a library — to see more books in one place than she could imagine, or hear the whispers of collective pages turning — she felt she almost had, through her mother’s stories. From Agnes’s description, Alice imagined a library must be a quiet garden of books, where stories grew like flowers.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eAlice hadn’t been anywhere else beyond their property either. Her life was confined to its boundaries: from her mother’s garden to the where the cane fields started, to the bay where the sea curled close by. She was forbidden to venture further than those lines, and especially the one that separated their driveway from the lane that led into town. \u003cem\u003eIt’s no place for a girl,\u003c\/em\u003e her father would say, slamming his fist on the dinner table, making the plates and cutlery jump, whenever Alice’s mother suggested sending her to school. \u003cem\u003eShe’s safer here,\u003c\/em\u003e he’d growl, putting an end to the conversation. That’s what her father was most able to do, put an end to everything.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eWhether they spent their day in the garden or at the sea, the point always came when a storm bird would call, or a cloud would cross the sun, and Alice’s mother would shake herself awake, as if she’d been sleepwalking through a dream. She became animated, turning on her heel to sprint towards the house, calling over her shoulder at Alice, \u003cem\u003efirst one to the kitchen gets fresh cream on her scones.\u003c\/em\u003e Afternoon tea was a bittersweet time; her father would be home soon. Ten minutes before he was due, her mother would position herself by the front door, her face pulled too tight in a smile, her voice pitched too high, her fingers in knots.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eSome days Alice’s mother disappeared from her body altogether. There were no stories or walks to the sea. There was no talking with flowers. Her mother would stay in bed with the curtains drawn against the blanching light, vanished, as if her soul had gone somewhere else entirely.\u003c\/p\u003e\n \u003cp\u003eWhen that happened, Alice tried to distract herself from the way the air in the house pressed on her body; the awful silence as if no one were home; the sight of her mother crumpled in bed. Those were things that made it difficult to breathe. Alice picked up books she’d read a dozen times already and revisited school worksheets she’d already completed. She fled to the sea to caw with the gulls and chase waves along shore. She ran alongside the walls of sugar cane, throwing her hair back and swaying like the green stalks in the hot wind. But no matter how she tried, nothing felt good. Alice wished on feathers and dandelions to be a bird and fly far away into the golden seam of the horizon, where the sea was sewn to the sky. Day after shadowy day passed without her mother. Alice paced the edges of her world. It was only a matter of time before she learned she could disappear too.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Previous_review_q_0":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eREVIEW COPIES\u003c\/strong\u003e:\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\u003cli\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBooklist\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e","OtherText_Review_0":"This story about family, love, and reinvention is defiant in its sweetness and is stirring to its end.","OtherText_Review_0_Src":"Foreword Reviews","OtherText_Review_1":"\u003cp\u003eWhat can I say about \u003cem\u003eThe Lost Flowers of Alice Hart\u003c\/em\u003e that would live up to the beauty of the words in this book? … A gorgeous book inside and out.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Review_1_Src":"A Couple Reads","OtherText_Review_2":"An impressive coming-of-age debut.","OtherText_Review_2_Src":"Baking Bookworm","OtherText_Review_3":"An engrossing novel imbued with passion and reverence for the Australian natural world, with a cast of characters that inspire affection in the reader even as they make mistakes.","OtherText_Review_3_Src":"Books and Publishing","OtherText_Review_4":"\u003cp\u003eA dark, floral fairytale ... There is a reason Ringland’s novel, her first, and already a bestseller, has been bought by publishers around the world, and it’s not the native flowers ... The first half of\u003cem\u003e The Lost Flowers\u003c\/em\u003e is delicate and dark as a fairytale, with violent details that stick to you like burrs. But it is in the second half, with Alice out in the real world, where Ringland really gets into gear, and her talent is undeniable ... Ringland’s storytelling is driven by an undimmed sense of wonder at the darkness and light, the damage and love in people. It makes for a determined investigation of abuse and survival accomplished with profound sensitivity.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Review_4_Auth":"Sydney Morning Herald","OtherText_Review_5":"\u003cp\u003eDomestic violence and the lies that surround it—rarely is the topic explored in such a beautifully written, hopeful, and enthralling tale.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Review_5_Auth":"Herald Sun","OtherText_Review_6":"\u003cp\u003eLush, powerful ... This is an engrossing novel imbued with passion and reverence for the Australian natural world, with a cast of characters that inspire affection in the reader even as they make mistakes. Those who couldn’t put down \u003cem\u003eThe Natural Way of Things\u003c\/em\u003e will find a gentler but no less compelling journey of female survival in this novel.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Review_6_Auth":"Books+Publishing","OtherText_Review_7":"\u003cp\u003eThere’s an aching heart beating through Holly Ringland’s narrative that although at times seems almost broken, is stitched back together with shards of optimism that offer constant hope. These are characters we love, care about, and want to nurture ... A vivid and brave tale of love, loss, and inner power.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Review_7_Auth":"Australian Women’s Weekly","OtherText_Review_8":"\u003cp\u003eAt its heart, this book is about finding a way to care for yourself, in a world that sometimes likes to step on its flowers.\u003c\/p\u003e","OtherText_Review_8_Auth":"Courier‑Mail","OtherText_ShortDescription_0":"An enchanting and captivating novel about how our untold stories haunt us — and the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive.","ProductFormDescription":"trade paperback","PublicationDate":"2018-08-07","Publisher":"House of Anansi Press Inc","ShortDescription":"An enchanting and captivating novel about how our untold stories haunt us — and the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive.","Width":"5.5","WidthCode":"in"}