“Something moves the earth and stars”: A Love Letter to The Woman from the Waves
In the summer of 2018, I met my best friend for the first time. We’d become close through a shared fandom over a year earlier, and that friendship leaked out of the digital on one long weekend when I packed my bags and flew down to Atlanta.
Among the many wonderful memories I have of that trip, one is of a long early evening walk we took together through her neighborhood. The sun was beginning to dip below the trees when she said abruptly, “So I had this idea for a story.”
I heard the delight in her voice. I said, “Tell me the story.”
She did. Over the next half hour, as we walked, she spun a tale that took place on a remote Scottish island, where a woman was marked as prey by a terrifying creature out of local myth: a monstrous ocean horse. The creature became obsessed with the woman, and in turn, the woman became obsessed with the creature, the two of them locked in an all-consuming, eternal bond neither of them could—or wanted to—tear. One scene sent the hair up on my arms as she described it to me: the woman and the creature walking together under the cover of night through the streets of the island’s only village, silent, unseen, and alone.
The Woman from the Waves, Roslyn Sinclair’s latest book, is special to me for many, many reasons. But one stands out: it was the very first story she ever told me.
In some respects, this book contains what we’ve all come to expect from Roslyn’s writing; it’s age gap, slow burn, gorgeously written, deliciously spicy, and incredibly romantic. It’s also a radical departure—not just for Roslyn, but for sapphic romance more broadly. I promise you, The Woman from the Waves is like nothing you’ve ever read.
This is an epic book. Epic in every possible way: in its word count, risk-taking, world building, stakes, and feelings. It’s incredibly cinematic, with images and scenes I can see so clearly without even closing my eyes. The plot is driven by a propulsive, feral hunger that grabs you between its jaws and drags you relentlessly forward, much like the mythological creatures it depicts. The book’s beating heart is tender and desperate and anguished and so, so hopeful. There are lines in it that have legitimately changed how I think about what exists beyond our perception.
Give The Woman from the Waves your eyes, but know that it won’t be satisfied. It’ll take your mind and throat and heart, too.
Yes, the premise is absolutely wild, in that it sounds a little like the beginning of a comic routine: “A nun and a Scottish water horse walk into a bar…” But beneath the very strange skin of The Woman from the Waves, there’s deeply familiar muscle and bone. We are all of us fumbling through the messy, devastating, spectacular process of being human. The Woman from the Waves believes that every little bit of that fumbling is essential. To yearn, to strive, to seek, to find, to fail, to fall, to rise again, and most of all, to love with teeth—that’s what we’re here to do. Hæra and Madeleine show us how.
On the surface, our main characters are completely different. Hæra is an Each-uisge, a shapeshifting mythological ocean horse, who’s desperately seeking an escape from the restrictive life of a female in her herd. She’s fierce, ferocious, possessive, blunt, and provocative, a true fire queen, and she’ll stop at nothing to get what—or who—she wants. The object of her obsession is Madeleine, a kind, generous, and extremely repressed nun whose life-changing encounter on an Orkney beach brings her face-to-face with the self she’s always denied.
But in many ways, Hæra and Madeleine are the same. Deeply traumatized by their experiences, they find the bravery to cast aside beliefs and relationships that have harmed them. By the end of the book, both transform dramatically, their shared journey giving them each the courage and understanding they need to embrace happiness. And their romance—whew. It’s been a long time since I’ve read a couple as ferocious as these two are about each other, both emotionally and physically. Roslyn’s already well known for writing incredible chemistry, but Madeleine and Hæra reach new heights. (Relatedly, if you didn’t have a thing for the phrase “her woman” before reading this book, you will.)
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Jonathan, Hæra’s much older friend and protector, whose arc I won’t spoil except to say that I never expected to love a male character in a sapphic book this much. His elusive story is just on the edge of our peripheral vision, lending more dimension and shading to Hæra and Madeleine’s powerful connection. Maybe the best way to communicate how strongly I feel about Jonathan is to tell you that I—a lesbian who typically doesn’t care about men’s stories—desperately want for the follow-up to The Woman from the Waves to be his tale.
Given the above, you may be surprised to learn that this book, in addition to grappling with incredibly serious questions about faith, religion, identity, family, and desire, is also just plain funny. Some moments will make you laugh out loud, in surprise as much as in pleasure; as you might guess, Hæra’s time as a human leads to delightful misunderstandings and revelations. You’ll never think of whale song in the same way again.
I’m by no means the only reader who’s been swept away by Hæra and Madeleine’s story. Take a look at the reviews on Goodreads, which are just as glowing as this blog post. One calls The Woman from the Waves “absolutely transcendent…consuming, utterly compelling, and ecliptic.” Another states, “I knew it would be good, but boy, I didn’t expect this book to touch me in so many ways.” And a third reviewer comments that “there were moments I literally gasped. Moments when my heart raced so fast I had to pause, breathe, and keep reading. It’s that gripping.” One of my favorite review lines sums it all up perfectly: “If anyone can take a nun and a creature from Scottish folklore and turn them into characters in one of the hottest, most riveting sapphic books of the year, it’s Roslyn Sinclair.”
Am I biased about this book, given my relationship with its author? Obviously. But being biased doesn’t equate to being wrong. I’m speaking not just in my capacity as a tremendously proud wife, but as someone who teaches and writes about literature for a living. So when I make this next statement, I’m doing so in my professional capacity, as both an English professor and an active member of this community: not only is this the best book Roslyn’s ever written, but I truly believe it’s one of the best sapphic romances ever published.
Bold statement, I know. And risky, too—I’m setting a very high bar, and there will be folks who disagree with me. But a big, bold, and risky book deserves a big, bold, and risky statement.
The Woman from the Waves sets a new standard for what’s possible in sapphic romance. Grab your copy on June 5 and get swallowed by it.
