Stephenie Harrison

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In her debut novel, New York Times reporter Stephanie Clifford takes readers to New York City in the years before the 2008 stock market crash. Everybody Rise follows young striver Evelyn Beegan as she attempts to break into some of New York City’s most elite circles—and will go to almost any extreme to make it happen. We spoke to Clifford about her move from reporting to fiction, social power structures and the “unlikeable” female protagonist.

This is your first published novel, but you’ve worked as a court reporter for the New York Times. Given your experience with the legal world and the undoubtedly juicy stories you’ve covered there, were you ever tempted to write a thriller or crime novel?
I’m actually pretty new to courts—I covered business for years at the Times before switching to a courts beat last year, and a lot of my observations from that coverage made it into the book. Reporting on the 2008 crash and its aftermath made a huge impression on me—we were suddenly having a national discussion about wealth, class and how we got into this mess. I wanted Everybody Rise to reflect the lead up to that time, from the easy money that the young bankers are making at first, to their confidence that the stock market will continue to rise and buoy their fortunes.

As Evelyn thinks at one point, the “more” is always there, taunting her, as it was for so many in that time. As to the courts question—I am starting work on a second novel, set in the criminal-justice world, and there is daily fodder for it in Brooklyn’s courts, as you can imagine!

Your heroine, Evelyn Beegan, goes through quite the transformation over the course of the novel and, at times, behaves absolutely abhorrently. How did you approach Evelyn’s metamorphosis and did you ever worry about taking her past the point of redemption?
There were points when I was watching in horror as she made bad decisions, but I tried to follow where Evelyn led, and to put aside worries about whether she was likeable. I was rooting for her—I felt she had this underlying social anxiety that we’ve all felt at some point (well, most of us have felt). We’ve all wanted something that’s not good for us; we’ve all tried to be something we’re not; and Evelyn is so desperate to belong that she’s willing to do anything for it. Once she realizes what she’s done, it was important to me that she figure out how to get back from this bad situation she creates—and to do so on her own, without being redeemed or rescued by a man. She gets terribly lost, but she ultimately figures out how to find her way back to herself.

You revealed on Twitter that you quietly worked on this novel for years. What was the most difficult part of the writing process? How did you manage to find the energy and creative space to write a novel in your spare time?
There are two answers to this—one practical and one theoretical. I was working on this in fits and starts for a couple of years, and then I realized that if I wanted this novel to be finished, I’d need to structure things differently. I needed to set up regular time that wouldn’t be interrupted, so I would get up at 6 and write until 8 every morning before work. Then, theoretically, I had to make sure that every morning when I finished, I’d get up the next day too and keep working at it. So until I finished a draft, I tried to turn off the critical voice in my head, and I made a deal with myself that I just had to get my rear in that chair from 6 to 8, and even if I only typed a single word, I was still ahead of where I was the day before.

At one point in the novel, a character says to Evelyn that she has been “trying to make it in Edith Wharton’s New York.” In many ways the world depicted in Everybody Rise seems not altogether dissimilar from that of a Wharton novel; in your opinion, how has New York and its society changed in the last century?
Ooh, good question. Parts of the book were inspired by “House of Mirth,” and I think Wharton remains one of the best writers about social class. What’s changing now is that the world is now a lot more diverse and a lot more meritocratic than it was in the Gilded Age. A small cadre of WASPs no longer controls, say, the business world, or colleges, or social life. In fact, growing up in Seattle, where everyone gets the same standard-issue hiking boots and fleece, I didn’t even know this echelon of people still existed. When I shipped myself off to boarding school in the East, I was startled to find not only did they exist, but they held immense social power. The question of why—of what made them so alluring despite the drastically changing times—was one of the sparks for Everybody Rise.

Let’s talk about all the Sondheim and musical theater references in the novel (including the title!)—what was your inspiration for weaving those into the story?
When I was first writing this, after Evelyn was deep into her bad choices, I felt really bad for her. I wanted to give her something that would soften her landing just a little bit. I was listening to Sondheim’s “Merrily We Roll Along” basically on repeat at the time, and that offered an answer. Musicals appeal to Evelyn’s escapism and dreaminess, and remind her—even when she’s throwing herself at this world—that there’s something different out there. The book is also a family story, about Evelyn’s fractious relationship with her parents, whom she’s eager to please and embarrassed about at once. Musicals offered something that Evelyn and her mother could share: as much as Evelyn initially disappoints her mother, and as cold as their relationship can be, they are able to share emotion through musicals. Also, it gave me an outlet for my voluminous and heretofore useless knowledge of musicals lyrics!

The movie rights for this book have already been secured. If casting were left up to you, which actors would you like to see in the film?
I feel achingly old, because my knowledge of twenty-something actresses is not very good—I’m still like, “How about that woman who was in Mystic Pizza?” I actually think the role of Evelyn’s mother, Barbara, would be the most fun to cast—a fifty-something woman who is disappointed with her own life and pushing her daughter into the life she never had. Such a fun Mama Rose role to play.

In recent years, there has been increased discussion about the “whitewashing” of literature, television and film. For instance, the TV show “Girls,” which is also set in present-day New York City, was criticized for its lack of racial diversity, and Everybody Rise is populated almost exclusively with Caucasian characters as well. What is your perception of this issue and what do you feel is your responsibility as writer when it comes to the stories you tell and the characters you populate your novels with?
Not everybody in the novel in white, but it is true that virtually everyone in the stratum Evelyn wants to break into is. While Everybody Rise isn’t journalism, but I approached researching this book as a journalist—interviewing people from this circle, spending time at events, reading sociology about class—and when I spent time in that world, that’s the makeup I found. My responsibility here, I felt, was to write about how something is, not how I wish it were.

 

One of Evelyn’s biggest downfalls is that once she starts lying, she can’t stop, until her falsehoods get bigger and bigger and she gets trapped by them. Care to share a lie you told but would like to finally come clean about?
Ha! I didn’t brush the cats this morning like I said I had, and I probably won’t do it tonight, either. . . .

Evelyn’s growing lies stemmed from some of the court cases I’ve written about for the Times. As I began to attend more cases, I noticed one commonality: The defendant’s missteps always started small. Giant drug dealers who’d committed multiple murders began by packaging one bag of heroin. White-collar criminals who’d defrauded homeowners of millions of dollars began by fiddling with their taxes. I wondered: how does someone get from a small lie—a place we’ve all been, where we’re futzing with the truth a little—to this life that is off the rails? That journey fascinated me, and I wanted to see what choices Evelyn made, how she rationalized it to herself, as she went from point A to point B.  

One of the major narrative thrusts of Everybody Rise is the pursuit of the “American Dream” in 21st-century America.  What is your personal version of this dream?
Put simply, it’s a world where everybody has a shot. One of the most frustrating things in covering courts is seeing how systemic problems affect regular people: court fines that people can’t afford, records for minor violations that keep them from getting jobs years later, even a midday court appearance that means their hourly job may be in jeopardy. Evelyn’s problems are far removed from those daily pressures, but by the end of the novel, she’s asking some of the same questions: who matters in society, who doesn’t, why some people get punished and others get off scot-free. Those are questions that, judging from political campaigns and national conversations, a lot of Americans are asking nowadays. 

 

RELATED CONTENT: Read our review of Everybody Rise.

In her debut novel, New York Times reporter Stephanie Clifford takes readers to New York City in the years before the 2008 stock market crash. Everybody Rise follows young striver Evelyn Beegan as she attempts to break into some of New York City’s most elite circles—and will go to almost any extreme to make it happen. We spoke to Clifford about her move from reporting to fiction, social power structures and the “unlikeable” female protagonist.
Interview by

In her witty and charming debut novel, Glamour books editor Elisabeth Egan portrays the struggles of one suburban mom after her husband's career setback sends her back into the workforce full time. Alice Pearce thought she had it all: a rewarding part-time job that left her plenty of time for her husband and their three children. But when she finds herself needing a full-time job—and landing one at a competitive eBook startup, Scroll—her work/life balance comes crashing down with a vengeance. We asked Egan a few questions about being on the other side of the reviewing divide, woman and work, and what the differences between her and her protagonist. 

One of the central themes of A Window Opens is the idea of women trying to successfully balance a career with motherhood and marriage. To what extent do you think this concept of the modern-day Renaissance woman is realistic or, perhaps even more importantly, desirable?
I think of this concept in terms of Renaissance people—not just women—because the expectation applies to all parents, moms and dads alike. This, at least, is progress. And the “having it all” ideal might not always be realistic or desirable, but it’s a definitely a necessity for most of us. I can’t pretend to have it all figured out; I just try to find humor in the chaos. For some reason, my lowest moments always occur at the supermarket: the time I left my car running, windows rolled down, radio on, for the duration of my shopping expedition; the time I ran accidentally over my own rotisserie chicken in the parking lot; the list goes on. I’ve learned not to go to the supermarket after work when I’m tired—or ever, if I can avoid it.

"I can’t pretend to have it all figured out; I just try to find humor in the chaos." 

Not only are you a published writer, you’re also a mother and a wife. Of the three identities, which have you found the most challenging? 
The first one is the hardest to wrap my mind around. My book is my new baby, and the experience of holding it in my hands is a little bit like holding one of my own babies for the first time. I loved them with all my heart and soul (still do), but I kept expecting the real mom to come home and pay me for babysitting. Similarly, I now expect the identity police to come around and out me as a fraud author. I’m way more comfortable describing myself as an editor than a writer—which I think is a good thing because, for me, the best writing happens in the rewriting. And rewriting again, and again.

"My book is my new baby, and the experience of holding it in my hands is a little bit like holding one of my own babies for the first time. I loved them with all my heart and soul (still do), but I kept expecting the real mom to come home and pay me for babysitting."

At one point, Alice reflects on how the demands of being a working parent today are different from when she was growing up. Her father would bring work home from the office, but there wasn’t the expectation that he be available at 3 a.m. or at his children’s baseball games. So, although technology is often promoted as making our lives simpler and more efficient, do you think that it has made things more difficult for parents?
I’m all for progress, but I have a tortured relationship with my phone. On one hand, it allows me to work from home, or from a swim meet, or to text my husband from a meeting to ask him to pick up chocolate chips on his way home from work. (You’d be surprised how often we have an urgent need for chocolate chips in our house.) On the other hand, the phone can keep you from being entirely present in one place. Nobody in my office expects a response to email at 9 p.m., but I’ll send one anyway just so I have one less thing to worry about the next day. I’m a modern-day Icarus in Lululemon yoga pants: firing off a few messages before dinner only to discover after the dishes are done that those basic dispatches have mushroomed into full-blown conversations and before you know it, I’m settling in with my phone instead of tucking in my kids. This is an unfortunate habit.

As a purveyor of ebooks, Scroll is presented as the death knell to bookstores and literary culture. Is it safe to say that you’re a paper book devotee?
I don’t mind reading nonfiction on a screen, but I prefer to read fiction in the flesh—dog-earing, underlining and, yes, even cracking the spine when the mood strikes. I love the physical components of the book almost as much as the story it contains: the spine and flyleaf, the endpapers and deckled edge; that delicious vanilla ice cream smell of a newly-minted novel. I like to foist a beloved book on my mom or a friend; I keep a stack of favorites on the radiator by my front door just for this purpose.

One of the perks Alice receives when accepting her job at Scroll is a first edition copy of A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. If you were the one doing the choosing, what book would you ask for and why?
This is such a hard question! I’d probably pick Mrs. Dalloway since it’s the first book my husband ever gave me and we both love it. Or 84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff. I have no idea whether or not this one is even on the radar of collectors, but to me it’s the ultimate bookworm’s delight.

Initially when Alice snags herself a well-paying, high powered job, her husband is supportive, but eventually he begins to feel her career is detracting from her role as a mother and a wife. It feels as though this is a common double standard in our society: Career-oriented men are commended for providing for their families, whereas career-oriented women are vilified for being neglectful and selfish. How do you feel about this paradox?
I’m not sure it’s quite so black and white. I think the perception depends on the circumstances: who you are, where you live, the demands of your particular job, how long it takes you to get there. In my corner of the world, nobody uses the word “selfish” to describe parents of any stripe; I think (I hope!) there’s an awareness and understanding that we’re all doing our best, and most families require two incomes in order to stay afloat. The loudest critical voice in my head doesn’t belong to society, or to a man; it’s actually my own voice, saying, When was the last time you reminded the kids to floss? Do we even own floss? I try to keep this voice on a low volume and focus instead on my kids’ smiles, which are the bright and beautiful.

Another important focus of this book is the notion of aging, particularly as it relates to watching our parents grow old and become dependent upon us. At one point, Alice mentions that it’s a very striking moment when you realize that you’ve switched places with your parents and are now responsible for taking care of them. Have you faced this moment in your own life? If so, what did it look like for you?
Thankfully, I’ve never been the complete caretaker of either parent, but for me the pendulum started to swing in a different direction when my dad was first diagnosed with throat cancer 16 years ago. I was 25; he was 55. He was my go-to person for advice—whether it was about taxes or health insurance or the fine print on my lease, he always had an answer. He was like a human Magic 8 ball. After he got sick, the dynamic changed. He still had answers, even if he had to jot them down on a legal pad; but suddenly he needed our help, too. He wanted to learn how to use a computer. He couldn’t lift bags of potting soil out of the trunk of the car. He needed someone to be his voice. I grew up calling my parents’ friends “Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So,” but at my dad’s funeral I remember making a split-second decision to switch to first names across the board. I felt like I’d earned that privilege.

Like Alice, you have three children and work within the publishing world writing book reviews for a magazine. For those who might wonder how much of A Window Opens is autobiographical, set the record straight and tell us some ways in which you differ from your protagonist.
I’ve never had a job where I had to scan my hand upon entry; my husband is a moderate drinker; and I’d say I’m about 10 degrees less flaky then Alice. Like her, I love New Jersey, loathe cooking and drive a minivan with 18 cup-holders.

Having worked as a book editor where you weigh in on other people’s published works, how does it feel to be on the other side of the equation?
I feel the big hand of karma patting me on top of the head. I’m glad I’ve never eviscerated anyone else’s book, but I can think of a few times when I’ve been dismissive for ridiculous reasons (the font, a smug author photo). Now that I know exactly how much work goes into a book, I have a new respect for everyone involved in making it happen, from the author to the agent, editor, copyeditor, publicist, cover designer—you name it. The village is a lot bigger than I realized, and everyone deserves credit.

One of the reasons Alice gives for moving to their current neighborhood is its proximity to a truly fantastic independent bookstore. Care to give a shout out to your own favorite indie bookstore?
Happily! Mine is Watchung Booksellers in Montclair, New Jersey. It’s around the corner from my house and is the reason we bought this particular house, which is a fixer-upper to say the least. I love the community and camaraderie there—it has the vibe of a local bar and a house of worship rolled into one.

What are you working on next?
I’m in the early stages of another novel. This one is about a friendship gone wrong. The main character is a third-generation owner of a family deli, and she loves sandwiches the way Alice loves books. I figured, why not give myself an excuse to eat unlimited pastrami and dill pickles?

RELATED CONTENT: Read our review of A Window Opens.

Author photo by Beowulf Sheehan.

 

In her witty and charming debut novel, Glamour books editor Elisabeth Egan portrays the struggles of one suburban mom after her husband's career setback sends her back into the workforce full time.
Interview by

Our Romance Top Pick for January is The Lady's Command, the first in a thrilling new Regency series by bestselling author Stephanie Laurens. In a 7 Questions interview, we asked Laurens about her career as a cancer researcher, why Regency romance is such an evergreen genre and more.

Describe your novel in one sentence.
The Lady’s Command is a crash course for two headstrong, willful and dominant characters in what it’s going to take to make their recently celebrated marriage work.

Readers may be surprised to learn that you hold a Ph.D. in biochemistry and used to work in cancer research. What prompted you to leave the world of science behind? Do you ever feel any sadness that the degree you spent years working toward now goes unused professionally?
I left the world of science behind when it became not so much about the science itself—which I loved!—but more about bureaucracy and science-politics. So no, I have not one single regret over leaving science, because staying was no longer an option; the field no longer delivered what I wanted from it. And although the degree itself, meaning the piece of paper and the letters after my name, may no longer be relevant in my work as a novelist, a Ph.D. in any research subject is more about imagination and creativity applied to researching facts and asking that evergreen question: what if? That is exactly the same skillset needed to write a novel. The skills honed in my previous life as a research scientist stand me in excellent stead in my career as a novelist.

You’ve penned over 60 books, almost all of them Regency-set historical romances. What is it about this particular genre that you enjoy so much?
Quite aside from the glamour of bygone days, of the British aristocracy arguably at its height, of the balls and soirees, the clothes and extravagant lifestyles enjoyed by the Upper Ten Thousand, to me there are several advantages in writing in the historical sphere, one of which is that there were no phones, no cars, no planes, no Internet—so people had to deal with each other face to face. For a novelist, that means a greater degree of intensity and immediacy in all interactions. In addition, in the Regency era, there was a very powerful and—for a romance novelist—useful shift in social attitudes taking place. Prior to the early 1800s, the aristocracy and nobility rarely, if ever, married for love. In pre-Regency days, for a young lady of birth and fortune, marriage was all about cementing dynastic alliances and the passing on of property; the only question a young lady was asked about marrying was whether she would receive an offer for her hand.

But after 1810, courtesy of gradually changing social mores, the romantic question facing a young lady of the aristocracy became three-fold: Should she marry for love, should she marry for wealth and position, or should she not marry at all? Of course, gentlemen of the same social strata were also facing the same novel set of questions, so would-be sweethearts had to explore what love meant to them individually and jointly, and whether love was, in fact, the mast to which they wished to pin their future.

Essentially, for the first time in history, aristocrats faced the same questions that women and men face today. Having characters dealing with the same fundamental questions about love and marriage is an important, possibly essential, factor in crafting romances that resonate with the audience of today. To my mind, that is one big reason why Regency-set historical romances work so well with modern audiences.

Devoted readers of your books will remember the main characters of The Lady’s Command from a previous novel, The Lady Risks All. Given how many novels and series you’ve written, as well as your tendency to have familiar faces pop up in later novels, how do you keep track of all your characters and make sure you keep their detailed worlds straight?
It helps that I view the world my characters populate as essentially one world—I just move to this social group or that. And because the world the majority of my characters inhabit—the aristocracy—is, socially speaking, a small one, then it is to be expected that they are acquainted with each other and that there’s always a connection somewhere.

As for keeping each character’s story straight, I can always check back on anything I’m unsure about just by reaching out and picking up the relevant book. I rarely lose track of my principal characters, but I have resorted to a spreadsheet to help with the names of their staffs! Remembering the names of the butlers and housekeepers in the various major houses is definitely a challenge!

In this novel, you upend the traditional romance trope of wrapping things up nicely at the end with a wedding by instead having Edwina and Declan already married at the start. Why did you make this choice, and how do you feel it affected the way you approached their romance?
An essential truth when working on the romance of strong-willed and independent characters is that often the wedding is only the beginning of the forging of their relationship, rather than the end. Although Edwina and Declan had a reasonable period of betrothal, with Declan often away at sea, they hadn’t spent that much time together, and during the time they had spent together before the wedding, both were projecting their most amenable faces. For characters like these two, after the wedding is when the real work of understanding each other starts.

As for how that affects the writing of the romance, not having to deal with the initial hurdles of getting to know each other, first lust and first intimacy, frees me to concentrate on the true building of the relationship and how it evolves to integrate the demands of their individual personalities.

Like Edwina and Declan, who travel to West Africa, you and your husband have undertaken some fairly epic travel adventures together. What is one of the most important lessons you have learned about love from traveling as a couple, and where did you learn it?
I couldn’t say where, as this is a lesson built on lots of experience over many years, but I would have to say that cultivating patience (perhaps that should be Patience) and the ability to just let the unimportant stuff pass without comment is arguably one of the most critical traits—and one that probably also applies in ordinary day-to-day life—but when travelling, it’s essential.

The Lady’s Command kicks off a new series and features a larger, overarching mystery and ends on a cliffhanger that will surely leave readers desperate for the next installment. Can you ease our curiosity and let us know what (and which couples!) the next three novels have in store for us?
The second installment, A Buccaneer at Heart (May 2016), is Declan’s older brother Robert’s story. Robert picks up the baton for what by this point become a multi-leg mission, and the third book, The Daredevil Snared (July 2016), commences when the youngest Frobisher brother, Caleb, steps in and effectively filches the next leg of the mission before anyone can tell him nay. The final installment, Lord of the Privateers (December 2016), is the story of what happens when Royd, the oldest of the Frobisher brothers, takes on the last leg of the mission, and in so doing, discovers a great deal he hadn’t known about himself—and about the lady who, for the past eight years and more, has held his heart.

(Author photo by Kingma+Kingma)

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In a 7 Questions interview, we asked Stephanie Laurens about her career as a cancer researcher, how she keeps her characters straight after writing over 60 novels and more.
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Romance readers know that when the sun goes down and the lights dim, that’s when things really get interesting. It would seem that Beverly Jenkins, a veteran of the genre and a self-professed night owl, is inclined to agree.

During an early morning phone interview with BookPage from her home just outside Detroit, Jenkins apologizes for her husky voice, confessing that she’s still waking up. “I work at night because when I started writing, I had a husband, two growing kids and a job,” she reveals. “The only time I had free was at night, so that’s when I worked. Now I do my best work between 10 p.m. and 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning.”

Jenkins is now in her 60s, but old habits die hard. Reflecting on her schedule, she muses that “it started out of necessity, but now it’s just what I do.”

In some ways, that statement also encapsulates Jenkins’ writing career. Since the 1994 publication of her first book, Night Song, which featured two African-American lovers in the 1800s, Jenkins has essentially single-handedly pioneered the African-American historical romance subgenre. 

Jenkins claims she did not begin writing romance with the goal of revolutionizing the industry, but she admits that the predominantly white romance genre she discovered as a girl in the 1960s never sat entirely right with her. “There were never any characters that looked like me or my sisters or my girlfriends,” she recalls. “Our stories needed to be told.” 

When asked why it’s so important for people of color to be represented in fiction, particularly historical romance, Jenkins doesn’t pull any punches. If you look at the demographics of this country, it’s getting browner and browner! To satisfy that market, you have to give people stories that represent them,” she states. “Our country has never been just black or white—it has always been a mixture of cultures. We have managed to whitewash history and cut out all the pieces of the quilt that belong to people of color, when they were the threads holding the quilt together.

For 30 years, Jenkins waited for someone to address this oversight. No one did. Finally, she realized, “If I’m not going to write these stories, then who is?” 

“If I’m not going to write these stories, then who is?” 

So she wrote her first love story, although she never intended to publish it. “There was very little, if any, African-American commercial fiction back then,” she says. “The general feeling was that we didn’t have the history or scope, and [black] writers didn’t have the skill to do it.”

For a while, Jenkins herself bought into the prevailing dogma, but, at the urging of a friend, she eventually reached out to Vivian Stephens, an African-American romance editor who went on to co-found the Romance Writers of America association. Together, they worked to get Jenkins’ book published. 

It was not a battle easily won.

“We kept getting told, ‘Great story! Great writing! But . . .’ Nobody wanted to step up and publish it. They kept saying there was no market, that black women don’t read—which is bullshit.”

As Jenkins reminisces about the prevailing sentiment at the time, there is no bitterness in her voice, only incredulity and a hint of knowing satisfaction that publishers could be so wrong. In the years since Avon took a chance on her, Jenkins has published over 30 novels, and her books have garnered her a legion of deeply devoted fans.

Forbidden is the first installment of a new trilogy and features a fair-skinned freedman named Rhine. He’s passing for white and running a saloon after the Civil War when he encounters the beautiful and fierce-willed Eddy, who owns nothing but a cookstove and dreams of opening a restaurant. Those familiar with Jenkins may remember that Rhine first appeared nearly two decades ago in the novel Through the Storm.

Jenkins had never intended for Rhine’s story to lapse for so long, but she says she simply “didn’t know where he was these last 17 years.” It was only recently that she saw reports of an archeological dig uncovering an African-American saloon in Nevada. That’s when she realized where Rhine had been hiding, and his story fell into place.

For her fans, the romance may be the beating heart of her stories, but for Jenkins, it’s all about the history itself. “The story for me has always been paramount, and the sex has been the icing on the cake—your reward for reading the history,” she says. “I want my readers to be learning something, even if they don’t realize it until after they’ve closed the book! Little by little, I’m trying to stitch all of those [forgotten] pieces back into the history quilt.”

It’s a job Jenkins feels privileged to perform, but she confesses she would welcome some company.

“I have this huge market of ladies—of all races—who are waiting to read more historicals. Hopefully someone else will come and take the genre forward,” she says. 

However, Jenkins isn’t resting on her laurels. In 2016 alone, she is aiming to release three books. It’s an immense amount of work, but she has no plans to slow down any time soon. “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I have got maybe another 20 years in me,” she chuckles.

Looking back at what she has accomplished in the last two decades, one can only imagine what new triumphs the next pair will hold. What is clear, however, is that in her pursuit to write about African-American history and piece together the quilt, Jenkins has woven herself into its very fabric.

 

This article was originally published in the February 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Romance readers know that when the sun goes down and the lights dim, that’s when things really get interesting. It would seem that Beverly Jenkins, a veteran of the genre and a self-professed night owl, is inclined to agree.
Interview by

Anton DiSclafani follows up her bestselling debut, The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girlswith another morally complex and compelling historical novel. The After Party charts the ups and downs of a friendship between two women who are navigating society in the wealthy Houston community of River Oaks. Cece, married with children, has the typical life of a 20-something woman in the 1950s—and she can't help but worry about the less conventional choices made by her beautiful best friend, Joan. As Cece tries to protect her unpredictable friend, dark secrets surface. 

We asked DiSclafani, who now teaches Creative Writing at Auburn University, a few questions about her new book.

For your first novel, you had a personal connection to the North Carolina region in which it is set. What drew you to Houston in general, and the River Oaks community in particular?
​My entire extended family lived in Texas at one point (many of them still do), so I spent a lot of childhood vacations staring out the backseat of our rental car. We used to drive through River Oaks so my mother could admire the houses; after a while, I started to admire them, too.

Houston in the 1950s is a fiction writer’s dream. Anything went. People were spectacularly rich, but the societal rules that dictated other, older parts of the country didn’t exist there.

In the Author’s Note, you mention that you spent a good deal of time researching the Shamrock Hotel, one of the centerpieces to this novel where more than a few pivotal moments occur. Did you dig up any juicy tidbits about the hotel that you weren’t able to incorporate into the book?
Rumor has it that Frank Lloyd Wright took one look at the Shamrock and asked: “Why?”

One of the areas where The After Party particularly shines is in its candid depiction of the complexities of female friendship—the devotion, but also the resentments and viciousness that can crop up. Can you talk a bit about Joan and Cece’s relationship and the dynamics that you wanted to explore between them?
I wanted to explore what a friendship looks like in all its agony and glory. The extreme, instinctive closeness that characterizes a friendship between girls, first, and then how, in this case, that closeness continues through adolescence and into adulthood. People move around so much now, but until relatively recently it wasn’t unusual to die in the same place you were born in. So that kind of friendship interested me—a friendship that began in girlhood and continued into adulthood.

But what happens when one friend pulls away? When the friendship sours? Will the one friend survive without the other? That’s what The After Party is about—surviving friendship.

"That’s what The After Party is about—surviving friendship."

As a writer, what is the personal appeal to setting books in the past as opposed to the present? In your mind, does historical fiction offer any advantages over novels with contemporary settings?
There are all sorts of historical pressures a novelist can use to her advantage. It was a different world for women (for everyone, of course, but especially for those who weren’t white, wealthy men); I find that world fascinating to write about. Choices were very limited, and the limits built tension. In this case, what happens when a woman didn’t want to get married at 22 and have her first child at 23? That wouldn’t be a source of conflict if the book were set in present day. Everyone would understand.

The immediacy of the modern world is exhausting. You can’t remember a tiny piece of trivia at a dinner party, you look it up. You send a text to a friend and you expect a response immediately, and worry when you don’t get one. I like that the past isn’t so rushed. From a novelist’s perspective, there’s a lot more stewing, a lot more wondering about what someone else is thinking without receiving any sort of electronic signal.

In the 1950s, acceptable standards of behavior for women and what constituted a scandal were quite a bit more conservative than they are now. Without giving anything away, what was your thought process when it came to constructing a storyline that was faithful to the time but would still appeal to and (hopefully!) surprise and titillate modern readers?
We’ve grown up and moved forward, in some ways, but in other ways we’re still shocked by certain attitudes and behavior on the part of women. I think it’s easy for a modern reader to relate to the past’s codes of decorum. And, in a way, when you’re writing historical fiction you’re not writing about the past. You’re writing about the present, and you set in the past to emphasize certain things.

"[W]hen you’re writing historical fiction you’re not writing about the past. You’re writing about the present, and you set in the past to emphasize certain things."

Were there any specific lessons you learned when writing The Yonahlosee Riding Camp for Girls that you applied to your second novel?
It was a beast of a different order. Yonahlossee felt like it wrote itself (or perhaps I’m flirting with nostalgia). But I had just graduated from my MFA program when I started Yonahlossee. Nobody expected anything of me. This time around, of course, there was pressure. First I wrote a failed book (or 250 pages of one) that I had to set aside, and then start over. Now I see that the failed book was my way into The After Party (I took one of the less important characters, Cece, and made her the main character), but at the time my outlook wasn’t so rosy.

Once I found the story, I wrote the book quickly. And it didn’t require nearly as much revision as Yonahlossee. So I think the process of writing the first draft was more difficult because I was thinking harder. I was trying to layer the book in ways that would pay off a hundred, two hundred pages down the road.

In addition to a being a published author, you’re also an Assistant Professor in the English department at Auburn University and have taught creative writing courses as well. What’s your favorite class to teach and what do you love most about being in the classroom?
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I love teaching historical fiction! I love revealing to students how to choose a little patch of history and stake a story on it. And I love everything about being in the classroom. It doesn’t feel like work. There’s an energy there I haven’t found anywhere else.

You’re originally from Florida, but currently live in Alabama and spent good chunks of your formative years in North Carolina and Georgia. What do you love most about living in the American South and why do you think it makes such a rich place for exploration in literature?
I’ve just moved back to the Deep South after spending 10 years away, in the Midwest. My immediate answer is I love how nice everyone is here. There’s a friendliness in the South that makes it a really pleasant place to live. You don’t ever meet a stranger when you’re out and about. It’s also beautiful—people love their yards and homes. Why is it such a rich place for exploration in literature? I don’t know—it’s a good question that I’ve thought a lot about. We have such a history in the South, much of it fraught, and I think (I hope) that part of being a Southerner is constantly reexamining who you are in the world, where you come from: what the South was, what it is now, what it should become. There’s also a deep love for the past in the South. Antiques, cemeteries, homes. And the past—is there any greater territory for fiction?

The ladies in this novel spend a lot of time living it up and sipping on boozy beverages—from dirty gin martinis and Manhattans, to champagne and daiquiris. When you indulge in a tipple, what’s your preferred poison?
I actually wrote this book while I was pregnant, so it was kind of torture, writing about all of these boozy beverages and not being able to indulge. Now that I am not pregnant, I love a good gin martini, dry with olives.

What are you working on next?
A Southern gothic ghost story, set in the 1940s.

RELATED CONTENT: Read our review of The After Party.

 

Author photo by Nina Subin.

Anton DiSclafani follows up her bestselling debut, The Yonahlosee Riding Camp for Girlswith another morally complex and compelling historical novel. The After Party charts the ups and downs of a friendship between two women who are navigating society in the wealthy Houston community of River Oaks. Cece, married with children, has the typical life of a 20-something woman in the 1950s—and she can't help but worry about the less conventional choices made by her beautiful best friend, Joan. As Cece tries to protect her unpredictable friend, dark secrets surface. 

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Colson Whitehead’s sixth novel may be his best yet. An ambitious, imaginative tour de force, The Underground Railroad is the story of Cora, a slave who escapes from a plantation in Georgia via an actual underground railroad. The novel has achieved almost universal praise since its release and became an Oprah Book Club selection. It’s also our September Fiction Top Pick. We gave Whitehead a call to talk about Oprah, historical research, Donald Trump and writing truth vs. fact.

First and foremost, congratulations on the buzz that The Underground Railroad has been receiving! When I checked the Amazon bestseller list earlier today, the only book that is outranking you in Literature & Fiction is the new Harry Potter book, so that must be kind of exciting for you.
Yeah, definitely. There’s no hope of ever beating Harry Potter, but I think the book is doing pretty well. It’s definitely been a crazy week—very happy and gleeful—with everything that’s happened.

Obviously the other big news is that Oprah just announced that she has selected The Underground Railroad for her book club, her first selection in nearly a year and a half. Can you tell me a little bit about how you reacted when you found out that the book had been picked?
It was something that was pretty wild because I had handed in the book four months before, so I wasn’t even thinking about reviews or what would happen to [the book]. But I was doing a reading at Duke University, and I was checking my email on the plane right as it was landing and there was a voicemail from my agent and she just said one word: Oprah.

I immediately started cursing. I was trying not to curse because I was on a plane and people were looking at me, but I couldn’t hold it in. And then that started this whole crazy ride where I couldn’t tell anybody [that she had picked it], and I had to lie to people’s faces . . . when she mentioned [The Underground Railroad] in her magazine in June, and people said to me “Wouldn’t it be great if she picked it?” I was like, “Huh, yeah. But that will never happen, though.” So I’m really glad that the news is finally out there.

Is it weird knowing that now when people Google your name that Oprah’s name comes up in conjunction?
Well, I was a teenager when she first came into the cultural landscape so she’s always been this huge cultural figure to me, and her book club started around the time that I started publishing. But when you’re writing about elevator inspectors, you don’t necessarily think you’re going to have a lot of mass appeal. I’ve always loved giving my weird takes on the world and writing books that sound a little oddball and maybe even turn some people off, so with Oprah giving her endorsement, that really cuts through the odd description on the book cover and will hopefully help the book make its way to more readers.

 

“When you’re writing about elevator inspectors, you don’t necessarily think you’re going to have a lot of mass appeal.”

 

In an article about the craft of writing, you wrote: Don’t go searching for a subject, let your subject find you. You can’t rush inspiration.” With that in mind, can you share how this book found you?
Just to clarify, that was for a parody article about writing advice, but like any writing cliché, there is a bit of truth in it.

I had the idea for the book about 16 years ago, recalling how when I was a kid, I thought the Underground Railroad was a literal railroad and when I found out it wasn’t, I was disappointed. So I thought it was a cool idea, and then I thought, “Well, what if it actually was a real railroad? That seems like a cool premise for a book.”  But I had just finished up a research-heavy project and wasn’t up for that kind of ordeal again, and I didn’t feel mature enough or up to the task. But every couple of years, when I was between books, I would pull out my notes and ask myself if I was ready. And inevitably I would realize that I wasn’t really up for it. It wasn’t until about two years ago that I really committed to the idea. I had the idea for a novel, but the narrator was very similar to the narrator in my previous book, The Noble Hustle, a sort of wise-cracking depressive. And rather than repeat myself, I decided to challenge myself and do the book I found scary to do. When I floated the idea out to people, they seemed really excited about it in a way that was new, so I thought that seemed like it was an idea worth pursuing.

Given that The Noble Hustle was about your real-life experiences competing in the 2011 World Series of Poker, would you say that it had you in the mindset to take a gamble?
I guess you could say that! But really, every book is a gamble. Can I pull it off? Will the idea defeat me? Am I up to the task? There’s always that kind of fear about what you’re about to take on. Figuring out how to overcome it and sidestep the danger and fear is important.

“Every book is a gamble.”

After sitting with this idea for 16 years, is there anything you can point to as the catalyst that made you feel like you were ready to tell this story?
Honestly, so much time had passed that I finally asked myself, “Why am I putting this off? Why am I afraid to do this?” Slavery is a daunting concept to contemplate, and it’s daunting to put your characters through the kind of brutality that telling a truthful story about the topic requires, so those things definitely gave me pause. But I’m older now and I have kids and both of those things pulled me out of my 20-something selfishness and gave me a new perspective on my characters and the world. I think that becoming a better writer, becoming a more well-rounded person and wanting to present a real challenge to myself all played a part as well.

Do you feel that becoming a parent has played an important role in your evolution as a writer?
There is a different kind of empathy that I have for my characters now. I used to joke that after my daughter was born that instead of shooting someone, now it would maybe just be a flesh wound. It’s a lot harder to kill characters off, though I have gotten over that. You come to empathy in different ways and writing this book now as opposed to 16 years ago made a big difference in how the characters turned out.

The Underground Railroad is rooted in historical fact and captures the brutal and painful realities of what it was to be black in America during the time of slavery. What kind of research did you do when writing this book?
Primarily I read slave narratives. There are a few histories of the Underground Railroad; one of the first ones I read, which proved the most useful was Bound for Canaan by Fergus Bordewich. That gave me an overview of the railroad, but the main thing was just reading the words of former slaves themselves. There are the big famous slave narratives by Frederick Douglass and Harriet Jacobs, but in order to get people back to work, the government in the 1930s hired writers to interview former slaves. We’re talking 80-year-old and 90-year-old people who had been in bondage when they were kids and teenagers, and that provided a real variety of slave experiences for me to draw upon. It gave me a real taste for the expansiveness and breadth of plantation life as well as the slang and small details that help make the world rich.

Even though this is a work of historical fiction, I don’t think there will be a single reader who makes it through The Underground Railroad without drawing parallels between Cora’s world and our modern reality. As a writer, how much did you lean into and draw energy from the present-day and current events when writing this book?
Well, the country is still pretty racist, so it doesn’t take that much of a leap to draw parallels between black life 150 years ago and now. For example, the parallel between the slave patrollers 200 years ago who had the power to stop any black person—free or slave—and demand to see their papers and “stop and frisk” policies now. You don’t have to work hard to see the continuum of oppression in this country.

How does it feel having this book published in the same year that we could conceivably see Donald Trump elected as the next president of the United States?
It’s scary to contemplate a Trump presidency, whether you’re black or white! Seeing some of the rhetoric at his rallies, it reminds me of when I was writing the book in 2015 and wondering if I was going too far in some of the lynching scenes or being a bit too extreme. But the answer is no: the lynch-mob mentality is still around, as is the demonization of the other whether it’s the African, the newly arrived Irish immigrant, or now the Muslim immigrant. Fear and prejudice is a constant in American life. It’s gotten better by degrees, of course, but the world of Cora is not that far removed from our own.

“Fear and prejudice is a constant in American life. It’s gotten better by degrees, of course, but the world of Cora is not that far removed from our own.”

You chose Cora, a female protagonist, as the book’s core and you largely explored the parameters of the slave’s world from the perspective of women. Why did you decide to do this?
I guess I like to change it up from book to book and I had had a certain kind of meditative “dude narrator” for my last three books, so it just seemed time to mix it up. The narrator of my first book was a woman, and I like that people think that my female protagonists work, though I also think that if you have a plumber come to your house, you wouldn’t commend them for getting your drain clean. I think as a writer, it’s your job to present realistic protagonists and a supporting cast.

But you have mentioned that when you initially conceived of the book, you had a male at the center, so was there a moment when you felt that the story worked better with a woman protagonist?
Over the 16 years, the protagonist migrated: I’ve had it as a man, a man looking for a child, a man looking for his wife. When I finally committed to the book, I hadn’t explored a mother-daughter relationship before, and it seemed time to take that on.

Also, the black female experience in slavery was so terrible and different from the male experience that it seemed important to illuminate some of the specific history of African women in slavery

What was it about the character of Cora that you found the most compelling as a writer?
When you drop a character into the midst of slavery, they’re going to endure a lot of brutality and hardship. I was certainly rooting for Cora as she goes farther and farther north, and I admire her gradual awareness of the world and that she gets wiser and wiser with every step. There are certainly a lot of reversals of fortune that occur, but she keeps fighting, and that’s very admirable.

When we look at the American literary canon, there are already some incredibly powerful and moving classics about slavery and the pre-Civil War black experience like Beloved, Kindred, Uncle Tom’s Cabin and The Known World. What do you think The Underground Railroad brings to the table when it comes to contributing something new to the black slave narrative?
It’s not really for me to say what it brings that’s new; that’s really something that other people can say, or not say. For me, I just try to bring my own perspective to whatever I’m writing about, whether it’s a coming of age novel or a nonfiction book of immersive journalism. You can’t worry about what people have done before, you just have to trust that you have something new to say and execute your vision as well as possible.

When you think about the book, do you think about it uniquely as a slave narrative or, in your mind, it’s about more than the black slave experience?
To me, it’s a novel about slavery, “Americanness” and perseverance.

This is your first explicitly historical novel. Did working within a fixed historical context challenge you in ways that your previous novels didn’t?
It’s always a challenge to figure out different forms. Since I do change genres and forms a lot, that’s always a big part of the task early on.

The first chapter in Georgia I tried to make realistic and stick to the historical record, and then after that, I wanted to stick to the truth of the black experience but not necessarily the facts. As we go to South Carolina and Indiana and the different states that Cora goes to, I am playing with history and time, moving things up to talk about the Holocaust, the Tuskegee syphilis experiment, and the eugenics movement. So in some sense, it’s not really a historical novel at all because I’m moving things around. Once she gets out of Georgia and starts on her journey, I didn’t feel that I had to stick to the historical record, and that gave me much more latitude to play in terms of the themes and different concepts to work with.

“I wanted to stick to the truth of the black experience but not necessarily the facts.”

Although you have an incredibly eclectic back catalog that includes a zombie apocalypse novel and a book about coming of age in the Hamptons, one overarching theme in your novels is the issue of race and the black experience in America. In your own words, how does The Underground Railroad fit into and expand upon your oeuvre to date?
I think it fits in with some of my books because it deals with race and American history, which are two things that I’m interested in, along with technology and pop culture. With some of my books, like John Henry Days, I can get a lot of my preoccupations in there, and then sometimes I’m finding different ways of talking about some of my favorite subjects. While I’ve written about race in most of my books, if you’re actually going to the original sin of slavery, it requires a different tactic. I think the ironic voice of Sag Harbor that Benji has provides one way of talking about race, and then a clear-eyed view about the true brutality of slavery requires a different kind of voice and tactic.

As a follow-up to that last question, although you’ve made a name for yourself by picking wildly disparate subjects and adopting very different styles with each novel is there a topic or genre that you’ll never touch as a writer?
Never say never, but I’m probably not going to write a book about football or yoga . . . but you never know!

Do you believe that there are benefits to tackling difficult topics like slavery and race through the medium of fiction (and perhaps film) as opposed to newspaper articles and nonfiction pieces?
Each form is different and has its advantages and disadvantages. As a novelist, I get to make up stuff; when you’re a historian or a nonfiction writer, you have to stick to the facts, but making up things is the fun part for me.

The Underground Railroad clearly pays homage to Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, with Cora’s journey to each new state analogous to Gulliver’s voyage to strange new lands. Do the similarities end there or, like Swift’s novel, do you also view your novel as a satire?
It’s not a satire. Once I thought about making each state its own place with its own set of rules, the first analogy for me was Gulliver’s Travels. I’m not a Gulliver’s Travels fanatic, but . . . I think it’s a good structure: It’s episodic—much like The Odyssey and Pilgrim’s Progress, where a person is on a journey and they’re being tested along the way with different episodes that have different allegorical freight. The structure itself has been around for a while. Early on it seemed like a good way of framing it and it became my default way of describing the book.

Lately there has been a lot of discussion about white privilege in America and systemic racism that is propagated by whitewashed media and entertainment. As a black writer, why do you believe it is so important for readers to actively diversify their reading?
I’m not going to tell people what to read, and I haven’t said that it is important for us to diversify our literature. Publishing as an institution in the world is racist because the world is racist. I do think you are probably a more well-rounded person if you read books by men and women and people with different-colored skin. But I don’t care if you do or not.

For readers who are interested in checking out a more diverse array of authors, can you recommend any that you think are particularly worth their time?
Sure. There are a lot of authors that I like: Toni Morrison, ZZ Packer, Junot Díaz, Adam Johnson and Kelly Link all come to mind. I’m excited to pick up Elena Ferrante and I also like Gish Jen.

Given the subject matter, what has it been like trying to pick passages of this book to read aloud to an audience as you prepare for your upcoming tour?
I really enjoy readings, and I usually read the funny parts because people enjoy them and I remember writing the jokes. But this book has very few jokes compared to my other work, so I’m trying to find bits that are self-contained. Right now I’m reading the part when the slave masters interrupt the birthday party on the plantation, which covers a bit of ground, and it’s the first time I mention the Declaration of Independence, which plays a big role in the book. I also choose between the short biographical sections with Dr. Stevens, Ethel and Caesar; right now I’m reading the Ethel section because it is so different from Cora’s experience.

One of the most vital messages in The Underground Railroad is about the power of the written word and the ability to read. What’s the most important book you’ve ever read that you think should be considered required reading?
It’s hard to pick one, but in terms of my evolution as a writer, I would say One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. I read it when I was in high school, and I read it again before I started this book. As a teenager, it broadened my idea of what a novel could be and as a 40-something it gave me an idea of how a novel could be organized.

Now that you’ve finished this huge, emotionally draining book, what are your plans and what are you working on next?
I am busy all fall promoting the book, so come January I will take stock. Right now, it’s going to be a novel that takes place in Harlem in the 1960s. I’ve still got a lot to research, so that’s all I can say about it!

 

RELATED CONTENT: Read our review of The Underground Railroad.

Colson Whitehead’s sixth novel may be his best yet. An ambitious, imaginative tour de force, The Underground Railroad is the story of Cora, a slave who escapes from a plantation in Georgia via an actual underground railroad. The novel has achieved almost universal praise since its release and became an Oprah Book Club selection. It’s also […]
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Our October Top Pick in Fiction is Brit Bennett's The Mothers, an elegant and insightful coming of-age story set in Southern California. We asked the 26-year-old Bennett, who has just been named one of the National Book Award Foundation's "5 under 35," a few questions about her engrossing debut.

You started writing The Mothers when you were around the same age that Nadia is at the start of the story, and now you’re more or less the same age as Nadia at the novel’s end. Are there parts of this book that could only have been written by 20-something Brit (or, conversely, only by 18-year-old Brit)?
I think the Nadia and Aubrey scenes were important to write when I was younger because there’s nothing like the passion of friendship when you’re in high school. The Nadia and Luke or Aubrey and Luke scenes benefited from me growing a little older. Heartbreak and romantic disappointment were just abstract ideas to me when I was 18; they became much realer once I had lived a little longer.

What’s one major difference in the version of The Mothers that readers will experience today versus those early drafts? 
The novel changed a ton over time. One major difference is that originally, Aubrey was the main character. Nadia was a minor character, hovering in the background with a big secret that would affect the church. Eventually, though, I realized that Nadia’s secret interested me more and beyond that, her secret was the engine driving the entire story forward.

Are there any aspects or elements that remained constant over the years?
The element that surprised me with its consistency is the opening line. I recently found a draft from 2009 and was stunned to realize that even back then, the opening sentence was the same.

"Heartbreak and romantic disappointment were just abstract ideas to me when I was 18; they became much realer once I had lived a little longer."

One of the things that can be the most striking when we revisit a book is that our sympathies for and alliances with the characters can shift. Did you find while writing this book that your sympathy migrated to and from different characters or that you identified more or less with certain characters? 
As I grew older, my sympathies expanded beyond the characters who are easily likable. Originally, I conceived of Mrs. Sheppard, the pastor’s wife, as a villain, but I challenged myself to write sections from her point of view and consider how her past motivates her actions. Luke, also, was an easy character to dismiss at first. He’s incredibly frustrating, but again, I wanted to explore the nuance of his character and try to provide him with a rich interior life. The toughest character to get on the page, though, has always been Nadia. She’s naturally guarded, so her inclination is to push you away and keep you out. It was tough to get close to her.

The Mothers features a cast of richly drawn and multidimensional characters, but we spend the most time with Nadia, watching her grow from a wounded girl into a complex and complicated young woman. What do you love most about her?
She does what she wants to do. I’ve also been cautious, so I admire Nadia’s willfulness, even when it borders on impulsiveness. She’s daring, in a way I often hesitate to be.

One of the most impressive things about this book is its strong and clear point of view. Certainly the omniscient church mothers who act as a Greek chorus and narrate and comment on portions of the novel are one of the biggest contributing factors to that. Can you tell us a bit about how that particular element of the book came to be?
I originally wrote the book in a gossipy, omniscient third person voice, but toward the end of revising, I wondered what would happen if I located that voice in an actual character. The church mothers were the obvious choice. They had already been hovering around the story, watching and observing and commenting, so I began to play around with the idea of their collective voice narrating the story.

Angela Flournoy, author of The Turner House, has said that any book featuring people that is set in the United States is a book that is ultimately about race. To what extent do you agree with this sentiment and see it reflected in The Mothers?
I think Angela’s point is that it’s ridiculous to think that the only books about race are books about people of color. We all live in raced bodies, so we all have racialized experiences and perceptions and opinions. Whiteness is still a racialized experience, so a book that, for example, only contains white characters is still engaging with race. That being said, I think The Mothers engages with race but without foregrounding racism. The characters’ experiences and perceptions and expectations are inflected by race, but racism isn’t their biggest conflict. I resent the idea that black lives only have meaning if they are presented in conflict against white racism. I was more interested in exploring a black community made up of complicated people living complicated lives shaped by race but not solely defined by racism.

"I resent the idea that black lives only have meaning if they are presented in conflict against white racism. I was more interested in exploring a black community made up of complicated people living complicated lives shaped by race but not solely defined by racism."

It sometimes feels like there are few genuine taboos remaining in modern American society, but abortion still remains hugely controversial if not outright scandalous; it’s still incredibly rare for it to be discussed and explored in fiction, film or television. Why do you think that is? 
I think the political debate over abortion surrounds some pretty huge questions. When does life begin? How much autonomy does a woman have over her body? Does the right to life supersede the right to control what happens inside your own body? These are huge, complicated, emotional questions that often trigger larger debates about sexuality, morality, religion and politics. Any one of those issues might make people uncomfortable; conversations about abortion often invoke all of them.

Politics aside, I think abortion is also rare in narratives because it can be difficult to write. It doesn’t generate story as naturally as a pregnancy might. If you write a pregnant character, for example, you can write the various stages of the pregnancy, the birth, the relationship with the baby, etc. With an abortion, there is no obvious next step, so it requires more work from the writer than writing a pregnancy might.

Have you encountered any resistance to the book (either before its publishing or since) because one of the characters elects to terminate a pregnancy?
So far, I surprisingly haven’t encountered much resistance about the abortion within the novel. I think it helps that the novel doesn’t try to convince the reader to feel one way or another about abortion. I’m not interested in making a political argument. Abortion is complicated, and I wanted to explore how these characters would experience that complexity.

Since you started writing at a young age, you must have been a voracious reader as well. Was there a particular book that inspired you to want to write one of your own? 
In elementary or middle school, a teacher gave me a copy of The Outsiders, which I loved. I was also inspired by the fact that S.E. Hinton published the book when she was 18, and I took that as a personal challenge to see if I too could write a novel while I was still a teenager.

"I was inspired by the fact that S.E. Hinton published ['The Outsiders'] when she was 18 and I took that as a personal challenge to see if I too could write a novel while I was still a teenager."

Like your protagonist, you also grew up in Southern California before moving to attend the University of Michigan. What was your favorite (and least favorite) thing about living in the Midwest? About California?
My favorite thing about Ann Arbor was the community I found there. I’d never had writer friends until I pursued an MFA, and my friends were so vital in keeping me sane through three very cold winters. When I was in Michigan, I missed the year-round sunshine of California. I could weather the cold, but the gray skies depressed me. Now that I’m living in Los Angeles, I do miss the seasons in Ann Arbor. Winter suffering aside, there was nothing like that happiness I felt on the first spring day.

While you were pursuing your MFA and working on this novel, you spent some time teaching undergraduate courses, including Introduction to Creative Writing. What was your favorite writing exercise to assign and what was the best piece of writing advice you have given your students (or that someone gave you)?
My favorite writing exercise to assign was for my students to craft a character based on someone they’d Facebook-stalked. It was a fun way to engage the voyeuristic curiosity we all feel online and to challenge them to turn a few observed details into a fully fleshed-out character. The best advice I received is from an MFA professor who encouraged us to always begin with a question in mind. I think about this in my nonfiction as well as my fiction. The work becomes more interesting and open if you begin with a question, rather than an argument or a claim.

What are you working on next?
A new novel set in the South about a pair of sisters who get separated. 

Canadian writer Stephenie Harrison lives in Playa del Carmen, Mexico. She blogs about the expat life at 20 Years Hence.

(Author photo by Emma Trim.)

RELATED CONTENT: Read our review of The Mothers.

Our October Top Pick in Fiction is Brit Bennett's The Mothers, an elegant and insightful coming of-age story set in Southern California. We asked the 26-year-old Bennett, who has just been named one of the National Book Award Foundation's "5 under 35," a few questions about her engrossing debut.

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Featuring the most memorable odd couple pairing since Felix and Oscar and threaded with dark humor, Derek B. Miller’s second novel, The Girl in Green, is anything but your typical war story. We asked Miller—whose 2013 debut, Norwegian by Night, won the Macavity Award for Best First Mystery—a few questions about this smart novel that puts a human face on conflict.

One of the things that may surprise readers is that The Girl in Green is very funny. What was your thought process when it came to inserting humor into the novel?
I think calling it a “thought process” is rather generous. It’s more like a form of Jewish Tourettes, which I think of as a condition of being unable not to loudly draw attention to the absurd. Kafka obviously had it. Proust had it but it ate him alive. Joseph Heller had it. Jon Stewart, bless him, definitely has it. You don’t have to be Jewish, by any means, but I think it started with us as the first mutants. Specifically, I imagine Abraham as Patient Zero; standing there, hearing about God’s plan to raze Sodom and Gomorrah and saying, “Wait a second, you’re gonna do what?” That’s where it began. The first double-take. I’m on the spectrum.

Quick story: I was in Yemen shortly after the USS Cole was attacked and before September 11. I think it was in July or so, before I went to Italy and needed a vacation. I was doing a research project trying to get a sense of the number of small arms in the country. So I’m south of Sanaa with some tribesmen and we’re shooting cigarettes out of trees with AK-47s talking shit about politics. At one point I decide to smoke one instead. A nice kid—maybe 16—takes a book of matches from under his robe and lights my cigarette. “Thanks.” Says I should keep the book. “Thanks again.” I’m looking at it. What’s on the cover? Osama bin Laden.

So: I’m a Jewish American researching small arms issues, alone in Yemen, surrounded by tribesmen with assault rifles, holding a pack of Osama matches while smoking a Camel with a loaded AK on my back. I think a certain kind of person—a person like me—can’t fail but to see that as hilarious. And I was the only one there who got the joke, which made it even funnier. People talk about finding God during moments of terror. I find God during moments of comedy. I look up at the sky and think, “You’re seeing this, right? It’s not only me?” That’s when I need God. Terror I can handle alone.

“People talk about finding God during moments of terror. I find God during moments of comedy.”

You have a Ph.D. in International Relations and wrote your dissertation on the Iraqi War. What made you want to revisit this topic in The Girl in Green? What about approaching the war from a fictional standpoint appealed to you?
In late August 2001, I decided to take some time off to finish my doctorate. I had been working at a think tank on matters of small arms and light weapons issues. I didn’t know where to go other than “south,” and as it happened an Italian colleague of mine had a friend with a small apartment overlooking the Mediterranean on the island of Elba. The price was right. “Perfect,” I said. I drove down in my 1986 Opel Ascona with a pile of books, a laptop and a Yamaha guitar and stayed for over two months in a flat with no internet access.

A few weeks after I arrived, September 11 happened. So there I was, alone (except for a cat I adopted and named Roman), writing an emotionally intense dissertation on a forgotten massacre and civil war in Iraq while watching the events of the terrorist attacks unfold. All this was taking place on the island where Napoleon had been exiled. So it got into my head, and I felt exiled too, even though I chose it. I felt far from home and wanted to be in America. All this opened a space for me that somehow needed to be filled.

The dissertation didn’t accomplish that. While the journey was emotional, the product was intellectual. I built a theory of media pressure on foreign policy—what it is, how it works, how to identify it, how to measure it—which I soon finished and published with Palgrave. But the more human experience of that war and the humanitarian crisis that it produced stayed with me and felt unresolved. I knew I needed to return to the material.

So why fiction? Because nonfiction work requires a particular approach to rhetoric and argumentation that fiction does not. The benefit of nonfiction, when done well, is a reasoned case that creates a compelling argument. But fiction doesn’t always have an argument to make. Fiction can simply emote. It can pull you into a state of being and allow you to dwell there, and by virtue of that in-dwelling, come to new understandings—sometimes different from, or even beyond the author’s own.

Done well, fiction is limitless in potential, essential for the human condition, and the ultimate act of testimony. That’s where I wanted to be, and what I needed to fill that space. And with The Girl in Green, it did.

The novel jumps between two different wars in Iraq; one thing that Hobbes and Benton struggle with is the ways in which, for all that things have changed, things have also stayed very much the same. In your mind, what is the biggest way that war (in the Middle East or elsewhere) is different today than it was back in the 1990s? Or is it different?
The greatest change in warfare since the early 1990s is the advent of new global communications and the broadening of globalization as a process. That means we’re more connected to one another than ever before—through internet, phones, air travel, entertainment, policies, markets, trade, you name it—and can also witness and represent distant phenomena in new ways.

The working title for The Girl in Green was Welcome to Checkpoint Zulu. That is where the book begins—deep in the heart of Iraq in 1991—where U.S. soldiers had to witness, first hand, the slaughter of civilians but were unable to engage and prevent it because of laws and orders and policy. But no one else witnessed it. Today, with the battles in Syria and Iraq and Afghanistan; with the terrorist attacks in Boston, Paris, Brussels, Madrid, London, Istanbul and Baghdad to name only a few; we see videos and experience social media and read blogs by people who are there. It is immediate. It is intimate. It is unfiltered or can be. Today, we are all at Checkpoint Zulu if we have the courage to face that fact. The question is how we will engage with what we can now experience.

Both Hobbes and Benton feel guilt over what happened to the original girl in green, and that guilt affects their lives in different ways. Can you talk a bit about how guilt and the chance for redemption play out in the novel?
Well . . . guilt and trauma aren’t the same. Guilt is when you could have done something different and you didn’t. Trauma is when something happens that affects you, whether or not you played a part. They can be connected, but they don’t have to be. Both men were clearly traumatized by events in 1991. But as for guilt—I’ll leave that to the reader to decide.

As for redemption, these men are different. One was a kid of 22. The other a man of about 40. One is American and, while very smart, is formally uneducated, and the other is an elite reporter with a wife and kid. So the way they experienced and responded to the experiences shaped them and affected them very differently. This is part of the drama of what I wanted to explore. And Arwood’s response was very different from Benton’s. But ultimately, Arwood dragged Benton into his own approach and that’s where the chaos began, but also the joy of reading begins.

We spend the bulk of The Girl in Green with Hobbes and Benton, but we also get to peek into the lives of various other characters who make up the ecosystem in the war, from soldiers to relief workers to locals to family back home. Who was your favorite character to write? Who was the most challenging? The most rewarding?
The most challenging was the “second” girl in green. I had to be careful of how I represented her, and how I moved her from object to actor near the end of the book. I’m proud of the result, but she was on my mind a lot. I love Tigger’s wordy optimism, Herb’s earthy humanity and moral grounding, Marta’s intellect and leadership, and even Spaz’s cynical Russian worldview. A minor character who touched me, though, was Sharo the motorcycle medic. I think he only gets a page or two. But he’s alive for me.

As someone who has spent a lot of time thinking about the relationship between the U.S. and Iraq, if you could pick one thing that could be better understood or known by the American public about that country, what would it be?
There is an understanding that we need to reach, which is very different from a fact we need to learn or appreciate. And that understanding does not come easily or quickly which is why I am very worried about a President Trump who has absolutely no understanding of the region or, it seems, interest or patience to listen to those who do. One’s instincts on buying low and selling high are useless in a place like this. What’s happening is that Iraq is faced with trying to take something imposed on it—its borders, its name, its national identity—and turn it into a legitimate, stable and worthwhile community called a state which itself is a uniquely Western invention that we’re still struggling to sustain (think of the U.K.’s fragility, Quebec’s occasional aspirations, Catalonia’s discontent, Belgium’s uneasy balance, etc.). The Iraqis don’t know how to do that and neither do we. We in America had civil war about ideas of governance that cost at least 700,000 lives. Western Civilization itself very recently had a civil war among three philosophies—Liberal Democracy, Communism and Naziism. The good guys won, but at tremendous cost and just barely, and it left behind Communism under Stalin which was hardly much better than what we defeated. So we now need to approach the problem of a fractured and divided Middle East by taking a geo-strategic approach that is informed by the role of ideas in history, rather than assume that small, economic, technocratic or military solutions will fix anything.

Also, if our strategy isn’t inter-generational by design and duration we’ll never reach our goals. Americans think in short time horizons. Most of the rest of the world does not. I would add that we are up to the challenge if we can rise to it and the new administration can humble itself to the task. For the record, though, I’m very pessimistic.

"I am very worried about a President Trump who has absolutely no understanding of the region or, it seems, interest or patience to listen to those who do. One’s instincts on buying low and selling high are useless in a place like this." 

You wrote in Norwegian at Night that a key difference between Europe and the United States is that Europe is tribal—the most important thing about a person is where they are from, which makes a society more closed off to outsiders. By contrast, America is an idea, and everyone can share an idea. Do you feel this same comparison could be made between the U.S. and the Middle East, and why or why not?
As best I can figure it, there are only two countries in the world that have arisen out of ideas rather tribal affiliation and those countries are the United States and the Soviet Union. A case could be made for the Roman Empire and also for Greece after the Kleisthenes, but that’s a deeper argument. Sticking to the present: The Soviets had a notion of the New Soviet Man that was supposed to be supra-nationalist and open to all the peoples of the world. Sure, it became an evil empire, but it was a uniting idea all the same and had an aspirational goal of social justice. Bummer about the implementation plan.

That leaves the Americans. We are indeed exceptional that way, which is not to say better unless we harness our potential and fulfill our unique promise of being a multiracial, pluralist and liberal society. Things are not looking good. And only time will tell. But we have a funny way of moving in waves and generally getting closer to the beach.

What’s important for us all to remember, in these troubled times, is that the European states (and the Americans and Canadians, Aussies and Kiwis) fought for their distinctiveness and independence during WWI, WWII and against Soviet aggression (think Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, the Baltic states, etc.). They wanted their languages and arts and heroes and freedoms. We are all now conflicted on immigration and plurality because we do not want to lose the distinctiveness we fought for with such intensity and at such risk and yet, as sons and daughters of the Enlightenment, we want to advance a universal message of inclusiveness and liberty and justice. This will be a central tension for Western society during the 21st century—how to negotiate the particular with the universal.

"We are conflicted on immigration and plurality because we do not want to lose the distinctiveness we fought for and yet, as sons and daughters of the Enlightenment, we want to advance a universal message of inclusiveness and liberty and justice. This will be a central tension for Western society during the 21st century—how to negotiate the particular with the universal."

The Middle East, however, has to figure out other things. How to reconcile tribalism (which is pre-Islamic but carries on) with Islam, which explicitly tried to temper that tribalism; the battles within Islam for doctrinal superiority; the efforts within Islam to reach their own version of tolerance, which means more than accommodating non-Muslims within their imperium (which Islam has historically done very well, and often far better than Christendom) but rather to learn what we learned after centuries of infighting between Catholics and Protestants, namely that sins against God do not justify sins against Man. Finally, they need some reconciliation—if any—between Islamic governance and the Western state system by committing to the development of an independent political philosophy that is inspired by, and in negotiation with, Islam, but is not beholden to it. Whether that can come about remains to be seen. All I can say is . . . watch this space!

This book highlights the downside of the 24-hour news cycle: By prioritizing immediacy, we often sacrifice accuracy and thorough reporting. Do you have any thoughts on how, in the age of social media, people can remain connected and informed in a responsible way?
I think the recent Presidential election just proved that being connected and informed are utterly unrelated practices. My bigger concern, at the moment, is how the media can be responsible. Because our media sucks.

There is a crisis in journalism today. We know it, they know it. They’re having conferences about it all the time (the true indicator of whether something is happening in a field). The only way for journalism to survive, in my view, is for the good ones to learn how to monetize their authority. I watched “The Newsroom” by Aaron Sorkin. I love Sorkin, but a lot of the show was resting on the question of, “why should we listen to you?” and the Will McAvoy character’s answer of (something like) “we’re professionals, just check our resumes” was very unsatisfying. Sorkin missed it. The correct answer is less sexy and macho but more real and lasting. The trust emerges as a product of the institutional mechanisms that have been built over decades to observe, gather, analyze and disseminate knowledge in the form of “news”—which is a genre of communication. It isn’t “I am the news,” echoing Judge Dredd (to be said with Stallon’s accent, obviously). It’s “we produce the news” because we as community of professionals have created an authoritative institution that works as a unique team.

I’m talking about the the grown-up stuff of protocols, guidelines, training, tools, procedures, archives, networks and methods—at a minimum—that make an institution what it is. Because the value of the news lies in the basis of their claims to validity. We have a major crisis of trust right now, and journalism is at the center of it because we can’t trust the government anymore either—if we ever could. Democracy will suffer a massive blow unless journalism figures this out. Being connected these days is effortless. But being responsibly informed? Almost impossible.

"Being connected these days is effortless. But being responsibly informed? Almost impossible."

Although you were born and raised in the United States, you have spent much time in Europe and are raising a family in Norway. Have you noticed a difference in how war is reported in Europe as compared to the United States? 
I’ve been in Europe for 20 years, and I’m full-time in Norway now. I could talk about war reporting forever, but I guess the most important difference is that Americans still take a triumphal tone in reporting; a sort of ass-kicking attitudes that really puts off the Europeans. That part I see easily enough. I attribute that distaste to their collective belief that it was exactly that sort of nationalist fervor and grandstanding that led to 60 million war dead during WWII. So it’s to be met with suspicion, not applause. But I would also say that Europeans are too quick to turn away from the problems and wars whereas Americans—across the political spectrum—are more engaged and attentive. I think it’s because we have over 2 million veterans of these wars and they are intimate and close to our national experience.

What are you working on next?
I’m about to submit book three, which I don’t want to announce yet, but I will say that it is connected to, in some way, Norwegian by Night. No, Sheldon is not in it. But there’s a thread. I’m also working on a science fiction feature screenplay. It needs a lot of work but I really like it and I’m a huge fan of the genre. I’m not sure if it will be a novel or not. And I’m also kicking the tires of book four. I have a manuscript, set on the coast of New England, but I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. I’m full-steam ahead though. I am a very happy writer these days, if an unhappy American.

RELATED CONTENT: Read our review of The Girl in Green.

Featuring the most memorable odd couple pairing since Felix and Oscar and threaded with dark humor, Derek B. Miller’s second novel, The Girl in Green, is anything but your typical war novel. We asked Miller—whose 2013 debut, Norwegian by Night, won the Macavity Award for Best First Mystery—a few questions about this smart novel that puts a human face on conflict.

Interview by

Rakesh Satyal’s second novel is the ambitious and universally relatable tale of three Indian Americans—Harit, Ranjana and Prashant—who set out on individual journeys to carve a space in their lives where they feel they truly belong. Timeless and true, No One Can Pronounce My Name provides a new voice and a 21st-century face to great American fiction.

Unsurprisingly, given the title of the book, your characters are constantly encountering people who butcher and mispronounce their names. What’s the worst/oddest way your own name has been pronounced (outside of a Starbucks)?
This is a tie: I was once called “Raquel”—I wish the person had at least had the presence of mind to append “Welch” to it—and another time, I was called “Rafiki,” as in the monkey from The Lion King. Can you feel the “oof” tonight?

It seems like most American novels featuring immigrants are either set in New York or California, as though foreigners only ever land in one of two places when they settle in America. No One Can Pronounce My Name largely takes place in a rather generic Midwestern city in Ohio, the state where you grew up. Why did you feel it was important to set your novel here? Did you feel that this particular setting allowed you to explore certain themes or ideas that—perhaps somewhat ironically—a larger, more cosmopolitan city would have stifled or restricted?
There is a certain decorum, one might even call it politesse, to living in the Midwest, a kind of geniality tempered by manners, and I find that it often makes it harder to parse out the subtleties of human interaction. There is not necessarily the straightforwardness of being on one of the coasts or the kind of performed grandeur of being in the South, for example. This, to me, makes an ideal setting for challenging what we think of as “ethnic” literature because it almost forces a writer to mine the base-level reactions of people in ordinary social situations, from dining out to driving to attending a religious gathering. Since I was dealing with a collection of characters that has had a hard time navigating tricky social structures, it felt all the more fitting to set the book in the Midwest and have them trying to solve their particular problems as well as the obstacles posed by such an environment.

Another thing that sets No One Can Pronounce My Name apart from many other novels featuring immigrant protagonists is its nuanced and multifaceted exploration of sexuality and gender identity. These are topics that you also explored in your Lambda Literary Award-winning debut novel, Blue Boy. How do you believe your newest novel advances the discussion of these issues?
A key theme of this book is the idea of what society prescribes for people’s understanding of their sexuality versus what they themselves believe to be true. In the case of Harit—one of the main characters—he’s had assumptions made about his sexual identity by other people but has largely avoided such self-introspection, even though he has the benefit of middle age. What I wanted to show in this novel was his journey to exploring that identity—but not defining it in any conventional way that would play directly into the established gender binary. And I wanted to be certain not to recklessly conflate issues of gender with issues of sexuality—a common problem in fiction. What I think/hope that I’ve accomplished here is a nuanced approach to explicating those topics but in a compassionate and humorous way.

Your new book features three main protagonists, each at a different stage in his or her own life. Of the three, which character did you relate to the most and why? Which character did you find the most challenging to write?
Ranjana is quite possibly the closest to me, mainly because she loves writing but isn’t sure to what extent her writing is exceptional or necessary. But Harit was a real challenge. He is based loosely on a man that I met several years ago who was the “uncle” of a high school friend—“uncle” used here, as it often is, to describe a tenuous social connection that may or may not have been familial. This man was in his mid-40s and unmarried and lived with his mother, and there was this unspoken assumption by the community that he must have been gay because of these circumstances. I was fascinated and somewhat disheartened by this assumption because it didn’t allow for how he himself felt about his life and how he saw the world. So, trying to examine the innermost thoughts of a person like that became both my mission and my greatest challenge.

What’s one of the biggest stereotypes that you believe exists about Indian Americans and their families that you hope your book addresses and may help readers to think differently about?
One of my main goals with this book was to take the common tone of an “ethnic” or “Indian” book—which is often tragic or grief-stricken—and instead, to show a lot of humor and joy and farcical misunderstandings. There are a lot of struggles inherent in the process of immigration—and we are certainly seeing that in our current political mome—but I didn’t want to overlook the genuine moments of levity and jollity because there are so many of them, and they more accurately define people’s day-to-day lives, I think.

And indeed, although No One Can Pronounce My Name tackles some very serious and sad topics, there are many moments of levity and throughout the book. Can you talk a bit about your approach to including comedy in your writing?
One thing that I came to learn about myself as a writer in working on this book is that my writing is often about who is happening moreso than what is happening. That is, I love creating characters who feel very true-to-life but who are almost so specific as to be mysteries to themselves as they are to other people. In this book, people from disparate backgrounds who hold very different worldviews bump up against each other, and that, to me, leads to an ideal comedic state, even if some of the things that the characters have experienced are harrowing. It is only through meaningful interaction that people sort out their differences, and I believe that this thinking forms the core of the humor in this book.

In addition to writing fiction, you have also worked in publishing for many years and currently work as a senior editor for a major publishing house. Given the number of manuscripts you’ve worked on, what’s one literary trope or trend you feel has been done to death and hope to never see again?
I know that this may seem like a cop-out, but I really don’t think that anything is off-limits as long as you try to bring a fresh perspective to it. For example, including a narrative about a writer was a very intentional choice I made in this book, and although that is a trope that has occurred many, many times in literature, I saw it as a particular challenge that I wanted to take on and try to tackle in a unique way. I think that I’ve succeeded, but that’s not really for me to say. What I do think I did, however, was bring to that challenge all of the warmth and willingness to understand that I could.

Readers may be surprised to hear that you have quite the set of pipes on you and that you occasionally perform cabaret and even went so far as to sing your acceptance speech at the Lambda Literary Awards. If you’re heading out for an evening of karaoke, what’s your signature song?
The number of times that I have sung George Michael’s “Father Figure” in public likely exceeds the number of pages in this book.

What are you working on next?
I’m already halfway through a new novel, and I’m very happy with it. Just kidding. I have a very murky premise for a new book and am terrified at even trying to get it down on the page until I’ve stopped hyperventilating from seeing this current book into our turbulent world. . . .

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of No One Can Pronounce My Name.

Timeless and true, No One Can Pronounce My Name provides a new voice and a 21st-century face to great American fiction.

Interview by

Elements of Maggie O’Farrell’s life have inspired her writing, but it is only now—after publishing seven novels and birthing three children—that she has found the courage to tell the full story.

Provocative and profound, O’Farrell’s memoir, I Am, I Am, I Am: Seventeen Brushes with Death, is a meditation on the many miraculous moments in her life when she stared down death and lived to tell the tale. From almost drowning off the coast of England (and then again in Africa) to escaping the clutches of a serial strangler, the book—and O’Farrell’s life—is chockablock with scenes highlighting the fragility and tenuousness of life. It is her most personal book to date, and yet it is also a book she never intended to write.

“I never, ever thought I would write a memoir,” the Northern Irish author confides during a call to her home in Edinburgh, Scotland. “It felt sort of an impossibility to me. . . . I used to always kind of joke that I was about as likely to write a memoir as I was to become an acrobat. Of course, if you’ve read the book, you realize how impossible it would be for me to be an acrobat!”

O’Farrell is referring to the collateral damage from what is perhaps her most serious near-death experience: As a child, she contracted encephalitis, which confined her to bed for nearly two years. Doctors offered grave predictions, including life confined to a wheelchair and even death.

Instead, O’Farrell defied all odds, not only pulling through but also regaining the ability to walk unassisted and to hold a pen. Decades later, although she still retains physical limitations that place a career in acrobatics well out of reach, she has largely perfected the art of hiding the remnants of her illness.

She began practicing this at the age of 13, when her family moved from Wales to Scotland. She recalls thinking at the time, “I can reinvent myself, I can be somebody else. I don’t have to be the girl who was disabled in a wheelchair. I can just become a girl who’s a bit rubbish at sport, who falls over a bit and drops stuff. A bit of a klutz.”

And so her past became secret, even from close friends. Therefore, a memoir in which she reflects on her most vulnerable moments seems a paradoxical choice. She agrees, admitting that she has “much more ambivalence about the book because of how exposing it is.” However, she says, “I have always felt that you don’t necessarily choose the books; the books choose you.”

With a laugh, she recalls how her unintentional memoir crept into being: “I’ve always kept diaries . . . and in the back I write longer pieces. And this book—the memoir—just sort of rose up out of these notebooks. I had written a third of it before I really admitted to myself that I was actually writing a book!”

She was so stunned by this revelation that when O’Farrell finally told her agent what she was working on and they drew up her contract, she initially refused all monetary advances on the manuscript in case she changed her mind and decided not to publish it. In order for the contract to be made legal, she agreed to accept £1, but says, “Even up until a week before publication, I was waking up at night thinking, ‘Should I just say it’s all off?’ ”

“I was about as likely to write a memoir as I was to become an acrobat.”

Despite her reservations, a force greater than fear kept pushing O’Farrell to write: Her middle child, Astrid, was born with chronic eczema and experiences episodes of anaphylactic crisis that take her to the emergency room with frightening frequency. Though far from the traditional bedtime tales, O’Farrell’s stories have proven helpful to her daughter in coming to terms with her own struggles.

“One of the jobs of being a parent is you have to metabolize what they’re going through and hand it back to them in a form that they can understand,” O’Farrell says. “I found myself very challenged as a mother, trying to explain to a 3- or a 4-year-old why it is they were in so much pain, why it is they were in an ambulance or an ICU. The only thing I found that really helped her in those situations was telling her stories.”

Just like her mother did as a girl, Astrid “lives with a lot of restrictions,” O’Farrell explains. “But it’s really, really important to me to impart the message to her that even though she has parameters which she needs to live within . . . she has to live the biggest and the best life that she possibly can. Always and every day. So I will be the first mum to shout, ‘Yeah, climb that tree! Go higher! Jump in that cold water! Just do it, do it!’ And she is.”

It is for this reason that O’Farrell ultimately views I Am, I Am, I Am as life-affirming. “I think there is something very universal about the near-death experience. I think we’ve all had them, whether we admit it to ourselves or not. And I think those moments change us. I think we come back from them different—altered—and it makes us newly conscious about why we want to come back, why we want to carry on living and also what we stand to lose had we lost that fight. . . . For me the book is about life. The life lived around those moments.”

As we wrap up our conversation, O’Farrell is interrupted by a stampede of footsteps, swiftly followed by a chorus of giggles. Her children have arrived home from school and are clamoring for her attention. We end our call because, after all, there are trees to be climbed and cold water to be jumped into, and no one knows better than O’Farrell and her family how lucky they are to be able to do just that.

“I definitely think of myself as incredibly lucky, not unlucky at all,” O’Farrell says. “What I hope people will take away from the book is just the fact that I nearly died, but actually, I didn’t. We didn’t. We’re all still here.”

 

This article was originally published in the February 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Author photo by Murdo Macleod.

Elements of Maggie O’Farrell’s life have inspired her writing, but it is only now—after publishing seven novels and birthing three children—that she has found the courage to tell the full story.

Interview by

Linda Holmes has garnered a well-deserved following as a pop culture correspondent for NPR and the host of the podcast “Pop Culture Happy Hour,” so we wanted to hear her thoughts on publishing her debut, loving rom-coms, watching baseball and handling critics.


In addition to adding “author” to your resume, you are also the host of a successful entertainment and culture podcast on NPR, previously edited NPR’s pop culture blog and cut your teeth writing online by recapping television shows. When did you first have the idea to write a novel? In what ways did writing a work of fiction challenge you?
I have wanted to write a novel . . . always. I can’t remember when I didn’t think that would be the absolute greatest thing I could do. But I would start things, write a few pages and just get intimidated that I couldn’t keep going. I played around with writing fiction for many years and got a little more serious in 2012, when I decided to devote some time to this story. But again, I worked on it for a while, then left it alone. I didn’t pick it up again until sometime in the fall of 2016.

Everything is challenging, of course, but I think this was challenging in that you’re just entirely driving the thing yourself. There’s nothing to react to; there’s no structure that comes from the outside, like there is when you’re recapping a television show and you go scene by scene. The blank slate is wonderful but also intimidating.

Read our starred review of ’Evvie Drake Starts Over.’

Having spent so much time professionally critiquing and analyzing the artistic output of others, how does it feel to now be on the other side? Is it daunting or liberating knowing that once the book is published and in the hands of readers, it will take on a life of its own?
What’s funny is that I’ve been on the receiving end of criticism always. The pieces I’ve written are their own work, and they come in for plenty of positive and negative feedback. So it’s nothing new to have people share their opinions of what I’m doing and whether it’s any good. I think that helped me be prepared for this experience, although I’m sure some part of me will find it painful in a new way when somebody inevitably says something strangely devastating. It’s awful, in a way, to have no control over what happens—that you send the book out into the world, and then it just does whatever it does, and people like it or they don’t. But it’s invigorating, too. There comes a moment when you have to say that you’ve done everything you can to write a book you’re really proud of, and that has to be enough. Everything else is gravy.

A few years ago, everyone was talking about how the romantic comedy was dead. Now, everyone is talking about how romantic comedies are back and hotter than ever. Why do you think the rom-com has recently rebounded, and do you think the newfound respect and popularity we’re seeing for the genre over in films is translating to the book world as well?
I don’t think books ever really stepped away from romantic comedy. A lot of contemporary romances are, in effect, romantic comedies. I think it’s less that romantic comedies ever went away and more that they became elements of other things. For instance, there are romantic comedy elements even in a movie like Return of the Jedi. So sometimes we go through a phase in which romantic comedy is floating on its own, like during the ’90s boom. And then sometimes we go through a phase in which we see romantic comedy as part of action movies or part of other comedies we wouldn’t classify as rom-coms. But romantic comedy never dies. Somebody you’re attracted to making you laugh is very intoxicating, so I’m never worried about the genre as a whole.

One of Evvie’s biggest self-care strategies following the death of her husband is reading copiously. Do you have a particular go-to comfort read (or author or genre) that you turn to during trying times?
For sure. I think reading contemporary romance, appropriately enough, has always been that way for me. Anything that offers me some optimism, which love stories usually do. Start with Lucy Parker’s behind-the-scenes London theater stories.

Evvie’s roommate and love interest, Dean, is a retired professional baseball player, who is infamous for flaming out after developing a career-ending case of the yips. You obviously did a lot of research into this phenomenon, but what about it initially sparked your interest?
I remember seeing a video of Mackey Sasser, who was a catcher for the Mets who got the yips and couldn’t toss back to the pitcher. It’s so bizarre and baffling, seeing someone who’s worked to develop a skill his whole life and just suddenly can’t do it and doesn’t know why. It’s still largely an unsolved mystery why exactly this happens and how it can be solved, and it has profound impacts. That made it very compelling.

What’s one romance trope that you wish would disappear from all books and movies henceforth?
I could do without the makeover sequence. Usually, if somebody has to see you in a particular dress to see you in a romantic context, they’re not quite seeing you in a romantic context—at least not a romantic context I would envision. They’re seeing you in a wish-fulfillment context, or an image-building context.

Like your protagonists Evvie and Dean, you have quite a bit of experience with starting over: Many years ago, you worked as an attorney before transitioning into writing online and to your current position as a podcast host and event moderator/interviewer (and now author!). What’s one piece of advice you would give someone whose life has zigged when they expected it to zag?
If you’re lucky enough, as I was, to have the ability to make some of those unexpected swerves, don’t be worried that it’s too late or that you can’t do something new after 30, or 40, or whenever. There’s time, there really is. Everyone has obligations, and of course you have to keep in mind which ones it’s important for you to accommodate. But the desire to try things doesn’t naturally expire.

What’s your best comeback to people who argue that baseball is boring?
Baseball isn’t boring; it’s rhythmic. It’s meant to often be a little more quiet than a lot of other sports, punctuated by action. If you looked at a baseball game, it would look like small stitches in a piece of fabric. A series of little dots of action, surrounded by this wonderful atmosphere of relaxation and, just, blue sky—ideally. I think the sky is important to baseball, as much as I respect domes.

Putting a twist on the desert island question, if you were stuck on a desert island and could only access one of the following mediums—radio/podcasts, television/movies, music or books—which would you pick and why?
Oh wow. That would be a very sad island. I think I would probably choose books. And then I’d probably write in them. It’s very hard for me to imagine being isolated from the ability to write. That’s a scary thing. So you have to give me a pen. And then I’ll just write in the margin of the books after I read them.

What’s one question no one has asked you about your book that you really wish they would (and how would you answer it!)?
Nobody has asked me whether Evvie’s best friend, Andy, is meant to be possibly somebody she could have dated—nobody has really asked me about whether there’s meant to be romantic tension between them. That surprises me a little, but perhaps it shouldn’t. Because the answer is no, and maybe the fact that people don’t ask means I successfully got that across.

How do you plan to celebrate Evvie Drake’s publication day, and what’s next for you?
I plan to celebrate by being really busy all day, but I also hope to have dinner with friends and maybe take a deep breath and think about how long I’ve wanted this for myself. It’s very easy to get wrapped up in worrying about it, in how the book will be received. Somebody I’m friendly with told me it’s very important to try to take a moment to enjoy it. So I’m going to try to do that. And then it’s back to work at my regular job—and back to writing another book. I can’t talk about it yet, but I’m pretty excited about some of the ideas I’m working on.

Author photo by Tim Coburn

What do the yips and romance have in common? Linda Holmes’ uplifting debut novel, Evvie Drake Starts Over.

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