I Heard the Owl Call My Name

I know I read Margaret Craven's 1967 novel, I Heard the Owl Call My Name, for school, though I can't remember what year it was. My current copy was a present from a new friend (at the time) in 1985 and he was very disappointed, though also vindicated, to learn that I already had it and had loved it. But I don't think I've re-read it for forty years.

This book was my first introduction to Native American culture (the people of the remote village are referred to as 'Indians' throughout) and it made a deep impression -- perhaps deeper than I realised at the time. I think I Heard The Owl Call My Name paved the way for my reading of The Songlines a few years later, which made an even more indelible impression (I wonder if I should re-read Bruce Chatwin's book and see if it stands up -- or maybe not!). This slim novel recounts in clear, calm prose, the couple of years that a young vicar spends in this small community, giving of his own labour and wordly knowledge, and receiving in turn their wisdom and love.

There is a clear parallel between the experience of Mark, the vicar, who is dying, and the culture of the tribe, which is also slowly being lost. In both cases, the process is presented as sad but inevitable, to be accepted with grace, not resisted, as part of the natural cycle of the world. I don't think this novel would, could or should be written in the same way today. But I Heard the Owl Call My Name remains a beautiful and moving story of connection between two very different worlds.