Oil & Water

Oil and Water is a matrilineal historical novel, in which women’s ways are studied, revered, and handed down through the generations. At the novel’s start, Sarah Noonan and her mentor Phaedra are on a quest to “restore our ancient matrimony of the Eleusinian Mysteries,” but soon Sarah is on the run, fleeing to the Azores, then Cuba, Scotland, and finally home to upstate New York where the title’s oil is drilled.

Sarah is, by turns, a seer, a researcher, a teacher, an artist. In each location and at each phase of her life, she bonds with women, learning their unique customs for ceremonies around menstruation, sex, ritual baths, childbearing… The other women are her teachers, lovers, sister, and friends—always more vital and important than the men she encounters, which is not a criticism of the plot.

This novel is the third part of the Textile Trilogy and opens in mid-stream in a cascade of sensory details, conveying tastes, smells, colors, and textures. Although it may be helpful to have first read the earlier novels, the author quickly catches the reader up through various techniques including the use of backstory, an author’s note inserted into the text, and a long afterword that provides her family’s historical background that inspired all three books.

Readers seeking long passages of dialogue may be left wanting, but those who enjoy “herstory” that includes mystical elements will find plenty to keep them turning the pages. The prose is highly descriptive, often beautiful, and frequently contemplative: the younger Sarah poses many questions to herself. Or a long arc of backstory provides the narrative of what occurred in earlier decades.

The author has clearly researched women’s ways in a number of cultures, including Pict, Seneca, Santeria, wonderfully describing how nettles can be made into lace, or various dances performed around the world, as well as sensuous encounters with other women. However, I found the actions were often described at a remove: recounted after the fact or from a distance that prevented me from rooting for Sarah’s success as much as I would have liked. For example, an encounter with the Oracle of Delphi is hugely significant but only told afterwards and with no memory of her own.

I sometimes questioned what motivated Sarah: she describes herself as a researcher, and then identifies primarily as a seer, but that identity is dropped later when art is revealed as her true passion. Her life is packed so full of adventures, languages, causes, and journeys—rather like a female Zelig—that it strained credulity for this reader. However, many women will enjoy reading this deep dive into early feminism and Sarah Noonan’s glorious explorations.