Sixteen-year-old Clara Monroe likes music, dancing, acting, and Einstein. She finds herself in a position to explore Einstein’s theory of time when she falls asleep on a bench by the bus stop while waiting for Peter, her boyfriend. Clara is awakened by the roar of a Harley and a biker named Billy. After a strange discussion with Billy about Einstein’s life and theories, she learns that she lost a day and missed her audition for a part in a musical. Not only that, Clara finds a make-shift shrine piled high with flowers, her dance shoes, and her picture. When Billy tells her it’s time and offers to give her a ride across the veil that separates the living and the dead, she refuses to go. Seriously, if she is dead, then why would God send a dude riding a Harley to take her to heaven? Everyone knows Death’s Ferryman carries the souls of the dead across the river in a boat, not on the back of a Harley. Unless heaven forbid, her destination is hell.
“Virginia has an amazing grasp of the teenage mind,
of teenage obsessions and problems – the mean girls at school, the jealousies, the bullies and the outcasts.”
“Designated as youth fiction,
this engrossing book is a worthwhile read for any age… As well as examining the great mystery of death, and its effect on all involved, the multi-layered book covers teenage themes of young love, bullying and judging others for their looks and prestige.”
“A young persons story spot-on to this time
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Death’s Ferryman Rides a Harley is one of those literary gems that come along rarely... ”
“Great read
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Teenage angst, bullying, jealousy, romance and add a ghost story, what do you get, a really good read. A ghost story with a twist and dash of metaphysics... ”
“Great read
READ FULL REVIEW
Teenage angst, bullying, jealousy, romance and add a ghost story, what do you get, a really good read.... ”
Excerpt
Ballycastle Northern Ireland – 1929
Every day it grew stronger. It crept across the land like a smothering vine, and at every harvest, there was more rot, diseased sheep, soured milk, and sick children. The morning of the fair, I smelled it, like the sour stink on Granda when he’d been out fishing. It had a taste too, like morning breath, no worse, like rotten fish. It seeped into our minds, kindling fights for no reason. It got Granda, and it got me. It made us say and do things we didn’t want to do, and if I hadn’t gone to the fair looking for Yellowman, maybe Peter would still be alive.
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British Columbia, Canada