When I was a young girl growing up in south Georgia, my mother encouraged my girlfriends and me—whether we were exploring on foot or riding our horses—to venture as far into the oak forests as we could go. She wanted me to experience true nature, to find that place where the deer and foxes still behaved as they always had in the wild. She’d say, “Go way out yonder where the crawdads sing.” And we did.

Of course, my mother probably never dreamed how seriously I would take her advice until she saw me boarding a plane for Africa with just a backpack and a one-way ticket. I spent more than two decades studying wildlife in some of the remote regions on that continent. And since then, I’ve spent as much time as I can in the wilderness.

During all those years of research in Africa, I was fascinated to find that in species of mammals who live in strongly-bonded groups—the pride of lions, the troop of baboons, or the herd of elephants—the groups are not made up of both sexes, but rather, are made up exclusively of females.

Because of our distant past, human females have a strong genetic propensity to associate in such tightly-bonded groups. There are many other behaviors, such as self-defense, protection of young, and competition for resources that can be traced back to our survival on the untamed savannas.

"...in species of mammals who live in strongly-bonded groups, the groups are not made up of both sexes, but rather, are made up exclusively of females."

As I watched the lionesses of the Blue Pride tumble in play with each other’s cubs, or sleep in easy piles with paws draped over each other’s faces, I thought of the girlfriends I left behind when I boarded that plane. I had lost my troop. I lived remotely for years and felt deeply how isolation from one’s group changes a person.

I longed to write a novel immersed in nature writing, which would examine how our behavior today is influenced by ancient genes. I wanted to write a mystery that didn’t just ask the question who-done-it—but why the culprit behaved as they did. To explore human nature with nature writing.

I wrote a story of what happens to an isolated young woman, Kya, who’s been deprived of a pride. She learned about loyalty from herring gulls, and about dishonesty from fireflies, who change the pattern of their flickering lights to get what they want. The nearby villagers, who lived in a strong ‘troop,’ discriminated against Kya simply because she was different—and alone. Just as wild creatures do.

"'Where the Crawdads Sing' is a mystery and an intense love story, but more than that it is an exploration of the raw center of human nature."

Living in the wilderness for years taught me that while humans should behave better than other primates, we also need to better understand why sometimes we do not. Where the Crawdads Sing is a mystery and an intense love story, but more than that it is an exploration of the raw center of human nature. Some of that core can only be seen in the deeper shadows of Nature itself.

I learned from a book that crawdads don’t really sing; I learned from my mother that if you go far enough into the wilderness you will hear them anyway. And my mother was right: We need to go way out yonder where the crawdads sing. That is where our secrets lie among the dishonest signals of fireflies.