Watermark: A Novel of the Middle Ages

By Vanitha Sankaran

A mute young woman in Medieval France survives persecution through the power of the written word in this “stunning debut from a talented author” (Historical Novel Society).

France, 1320. The daughter of a small village papermaker, young Auda is mute from birth and forced to shun normal society. Those who embrace ignorance and superstition believe her to be cursed, so she finds solace and escape in the wonder of the written word.

Audra’s very survival is a testament to the strength of her spirit. But this is an age of Inquisition and intolerance, when difference and defiance are punishable "sins" and new ideas are considered damnable heresy.

When darkness descends upon her world, Auda—newly grown to womanhood—is forced to flee. Setting off on a remarkable quest, she will soon discover love, forge a new sense of self, and reclaim the glory of her father's art.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Mar 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9780061989971

Book preview

Narbonne, France

Introduction—Winter 1300

Chapter One

Elena clutched her distended belly and tried not to cry out. A cold winter draft blew through crevices in the cottage’s half-timbered walls. Yet rivulets of sweat still ran down the sides of her face. Propped in a corner, straddling a hay bale, she crossed her arms over the life growing inside her.

Not y-yet, she hiccupped amid the fierce pain cramping her belly. She tilted her head back to stop her tears from falling and the salty moisture dripped into her throat. Her gaze rested on the wildflowers drying upside down in the corner. An old tune flitted through her head, a folksong her own mother had taught her, the lyrics long forgotten. In a broken voice, she hummed the melody.

Another sharp pang shot through her and she doubled over with a low cry. Warm liquid surged between her legs. She reached to feel the sticky wetness: thick dark blood. She looked across the room, over the floor of withered rushes and past the hearth to the single plank of wood that served as supper table, kitchen lath, and her husband Martin’s workbench. A near-empty flagon of wine rested beside his paper vat.

Knocking her head back against the wall, she cried out for him. He had left hours earlier with their daughter, Poncia, to find the midwife. Why hadn’t they returned?

Suddenly, the door flung open and an elderly woman stumbled through on thick legs and swollen knees. Not the midwife but someone else. Biatris, the healer. Had Martin brought her? She’d lost track of everything but the pain.

The woman directed her assistant, Onors, to build up the dwindled fire, then hovered over Elena. The healer looked like a leathery vegetable, weathered and withered, with a head of white wiry curls.

Elena whimpered and searched for her husband. She found him standing in the shadows, holding their daughter. Fear shone in his dark eyes. She tried to smile. He shook his head only once. Onors trundled him outside.

Elena keened a low cry after him. Another wave of birthing blood coursed onto the linen blanket tucked between her legs. The bleeding had to stop, but how? She curled her head over her stomach.

Rest easy, Biatris said. She reached out to steady Elena, then glanced at her apprentice. We need a compress of cinque-foil root to slow the bleeding. Look in the kitchen garden.

The young girl cast Biatris a grateful look and slipped outside. A cold winter gust blew through the rickety cottage and the door slammed shut. Elena gasped again, arms encircling her belly. Her body pushed out globs of half-clotted blood.

The healer shoved a cup of wine at Elena. She choked on the bitter poppy-laced drink.

Its warmth slid down her throat and seeped into her veins, limbs, belly, and head. Soon a slow drowse tugged at her mind. The upsurge of pain receded into a dull ache and then into nothing. Her fingers relaxed and dropped the cup. She blinked, her vision murky, her eyelids weighted down.

Biatris stumbled among the stools and barrels cluttering the dim one-room home. Elena tossed her head back and forth. Oh, Martin would be angry, the way the woman pushed aside his tools, quills, and ink that lay scattered on the supper board.

Another jolt of pain knifed through her belly. Elena stifled a gasp and breathed in and out to calm herself.

That’s it, loosen the muscles, the healer said, picking up Elena’s cup. She waddled to the table and washed her hands in the basin of river water, then dried each finger.

A low moan escaped Elena’s lips. Pangs of homesickness and pain mingled together. Mare, she sobbed. But her mother wasn’t there. Elena was alone, without mother, aunts, or cousins who could see her through this birth. Surely there would have been work enough for Martin in the family paper mill back home. Why had they ever left? A forlorn sadness gurgled through her lips. Her limbs slackened.

Biatris passed a full cup of the drugged wine back to her, then lowered herself beside the makeshift seat of hay.

Elena blinked back tears and swallowed the draught. She felt cold, too cold, her only remaining warmth focused in the lump of her belly. The metallic stench of blood gagged in her throat. She wheezed. Why was it so hard to breathe?

My child. My babe, she said in a fading whisper. She dropped the cup. Dry tongue licked dry lips. Would her babe survive? How, motherless in this world? She focused on the healer, who reached to touch her clammy forehead and smooth her sweat-soaked hair. Please.

Biatris gripped her hand and leaned in. The Church permits us only to cut babes from dead wombs. Her gaze darted to the door through which the young assistant had disappeared. By then it may be too late. She stared into Elena’s eyes.

What had she said—dead wombs, dead babes? Elena stared back, comprehension dawning. She placed her hands on either side of her belly and felt the receding warmth.

Cut my babe free, she said in a whisper. Her breath burbled into a sob. Who would look out for her children, both of them? She struggled to remember what her daughter looked like.

The healer looked at her. No time to call for a priest, but I bless you in God’s name. He will understand.

Struggling to her feet, the healer reached for her bag and uncorked a clay bottle. She poured a thick white salve on Elena’s belly and rubbed the numbing balm in circles into her cold skin.

Prepare yourself, she said and shoved a wooden stick between Elena’s teeth. Her hand curved around the haft of her large knife. She placed the tip of the blade on Elena’s pregnant bulge and drew in her breath. Exhaling, she pushed the knife in hard.

Elena screamed, a shrill cry that split the bare room. The stick slipped from her mouth and fell onto the straw. The woman was killing her—the babe too? The healer pulled the blade through her thick flesh. Elena screamed again. Her stomach tore apart like a split gourd. She kicked, trying to escape the agony.

The healer broke through her belly and reached into her womb. Elena thrashed, shrieking. Biatris pressed on her abdomen and drew the child out, guiding its head and shoulders into the cold air. The infant’s scream rang out.

Elena sobbed. Her babe lived.

In the background, the healer fussed over the child, cleaning the mucous from its eyes, nose, and mouth. Elena closed her eyes and drew in ragged breaths.

But then Biatris gasped. My God.

Elena turned her pain-swollen gaze to her babe. Another girl? A boy? Alive?

Your babe has will to live, the healer said, though Elena heard reluctance in her voice.

Biatris brought the infant close but Elena couldn’t see, could only feel its slimy skin stick to hers. She tried to smile, but her lips felt heavy and curved downward.

My babe, she said. Her fingers swiped at the air and fell. The room grew dimmer. A tune—her babe needed a tune. Again her mother’s song ran through her head; with cracked sobs, Elena tried to hum along. A few words surfaced in her hazy memory.

Love, my love, how can a mortal be

So pure, and innocent as is she.

Dressed in beauty, will and God's grace

What wonders will she see?

Such wonders you will see, she thought to her child, and closed her eyes.

Chapter Two

The lady Elena was dead.

Onors, the healer’s apprentice, dropped her muddy clump of roots and leaves and rushed to Elena’s side. Seeing a child kick beside its mother’s eviscerated body, she crossed herself. Had the old healer butchered the poor mother and cut the child from the dead corpse? She looked more closely at the infant and gasped. This thing was no child at all but a sickly creature, ivory-colored in skin and hair, white as bone. Even its eyes were so light, the translucent pink of a worm.

It had come too soon, undercooked, with no color yet baked into its skin and hair, so silent that she wondered for a moment if it still lived. But then it blinked.

Demon, she said in a whisper and crossed herself again. The healer swaddled it in a rough woolen blanket and thrust it toward her. Onors jumped back, warding the white creature away. Biatris stepped closer and shoved it into her arms.

Nonsense, she said. Take the babe to her father. Her gaze lingered on the mother’s peaceful face, then dropped to the bloody tear that gaped from Elena’s deflated stomach. I have work yet.

Onors mouthed a quick prayer. She held the creature at arm’s length and shuddered in revulsion. What a small thing, weak, like an animal that had been born in a barn, doomed to be crushed under its mother’s feet—as this witch-child ought to have been. The healer turned her back on them. Onors shifted the babe’s weight onto one hip and grabbed the bloodied knife.

She tucked the blade into her sash and pushed open the door. Father and daughter rushed to her with fearful questions writ large in their eyes.

She’s dead, Onors said, turning as their faces crumpled. They stumbled past her into the house. The door shut behind them and she bolted with the babe.

She ran blindly, sliding between brush and garigue all the way downhill until she ended at the river Aude. Fed by glacial runoff from the Pyrenees, the water ran black save for white eddies laced with shards of floating ice. She placed the witch-child on the rocky ground and stared at its too-white flesh and watery eyes, and the blood-specked white fuzz that covered its head. What kind of child could be born without color?

No, not a child, but a creature cut from dead flesh and born bedeviled. She’d heard about wretched abominations like this before, born in other towns. Cursed omens, they heralded ill fortune and despair. Maybe this one would bring bad crops, drought, even the dying sickness.

Roumèque, she whispered at it with a tremble. She should dump the creature in the river and watch it drown.

But she couldn’t do it.

An idea was born in her head. Dipping her hand into the river, she crossed herself and traced a cold, wet cross on the child’s forehead. Shouts sounded, not far in the distance. She withdrew the knife. Born badly. But still I can save you.

She shoved three fingers into the child’s mouth and pinched its tongue. With her free hand, she brought the knife under the pink flap of flesh. In a single tug she slashed the blade through. Bright red blood spurted from the wound and splattered against Onors’s face. The child opened her mouth into a wide, perfect circle and screamed.

O Lord, Onors said, not flinching at the girl’s cries. She raised her eyes to the cloudy sky. We give this unto You to protect the babe from the devilment. She flung the piece of flesh into the dark river. It swirled into an eddy and disappeared.

She stared at the shrieking child. If the wound healed and the babe lived…No ifs. This babe would live. Determination burned bright in her pink eyes. Yet at least now the curse of her birth would bleed from her soul, and then the babe would be safe.

Just as the child launched into another wail, her father burst through the copse of trees, holding his other daughter. He dropped the girl and rushed toward Onors. Snatching the babe, he slapped Onors hard across the face. She fell to the ground.

Scuttling away from his fury, she gaped at him with unblinking eyes filled with tears. Didn’t he understand?

What have you done? he demanded. His eyes darted over the babe’s pale face, then moved down the length of her body. His fingers rested on her lips and came away crimson with blood. He wrenched loose a corner of the child’s blanket and held the bunched up cloth against her mouth. A vibrant red seeped across the brown material. He let out a low cry.

Nothing wrong, I’ve not done anything wrong, Onors insisted. The words tumbled from her lips.

The man pried his older daughter off of his leg and placed the infant on the dirt beside her.

Papa? the girl cried.

Just sit. He advanced toward Onors.

I’ve not done anything wrong, she said again. I’ve saved her. She backed up on her hands and rear. The babe won’t never speak, won’t never have the chance to spread the devil’s lies.

Biatris crashed through the brush in front of them, sweating and struggling to recover her breath. Her gaze roved from Onors to the father, then rested on the young girl and the babe. She rushed to them with a cry.

Forgotten for a moment, Onors pulled back along the riverbank.

The babe lives. She may yet be saved, Biatris said, taking the injured child in her arms. She lurched toward the path that led uphill back to the house. If we move fast.

The man swallowed and clenched his fists. He stared hard at Onors, then followed the old woman. Onors watched until the pale-white babe disappeared from her view. Had she saved it? Would it live?

Only God knew.

It is too difficult to detect heretics when they do not openly admit their error but hide it, or when there is not certain and sufficient evidence against them.

—Bernardo Gui,

Practica inquisitionis heretice pravitatis

Part I

Spring 1320

Chapter Three

A clap of thunder startled Auda awake. Bolting upright on her pallet of hay, she pushed aside the oilcloth flap covering the square outlook by her bed. Storm clouds darkened the predawn sky. She huddled in her blanket and breathed against the furious thump of her heart. Closing her eyes, she tried to drowse to the rumble of her father’s snores from the loft above, but it was no use. She couldn’t fall back asleep.

By habit, she reached across the pallet for her sister, Poncia, to ask her to sing a tune, a love song or a hymn from church. Sometimes, after a nightmare, her sister would hold Auda’s hand and hum an old lullaby of their mother’s. But Poncia, only six months ago, had married and moved away.

Auda slid out of her pallet and pulled a woolen dress on over her shift, her bare toes scrunching against the cold winter ground. Thin ice shards had formed in the basin of rainwater that stood outside the larder where she slept. She picked them out and washed her face, then stole into the hearth room. Dried rushes and alder leaves crunched under her feet, their sweet woody fragrance rising up.

The fire had dwindled low under the cook pot. Auda fanned the embers, then opened the shutters over the outlook and rolled up the oilcloth flap to let in some air. The rain had started again. Little wonder: it had rained every day for the past four months in Narbonne. Each morning, the downpour arrived with the salty breeze of the marin off the Mediterranean. Normally, the dry gusts of the evening cers would chase the rain away, but not these days. These days the rain was constant.

The inquisitors are circling Narbonne like hawks, her father had told her with a dark look, while the priests claim the rain is all the work of the devil. He snorted. Pure nonsense.

But the Church had added extra masses at Matins and Prime just to accommodate all the newfound piety.

Auda fed the fire sticks of wood. Orange shadows flickered over the sparsely furnished room. In one corner, a table and two benches stood alongside a shelf that held a pair of empty wine flagons and a green wax tablet with a wooden stylus. Two sackcloth cloaks hung on hooks nailed into the door.

Fanning away the acrid smoke that rose from the burning pine kindling, Auda tiptoed down the corridor that led to her father’s studio. A familiar sense of anticipation prickled her spine.

This was where she and her father made paper, reams of blank sheets to be filled with words from all manner of people—rich lords, learned priests.

Even her.

The workshop was centered around a large vat holding the linen mixture that made up the paper pulp. Fashioned from an old wine barrel, the vat sat on a plinth over a low fire and next to a drainage gulley cut into the rough brick floor. Auda crossed the channel by way of a wooden duckboard and lit a torch. The flame’s reflection danced on the vat’s black liquid surface. Today her father would beat the macerated linen into a pulp; when he was done, the actual papermaking would begin.

Auda dropped the torch in a sconce over a row of smaller barrels, where the degrading cloth that would go into the next batch of pulp was kept. The wet linen rags, balled up inside, were already moldy and fermenting. She breathed in, picking out nuances in the ripe odor, the sweetness and the acidic undertone that lingered in her nostrils. Another week and they’d be ready.

She sat down at the corner desk. Its surface was cluttered with a miscellaneous ruck: quills, blades, brushes, old bits of paper, older pieces of parchment, pots of ink and sand, and an empty flagon of wine. In the middle sat a large book that her father, Martin, had rented from the stationer.

He rented books as often as he could from Tomas, even when the men had no work to discuss. A shopkeeper with strong ties to the Church and the Parchmenter’s Guild, Tomas was loath to speak in public about Martin’s paper, but for a few discreet coins would approach the papermaker with some side work.

Cheap men need cheap copies, Tomas would say, sniffing as he handed her father a thick wrapped package containing a book made of parchment.

It was almost always a text for a university, though occasionally a colorful romance or collection of verse made an appearance. Martin would make sheets of paper in an identical size and number to the parchmented work and copy the text in his careful hand. A binder would sew the work up into gatherings of eight pages, then stitch the gatherings together and bind them with cloth-board covers. The resulting book would be far less grand than a parchmented work with colorful illuminations and a tooled leather cover, and would fetch small coin for all the effort. Still, Martin jumped at every chance to copy a parchmented book on paper.

Someday people will flock to us directly, eh, Auda? he said often. They will seek us out to have their words captured in a dozen books spread all over Christendom.

Auda quelled a shiver of excitement and tried not to dream, as she often did, that the first original book Martin made would be written by her. Surely that was his dream, too—why else would he go through such effort to bring books home to share with her? She could picture it, a leather-bound volume containing pages and pages of her writing, maybe even decorated with bright illuminations. If Poncia knew of her ambitions, she would scoff at them both, asking what kind of woman wanted to write books? Few could even read.

Poncia might well be right. But what if she wasn’t?

The Lord saved you for a reason, my special child, Auda had heard her father mumble once. If only I knew why.

She caressed the dark book on the desk, her fingers trailing over the fat black script on the book’s cloth-board cover. Liber compositae medicinae. She’d told her father she wanted to make a booklet of simples and herbal cures for her sister, on the occasion of Poncia’s saint’s day. Her sister was ever at a loss to remember which herbs fought melancholy, which soothed distemper, and which chilled a fever. The week after Auda had shared her plan with her father, he had brought her this book on physicking. The volume was due to go back to the stationer’s today.

She flipped it open. The first page, as usual, bore the book’s curse.

He who thieves this Book

May he die the death of pain,

May he be frizzled in a pan.

Says the servant of the Lord:

Steal not this Book, stranger or friend

Or fearing the Gallows will be your end.

And when you die the Lord will say

Where is my Book that you stole away?

The curse should have scared her but Auda only felt a kinship with the writer who’d authored the warning not to mistreat his book.

Reaching into a desk drawer, she pulled out the paper booklet she was making for Poncia. She’d already sketched in the symbols for wind, earth, fire, and water over a drawing on the human body, copied from a Greek codex she’d read months before. On the front page she had drawn a pelican, which had been a favorite of their mother’s. On the back page she’d written herbal wisdom on getting a babe secured in the womb.

She flipped to the blank middle now and chose a last few simples to copy. Humming while she worked, she wrote each recipe like a verse to be sung, crafting it into a rhyme that her sister could remember.

For soothing sleep, slumber sublime

Lemon and lavender’s the cure.

If frights and fears in dreams disturb,

Add chamomile, to be sure.

She read the words over, pleased. It was only in moments like this when she thought she heard her own voice.

A loud snore interrupted her tune and she glanced up at the loft. Her father had returned home late last night from the tavern, drunker than a sheep’s head soused in ale. His snores rumbled, deep and regular. Dawn would soon break. If he didn’t wake soon, he would miss the morning market. Three times a week, on market days, Tomas allowed Martin to set up in a corner of his stall to serve as a scribe, a reader and writer of letters for those who could not do for themselves. The work earned Martin a few pennies, and Tomas even more for supplying the parchment and ink.

Auda laid down her quill, intending to wake her father. Yet as if on cue, he groused himself awake and a few moments later, lumbered into the workshop. The months of dampness had stiffened his joints and he walked with a slight limp. The rains had waterlogged the crops and thinned the stock of birds and beast sent to the butchers. Martin’s once ample paunch had receded into mere chubbiness, though his shoulders were still strongly muscled.

Martin climbed the steps to the vat and loosed a stream of urine into the murky water to help the soaking linens degrade. He leaned in and plunged a hand into the pulpy water. Gray strands stuck to his fingers.

Sitting back, Auda focused on her father as light from the torch caught him in profile. On the surface he looked like any other man, stout with swarthy skin, thick limbs, and cropped hair. But to her his brown eyes spoke of his true character, of risk and passion.

She loved watching him work in the quiet moments of the morning. Somehow, when he held his long-handled paddle and churned the pulp, his awkward gait grew into grace, his reserved manner into an expression of devotion.

Today, however, he didn’t pick up his tools. Instead, he rubbed his wet fingers against his smock and sought his daughter in the shadows.

"Ah, ma filla, he said, his thin lips curving into a wide smile, one week more and this batch will be ready to sell. And just in time! This is going to be the batch that changes everything for us."

Auda lifted her head to meet his merry eyes. What did he mean?

We have order for paper, Auda. A real order! Not this piddling work of scribing dull letters or copying books for the cheapest bidder. No, this request is for blank sheets, not just a few but four whole reams. And here’s the best part. Martin leaned in. The order comes straight from the palace!

Chapter Four

Auda blinked, trying to understand. Someone from the palace wanted his paper? Who could it be? Where had this person found Martin? Had he said what the paper would be used for? Her father had been trying for years—since before she was born—to get anyone of worth to notice his paper. She wanted to know every detail.

Martin mistook her confusion for wonder. I know, it’s an amazing fortune for us. But there’ll be time enough to discuss it later. Come, we’ll be late to meet Tomas.

He hurried her out of the room before she could ask any questions, reminding her to take the physicking book with them. While he packed a sack of the tools he needed for scribing—Tomas provided nothing but a corner of the stall and a small table and stool—Auda busied herself with the ritual of getting dressed to go outdoors. She tied her bone white hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, covering it with a square of tan cloth and a cap over that. Wrapping herself in a thick sackcloth cloak, she drew the hood around her face.

Out of habit, she patted her nose, lips, and cold cheeks, feeling the tiny pockmarks where ash from the hearth and vat had singed her cheeks. Skinny and pale, with the straight body of a boy, she was certainly no beauty. But as long as she tucked her hair under layers of fabric and her white skin stayed hidden under her dress and cloak, she would look no different than any other girl swaddled against the cold rain.

She wrapped the book in a sackcloth cover and waited for her father outside. The air smelled of drenched earth and loam. Auda raised her face to the drizzle, breathing in the cold wetness until her chest felt full to bursting.

Come along, Auda, her father said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. Let’s be off.

She followed

Reviews for Watermark

[jenzbaker · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

a tender love story between a poet paper maker (mute albino, Auda) and her beloved Jaime. great evocation of medieval superstitions and fear of Inquisitors, far-fetched but still wonderful

[janerawoof · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

How prejudice and ignorance can rule. A papermaker and his albino/mute daughter are caught and tortured by the inquisition. Very good description of papermaking of that time.

[mlleehreen · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The novel, set in the 13th century, starts as the protagonist’s mother goes into labor. It’s a difficult birth, and ultimately Auda has to be cut from the womb. The midwife discovers that Auda was born albino – surely a sign that she is the devil’s spawn. While the mother dies on barn floor, the midwife runs to the river to kill the cursed child – but the midwife can’t bring herself to drown the baby, so she cuts out its tongue instead. At that point, Auda’s father Martin arrives on the scene and takes charge before more harm can come to his child.

After the scene of Auda’s birth, we skip forward in time and meet her again as a young woman. She’s deeply invested in her father’s paper-making business, although paper is slow to catch on. Most of the population is illiterate, and the nobles and churchmen who do read and write can afford higher-quality parchment made from animal skins. Furthermore, there’s a stigma attached to paper because it has spread to Western Europe via Moorish Spain. These setbacks don’t deter Martin and Auda – they believe paper will pave the way to a more literate populace and are unusually forward-thinking people devoted to the common good.

Meanwhile, the Inquisition has kicked into high gear. The book is centered in Narbonne, near Carcassonne, where the Inquisitors violently suppressed the Cathar heresy. Auda in particular is in grave danger; as an albino, many superstitious locals already believe she is a witch. But that’s not the only unusual thing about Auda. She’s also literate – her father taught her to read and write so she could communicate without her tongue – and engaged in writing a book of herbal remedies. Later, she finds employment at the palace as a scribe where she gets into the habit of composing risqué poems for the amusement of the Vicomtesse and her friends – including a feisty feminist ballad in which a young maiden repels the advances of a lusty priest. In short, Auda is busily painting a gigantic bull’s eye onto her forehead.

Auda’s sister Poncia is worried that Auda is in danger, so she tries to arrange a marriage between Auda and a wealthy miller. Poncia thinks that if Auda can lead a normal life, she will be less suspicious; she also worries about Auda’s welfare upon their father Martin’s death. Auda agrees to meet the miller, but he’s fat, old, and worst of all – illiterate. She immediately turns down his suit, justifying her decision with rhetorical questions like “Why did everyone assume a woman had to marry and keep house?” or explaining, “To create a thing of beauty – was that not what everyone wanted? Poncia with hopes for a child, Martin with his paper. And Auda? All she had ever wanted was to find her voice.” Somehow Auda was programmed with a 21st century feminist sensibility, despite the fact that she was born in the 13th century.

Then Jaime appears on the scene. He’s young and handsome, unlike the dreaded miller, and he’s an artist. Jaime is a poor painter who makes religious portraits to order for noble patrons, but he also pursues a private passion for simple sketches of daily life. This is yet another anachronism in a book that bursts at the seams with historical inaccuracies – Jaime’s passion for sketches of ugly fishwives and other commoners is several centuries ahead of his time. Auda and Jaime go on dates, and at one point Auda actually visits him in the room he’s renting at a local brothel.

The Inquisition does eventually catch up to Auda and Martin, and it’s Poncia who points the finger. Martin is killed, but Jaime manages to bust Auda out of the city jail before her execution. The two flee Norbonne together and start a new life.

There’s not much to recommend THE WATERMARK. The writing is dull, and behind the eccentricity of a tongueless albino protagonist, the plotline is pure cliché: Auda is a proto-feminist who rejects the traditional role of women in favor of passion for her work and lover. Sankaran put some effort into research, but none of her characters act like they belong in the thirteenth century and at key points in the story, even the historical wallpaper peels away. Definitely a pass.

[seaskys · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

an amazing story of paper making and the first watermark set in the middle ages, and of course the trails and life of a family of papermakers.

[shuffy2_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Auda’s arrival into this world was tragic; during child birth her mother had to make the tough choice- save her own life or that of her newborn child. Now an adult, how did Auda’s mother’s decision to save her life put her in harm’s way? Auda is raised by her father, a papermaker by profession, a somewhat new trade for the time. She spends her days away from the glaring eye of the public; Auda is mute and in an age of Inquisition, when superstition and ignorance overshadowed reason, her differences were seen as a threat. Now that she is a woman, her sister Poncia tries to arrange a marriage for Auda in an attempt to save her from the small mindedness, but it sets into motion a series of events that spiral out of control. Auda’s attempts to be a good sister and daughter only make matters worse. Will she find love or will she lose everything near and dear to her?Great book about the Middle Ages! Religion, the Inquisition and the spread of the written word was a scary yet vital time in our history. The book centers on Auda but gives a good picture of expectations and assumptions during this time: class standing, the church and love. I found the book riveting and it kept me turning the page, it did feel a bit rushed at the end but the story is still solid. I would recommend to historical fiction fans, especially those interested in the medieval period.

[bale_5 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Watermark, as it related to the beginning of paper-making was interesting. The plot development was well done. However, as the author, Vanitha Sankaran, began her descent towards the finale, the story very quickly began to weaken. Disappointing.

[jlminetree · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I’ve finished reading this book a few weeks ago and, to me, this was decent reading material, however, I feel that there could have been be a lot more added to this story to make you really connect with the characters. At times I've felt like emotions between the characters were rushed and gaps in the story bothered me. (I would post up a couple of examples but I do not want to spoil anything for anyone.)All in all, it was a nice story, but could have been better.When I am reading a book where I am just enthralled into the story it would be extremely difficult for me to put it down, however, with this I didn’t have any problems setting it aside.

[containedobsession · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed this book. I thought the writer did a good job with communicating Auda's thoughts and feelings without letting her talk with words. I loved the descriptions of papermaking and learned a lot about the difference between parchment and paper--and that one could be a tool of heretics. I can't wait to read her next book.

[cameling_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An albino in medieval France was often thought to carry the Devil's Mark, and in a fit of fear and superstition, a midwife's assistant cuts off newly born Auda's tongue and renders her mute for life. Auda not only survives, but is loved by her father and sister, sheltered and protected against those who may wish her harm, and against the threat of the Inquisition seeking to burn heretics.Her father, a papermaker and scribe, teaches her to read and write. Her courage and intelligence bring her to the favorable attention of the vicomtesse of Narbonne. Her exposure to lyrics of previous troubadours inspire her to write her own stories.But fate has other things in store for our damsel, and she falls to into the hands of the Inquisitors and is accused of being a heretic. Will she find a way to survive or will she succumb? Will she find the love she craves and a life without fear?A good first novel, and in general it carried a good pace. I thought some of the characters could have done with more development, but on the whole, I liked it.

[susanbevans · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Vanitha Sankaran's Watermark is a beautifully written piece of historical fiction that will completely immerse you in the story within the first few pages. Auda is a unique and interesting character and it is impossible not to be immediately drawn into her life. Her struggles are the same struggles universal to women of the time period, but are amplified by her physical and educational differences. Auda and the other characters in Watermark are realistic and well-written, and come to vivid life through Sankaran's imaginative descriptions.Sankaran's writing style if phenomenal. Her depiction of 1300s France - the people and small towns - as well as details of papermaking and scribing, are well-researched and artistically portrayed in Watermark. Auda's story is engrossing and memorable. Once I picked up Watermark, it was unimaginable that I would put the book down until I had devoured every last word. Fascinating and expertly paced, Watermark is a definite literary gem.

[jdquinlan_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

4.5 out of 5 StarsFrom the Back Cover: The daughter of a papermaker in a small French village in the year 1320 - mute from birth and forced to shun normal society - young Auda finds solace and escape in the wonder of the written word. Believed to be cursed by those who embrace ignorance and superstition, Auda's very survival is a testament to the strength of her spirit. But this is an age of Inquisition and intolerance, when difference and defiance are punishable "sins" and new ideas are considered damnable heresy. When darkness descends upon her world, Auda - newly grown to womanhood - is forced to flee, setting off on a remarkable quest to discover love and a new sense of self...and to reclaim her heritage and the small glory of her father's art. My Review: In this impressive debut novel, Vanitha Sankaran crafts a very original tale centered around a very different kind of heroine. Auda is born an albino and the story opens with the gruesome circumstances of her birth, where a decision made by a superstitious midwife's apprentice renders her mute for life. Fast forward twenty years to Auda as a woman grown. Auda lives and works with her father, a papermaker. Her father and sister have done a good job of protecting Auda from the outside world, but her sister has recently married and moved out of her father's home, and things are changing in Auda's world. Auda can't speak, but she can read and write, and in addition to copying texts for her father, she writes stories of her own and dreams of sharing them with the world. But her sister has other plans for her, to see her married and to remain safely hidden away. "What form of story do you like best?" This is what Auda writes on a little slip of paper, the first question she wants to ask of the man her sister has arranged for her to marry, and it was the moment I lost my heart to her. It's also the moment I realized I was in trouble, because people like Auda living in times like those didn't have happily ever afters. I had to tell myself not to get attached to her and her hopes for a full and happy life. And oh, how Auda yearns to live a full and happy life. She's intelligent and inquisitive, and has reached the point in her life where she's ready to stretch her wings. But Auda's kind heart combined with her sheltered existance keep her from fearing the cruelty of others, and thus she goes along a little naively, unaware that seemingly innocent actions can draw unwanted attention. Which is unfortunate, for the town of Narbonne is on edge. An endless season of rain has ruined crops. Fear of heresy is sweeping through the country and priests are flocking to Narbonne to root out the cause of the evil weather. As heretic pamphlets begin surfacing more frequently in the town, the Inquisition turns its eyes to those who write, and to those who make the paper for them to write upon. "If a man hears an evil idea, unless his mind is bent toward evil, he will not dwell on it, will forget it before long. But if that same idea is written, he will be drawn back to it, again and again. Evil has a temptation and man is bent toward it." Auda's father comes under heavy suspicion and that means trouble for Auda. The story is compelling and well-paced, leading up to some pretty intense climactic scenes that keep the reader hooked right up to the sweet and satisfying conclusion. There were a couple of scenes that seemed to have been written specifically to draw attention to little nuggets of research the author found interesting (as explained in the author's note), but for me they came off as awkward rather than enlightening, since they didn't really have anything to do with the story. Minor quibbles, though. I thought this was a refreshingly original novel, fast-paced and very enjoyable with touches of poetry and story-telling. I loved the setting of this book, in the little seaside town of Narbonne rather than in a big cosmopolitan city like Paris and I enjoyed reading a story about someone who lives in the shadow of the lord of the land, rather than reading another story from the point of view of the nobility. Highly recommended for anyone looking for something different in historical fiction and interested in getting a glimpse of facets of medieval life not often explored

[zibilee_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Fair-haired Auda has been mute since birth, and due to her strange looks and lack of speech, has been sequestered away from society for most of her life. Living as an assistant to her father, the paper maker, Auda dreams of one day penning her own work of art on her father's pages. Though Auda and her father lead a quiet existence, life in their bucolic French village is becoming increasingly fraught with unease, as some in the town are being accused of heresy against the Church. But Auda has more pressing problems, for her sister is contracting a marriage between the young girl and the town's unattractive miller, a situation that causes Auda no end of unease. In order to escape his attentions, she contracts herself to the vicomtesse as a scribe in the castle. As she spends her days copying poetry from the crumbling parchment of the past, Auda discovers that a group of inquisitors are bearing down on the village and that their intent is to burn those who they deem to be heretics. Soon Auda comes to realize that she and her father are in grave danger by the rumors of heresy swirling around the village, and that they may have to sacrifice everything to save themselves and the ones they love. Told with a bewitching style and voice, Watermark is a dark swirling tale of secrecy and fear, set in a time where being different can be deadly.From the moment I plunged into this tale, I realized that it was going to be a dark and treacherous ride. The story opens with the very dramatic scene of Auda's troublesome entrance into the world, leaving her motherless and disfigured. I knew just by this passage that Auda's life would be one fraught with difficulty and pain, and though there were some very joyous moments in the story, the tale lived up to my expectations.I liked Auda and felt a strange protectiveness throughout the story. She was, in essence, an intelligent innocent, unschooled in the ways of the world, yet still independent and brave. Though most of her life was spent hidden and isolated, she had the same dreams and wishes for herself that most young girls have: to find love, to be respected and valued in the community, and to practice her art. She was not the type of character to feel pity for because she never sunk into pity for herself, choosing instead to lead her life with wonder and acceptance. She had very strong family ties and I really liked the relationship between her father and herself. She was not only his apprentice but his friend and confidante, weathering the hardships of life right alongside of him. Their relationship was sharply contrasted with the relationship she had with her older sister, Poncia, who was always meddling and lecturing, trying to be the maternal force in Auda's life. I had a strong dislike for Poncia and felt her to be at times very cruel.Towards the middle of the book, Auda gets the chance to form a romantic relationship with a fellow artist. This was a nice aspect of the plot and tended to drown out the darker elements of the story, giving a nice balance to the narrative. As she begins to blossom in new ways, she grows beyond her small world of isolation and forges her way into the world surrounding her. The relationship between the two lovers was unique because it was not only forged in seduction and attraction, but also in mutual respect and admiration for one another's craft. Though the lovers have a difficult time rising above their situations and dangers, they are steadfastly loyal to one another and in the end are rewarded for it. I do wish that there had been a bit more focus on their relationship in the book because I really enjoyed reading about their times together and thought that it would be interesting to watch their relationship grow a bit more.There were also a lot of great inside details on the craft of papermaking in the book. It's a craft that I had been curious about but knew very little of. The details of paper making were imparted with a great deal of clarity and filled in the plot very nicely. So much about this type of artistry would probably be foreign to most readers, but it was all conveyed with enthusiasm by the author and made for very interesting reading and speculation. I had no idea that it was such a detail oriented craft and that it was not at all popular in its early days.The sections that dealt with the town's harassment by the inquisitors was truly frightening. Most of the suspected heretics were nothing of the kind, yet they were made to stand trial and torture and were most always executed, no matter what their level of guilt. It was in these sections that the story became gritty and raw. The fear of the Inquisition was a palpable vein running through the characters' lives and it seemed no one was safe from being arrested and burned in this town that had previously been peaceful and sheltered. This aspect of the plot felt very authentically documented and was thoroughly realized within the narrative, and at times, it was the crux of the story. Even the nobles of the town did not escape suspicion, though they were more capable of bartering themselves out of harm's way than most of the other villagers. I think that the author was amazingly adept at creating tension and fear in these scenes, and for me, these were the parts of the story that really stood out with distinction.This book had a great dark and foreboding atmosphere and some very moving and dramatic plot elements that gave the story an edge over most other historical fiction of this kind. At times though, I felt that the plot moved a bit slowly and in a more roundabout way than what I had been expecting, and I found at times that I had to be patient with the story. If you are the type who enjoys historical fiction that centers around lesser known times and events, I think this book might be of interest to you. Readers who enjoy courageous and independent female characters might also appreciate this book. Though the book was involving, it was not overly dense, and aside from the plot lagging at times, it was an entertaining read. There are also few surprises tucked into the narrative as well, which I think will draw its readers deep into the recesses of the story and give them something to ponder.

[soniamarie_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I guess I'm the first person not to be jumping up and down with joy after reading this novel, a story about a mute abino girl who is the daughter of papermaker in the middle ages, but here goes.. First, what I didn't like: Poncia, Auda's sister. If that woman wasn't already getting slapped around, I would have jumped in there and slapped her around myself. Her and her self rightousness had me cringeing throughout the reading of this. Also, despite fascinating facts regarding early papermaking (love the recipes in the back of the book by the way!) I found the book dull at times as nothing much seems to be going on. The Inquistion has come and everyone is wondering who is a heretic and Auda is falling for a painter and writing or reading verses of love everyday. That sums up the middle. Finally, the moment of betrayal in the end: I seen it coming and thought Auda dumb for not seeing it herself.End of complaints. Here is what I liked: Auda's writing. Upon finding numerous written verses about or by women, Auda realizes that in them, women have no choice and she pens her own verses, giving women a choice in the story. "The old verses never let women decide, choose what to want. They are always victims of a man's choice. I wrote something different. I wrote these tales. To spread the word. She chooses, not the men." Obviously, Auda is a woman ahead of her time. I also liked that last quarter except for its predictablity. I liked how Auda stuck to her guns. I also thought that despite its dullness at moments, the novel was very educational about the Inquistion in France and the effects it had on the people, priests and peasants and noblemen alike.Not a bad book, but I wasn't enthralled and I didn't find myself thinking of it long after setting it down, nor was I on the edge of my seat wondering what would happen next. I wish to part with a final quote that appeared often throughout the reading of this that I liked: "Women are no lesser than men, men no lesser than women."

[jaimehuff1_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In a time when women had few opportunities, let alone a young girl who is born albino and due to being albino, had her tongue cut out and rendered mute, Auda is trying to thrive. The book begins with her birth in 1300, Auda's mother dies from a rough child birth where Auda had to be birthed by a crude cesearean section and she is born a "white witch" and she was deformed due to her unfortunate birth. Then "Watermark" jumps to 1320, when Auda is a grown woman, her sister is off and married and she is at home helping her father with his papermaking business. She reads adn writes and has dreams, skills that are a necessity for someone who is mute. During a time of the Inquisitions, Burnings of witches and Heretics, and the Crusades against Jews and Infidels, being something "different" is a curse. Through Auda's trials and tribulations, the author takes you through her journey of survival, love and the art of papermaking.I am not sure how I feel about this book. I felt absolutely ZERO connection with Auda. Generally, I fall for the underdog and cheer them on. With this story, I just didn't care as much as I would normally. I didn't want anything bad to befall her but I didn't feel that strong pull that a reader should feel. I thought the historical aspect of the story was amazing and especially the art of papermaking was extremely interesting. I felt the dialogue was underwhelming. There is definitely SOMETHING there, but I feel that something was missing. That "spark" was gone. I just wasn't wowed but I also didn't despise it. It was readable but not re-readable for me.