Amy Scribner

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Tom Perrotta's new novel may be called Little Children, but this darkly hilarious and deeply satisfying suburban tale delves into strictly adult matters of the heart. Set during a hot, drowsy summer in Anytown, USA, Little Children introduces us to characters bored with their traditional lives but unsure what it is they want instead. Sarah, an Ivy League-educated ex-lesbian, seems to be living one long "How did I get here?" moment as she finds herself transformed into a full-time mother and wife. Todd stays home with his toddler son while he studies for the bar exam or at least that's what he tells his wife. Mostly, he daydreams and takes his son to the community pool and generally avoids anything remotely related to the law. He just hasn't quite worked up the nerve to announce that he has no interest in being an attorney.

When Sarah and Todd cross paths one morning on a neighborhood playground, the sparks are undeniable. But it's unclear whether true chemistry or simple boredom causes the two of them to start an illicit affair. After all, Todd is already married to a beauty queen of a wife. The rather plain Sarah hardly measures up and she can't forget it.

Sound like a typical romance novel? It's not. On its surface, Little Children may be about a summer fling, but it digs into those uncomfortable issues so many wonder about but few actually voice aloud. Is the two-car garage and picket fence really what we're all striving for? What about the freedom to run off to the beach with a secret lover? Is that really so awful? Just to make the summer a little more interesting, Perrotta throws into the mix a less-than-desirable ex-convict who moves in down the street from Sarah. His arrival forces the suburban housewives Sarah has surrounded herself with to confront their own prejudices and ultimately to gain a little more perspective on what really matters.

With Little Children Perrotta displays a refreshing compassion without sacrificing his trademark understanding of what makes this country tick and what ticks it off.

 

Amy Scribner writes from Washington state.

Tom Perrotta's new novel may be called Little Children, but this darkly hilarious and deeply satisfying suburban tale delves into strictly adult matters of the heart. Set during a hot, drowsy summer in Anytown, USA, Little Children introduces us to characters bored with their traditional…

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Just breathe. It's almost holiday time again. You might not be able to control whether the Christmas lights are perfectly strung, and you really have very little say in whether your crotchety aunt ruins yet another family get-together. But you can assert yourself by choosing just the right gift book for the lady in your life whether spouse, grandmother, girlfriend or sister.

Start with a topic dear to the heart of most females: clothes. Some of the women we know could use a fashion reality check do they really need that seventh pair of Levi's? Authors Andrea Linett and Kim France think they might be better off investing in a new coat, and they're not afraid to say so. The Lucky Shopping Manual: Building and Improving Your Wardrobe Piece by Piece is a priceless guide for those who don't have a natural intuition for whether they're better suited for A-line or empire waist and especially for those who don't even know what those terms mean. The book breaks down clothing by category, from dresses to pants to swimsuits. Sleek, precise illustrations show how to put together an outfit that suits any body type and attitude. The book also profiles several fashionistas, delving into the closets of clothing designer Shoshanna Lonstein and journalist Carlota Espinosa, among others. France and Linett, editors at shopping magazine Lucky, don't mince words when it comes to fashion. The advice in this book is invaluable, from when to splurge (a good cashmere sweater, a timeless watch) to how to organize your newly fabulous wardrobe (hint: if you haven't worn it in the last two years, it might be time to part ways). Fair warning, though: the authors' joy for fashion is contagious. Reading this book will make you want to burn your closet and head for the nearest department store.

All Amy Scribner wants from Santa is less traffic on the Washington, D.C., Beltway.

 

Just breathe. It's almost holiday time again. You might not be able to control whether the Christmas lights are perfectly strung, and you really have very little say in whether your crotchety aunt ruins yet another family get-together. But you can assert yourself by choosing…

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Warning: Jeanne Ray's novel Eat Cake is so much fun that it easily lends itself to silly baking metaphors like "sweet as chocolate" or "smooth as icing." Don't worry, though. We won't use those cliches here. To do so would not do justice to this book, which although boisterously funny is also a poignant account of the increasingly common struggle Baby Boomers face in caring for aging parents.

Ruth Hopson has her hands full. In addition to a moody teenage daughter, her mother moves in with the family after a robber breaks into her own home. Ruth manages her stress by picturing herself in her favorite place, which happens to be the center of a warm, freshly baked Bundt cake. When that doesn't do the trick, she actually bakes a cake, her other favorite stress-buster. The Hopson household is never wanting for a fresh almond apricot pound cake or lemon chiffon.

But then the unthinkable happens. Actually, two unthinkables: Ruth's husband Sam loses his job as a hospital administrator, and her long-absent father breaks both arms and asks to move in while he recuperates. Caring for two elderly parents is hard enough, but the hardship is compounded by the fact that Ruth's father and mother have barely spoken in decades. And her suddenly unemployed husband decides he wants to take time off from his job in order to "find himself." Since physically flinging herself into a cake is not a realistic possibility, Ruth does the only thing she can think of to keep the family afloat: she attempts to sell her incredible cakes to local restaurants. After years as a fulltime mother and homemaker, starting her own business is a daunting—make that terrifying—step.

Jeanne Ray, author of the bestsellers Julie and Romeo and Step-Ball-Change and mother of acclaimed novelist Ann Patchett, deftly evokes the bittersweet parent-child relationship, acknowledging the alternating pangs of love and annoyance that make it so difficult and so ultimately worthwhile. In Ray's able hands, Ruth is never a caricature of a frazzled housewife—she is a capable, complicated woman with whom one yearns to share a piece of cake and a good laugh. And that makes Eat Cake as sweetly satisfying as meringue. Sorry, we couldn't resist.

 

Warning: Jeanne Ray's novel Eat Cake is so much fun that it easily lends itself to silly baking metaphors like "sweet as chocolate" or "smooth as icing." Don't worry, though. We won't use those cliches here. To do so would not do justice to this…

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Elinor Lipman proves laughter is the best medicine To hear Elinor Lipman tell it, the colorful characters who populate her novels practically whisper their stories in her ear. She’s just the stenographer who gets it all down on paper. Take Ray Russo, the bad-guy-posing-as-savior in her new novel, The Pursuit of Alice Thrift. Ray meets surgical intern Alice Thrift while she’s working the plastic surgery rotation. He wants a nose job. She tells him he doesn’t need it. A match made in hospital? Hardly. A first-class con man, Ray lies, cheats and generally weasels his way into, well, if not Alice’s heart, then at least her life. He almost managed to worm his way into Lipman’s heart as well. “I grew fond of him,” she said in a recent telephone interview. “But the framework of the book was a cautionary tale. He helped me out by just showing his true colors at an opportune time.” The Pursuit of Alice Thrift is vintage Elinor Lipman a sharply incisive, sparkling tale with a cast of lovable eccentrics. The serious, self-esteem-challenged Alice plans to use her surgical skills to repair birth defects and deformities in Third World countries. But cursed with the bedside manner of an ice cube tray, she is in danger of being dismissed from her internship.

“It would help me in all the arenas of my life if I were a touch more gregarious,” Alice says in typically understated fashion.

Ray is extroverted enough for the both of them and manages to convince Alice that he’s the one for her. The proprietor of First-Prize Fudge, he often hits the road to peddle his candy, proving himself to be a good salesman. Neither handsome nor suave, he convinces Alice to give him a chance in spite of herself. His gratingly talkative, self-help-guru manner (“Hey,” he admonishes Alice when she berates her medical skills, “that’s stinkin’ thinkin’!”) seems to her to be the perfect antidote to her own reticence.

“I don’t have to be charming or interesting around him,” she explains to a friend who doesn’t quite grasp Ray’s appeal. “He seems happy to keep the conversation rolling.” That a Harvard educated, no-nonsense woman like Alice would fall for such an oddball may seem questionable, but it rang true to Lipman. “You see it all the time,” she said. “You meet a wonderful woman and then you meet her husband and think What?'” Besides, she reasons, who wants to read about characters who always make the safe, expected choices? “One doesn’t have to describe in a novel what the collective sensibility of women is,” Lipman said. “I wanted to take one woman and make her experience believable. It’s not what you’d prescribe for the whole world.” In fact, there is nothing much about Alice Thrift that’s expected. For starters, few novels actually give away the ending in the first chapter. Lipman makes it no secret that the union between salesman Ray and plastic surgeon Alice lasts about as long as a shot of Botox. It’s a surprisingly effective choice that will keep readers flipping pages as they try to understand how this painfully odd couple ever came to be.

Also unexpected is Lipman’s effortless depiction of the harrowing, coffee-fueled existence of medical residents. She paints a dead-on portrait of hospital culture and casually tosses around alien terms such as pneumothorax and hepatic artery. One could call it the result of a unique type of painstaking research. Lipman’s husband is a doctor, and she lived through his early years in the medical profession.

“We’ve been dating since his third week of med school,” she said. “I found that part of writing the book was just imagination, and then my husband read every word. I also talked to one of his partners, who had a very miserable surgical internship.” Lipman’s own career path didn’t veer toward fiction until she enrolled in a writing workshop in her late 20s. Since then, she’s written eight novels, numerous short stories and, occasionally, essays. She and her husband live in Northampton, Massachusetts, while their 21-year-old son a good writer in his own right, according to Lipman attends college in New York City.

Quietly thoughtful when discussing her work, Lipman seems to relish talking about her characters and speculating on where they are now. In fact, during a recent trip to Boston, she found herself thinking of Alice as she walked past a Filene’s Basement store. It reminded Lipman of one of her favorite scenes in the book, when Alice tries on wedding dresses. “I actually got a little misty-eyed!” she said. “I thought, What is wrong with me?’ But you’re always living with your characters.” Lipman’s newest novel is just as reliably hilarious as her previous books, including The Dearly Departed, Isabel’s Bed and The Inn at Lake Devine. With these books, Lipman has carved out a distinctive niche in the romantic comedy genre. It’s a term that once made her wince but that she now believes is not necessarily synonymous with trivial. Funny novels can still be substantial and enlightening, as her newest book proves.

While Lipman’s prose shines with wit, she demurs when asked if she’s funny off the page as well. “I think my friends would say yes,” she said. “At the very least, good-natured; at the most, funny on occasion. I try.” Such a modest answer Alice would be proud.

Amy Scribner is a writer in Washington, D.C.

Elinor Lipman proves laughter is the best medicine To hear Elinor Lipman tell it, the colorful characters who populate her novels practically whisper their stories in her ear. She's just the stenographer who gets it all down on paper. Take Ray Russo, the bad-guy-posing-as-savior in…
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Adriana Trigiani enjoys the kind of zealous fan base reserved for a handful of contemporary authors. And deservedly so: she takes good care of her readers, devoting time each week to phone chats and meetings with book clubs around the country, and maintaining a website that is frequently updated with photos, tour dates and other tidbits. More importantly, she delivers charming, dependably satisfying books that you know will be stuffed with quirky but likable characters. Her best-selling Big Stone Gap trilogy, as well as her stand-alone novels Lucia Lucia and Queen of the Big Time, all are helmed by strong women who take charge of their circumstances. This female-centric viewpoint has become somewhat of a hallmark of her books.

So Trigiani’s newest offering, Rococo, may require a bit of an adjustment for her biggest fans. For one thing, the main character is gasp a man. But it turned out that writing from a male point of view was not as big of a stretch as she might have thought.

"It didn’t end up mattering," said Trigiani. " In many ways it wasn’t any different, because I was just involved in the personality of the character and the interpersonal relationships of the people in the book." Trigiani spoke with BookPage recently from her home in New York City, where she was juggling promoting Rococo with taking care of two-year-old daughter Lucia’s bout of strep throat. Clearly excited about the new book, Trigiani gossiped in a "Can you believe they did that?" tone about her characters as if they were real-life friends.

"It’s this small town just loaded with these colorful characters," she said. "I just had a ball with it." In Rococo, Trigiani delves more deeply than ever into matters of sexuality, faith and family. Bartolomeo di Crespi is the big fish in the small pond of Our Lady of Fatima, a small town in New Jersey. It’s the early 1970s, and B is a highly successful interior decorator and a confirmed bachelor. When he’s not decorating the most palatial homes along the Jersey shore, he’s handling his own family, which includes his lovelorn sister, his cousin and confidant Christina, and an aimless young nephew looking to Uncle B for guidance.

B is also a devout Catholic whose dream project is to renovate the local church, where he served as an altar boy and still attends Mass every Sunday. B is rankled when he’s initially passed over for the job. After a battle with the local priest, he gets the gig, but it turns out to be far more than he bargained for. Tasked with designing a new space that will inspire the coming generations of churchgoers, B realizes that he might not be up to the challenge. The renovation and the people he meets during it leave him questioning not only his abilities as a designer, but ultimately his faith.

Trigiani’s fascination with family dynamics shines through loud and clear in her tales of the raucous Italian-American di Crespi clan. B’s outrageous sister, Toot, could hold her own against Fleeta Mullins or Iva Lou Wade Makin, two tough-as-nails characters featured in the Big Stone Gap books. Forever looking for love in the most dead wrong places, Toot takes up again with her ex-husband while B tries to bite his tongue.

"This is the thing about families: we know everything about each other. We just don’t talk about it," said Trigiani.

But Trigiani veers from her other works by writing Rococo as a reflection on the internal battle many wage about organized religion (or as B calls Roman Catholicism, RC, Inc ). She was particularly intrigued by what it must have been like for a practicing Catholic to function smack in the middle of the sexual revolution.

"Who among us doesn’t struggle with institutions? Everything is designed to confuse, befuddle and upset you," she said. "But the beauty of religion, fundamentally, is it’s where you learn how to pray that personal relationship you have with God outside the rules and regulations." Trouble is, B depends upon those very rules and regulations as the structure for his life, and his ambivalence about his sexuality complicates matters. While he routinely finds himself shoved into sexual situations with women, Trigiani adds another dimension to the book by making it clear B is unresolved about his feelings for both men and women.

"I wanted to write a character who really bought into religion, and then had to live in the world," she said.

Often surprised by the twists and turns her books take as she writes them, Trigiani admits she herself isn’t sure whether B is gay. It doesn’t much matter B has a full, rich life and seems content to be alone, at least for now.

"I think he is, but he doesn’t know it yet," said Trigiani. "And if my character doesn’t know it, I don’t know it." This respect for her characters is another Trigiani trademark. An award-winning playwright, documentary filmmaker and television writer, Trigiani has spent her career creating interesting, wholly original characters.

She follows the old adage, Write what you know, focusing on places and themes plucked from her own life. In Rococo, she drew on her interest in interior design. Both her grandmothers were seamstresses with a wealth of knowledge about textiles, and Trigiani admits to being a bit of an amateur decorator herself.

"You come to my house, you go in my closet, there’s a stack of fabric," she said. "I would be a decorator if I could." The world is so insane that our homes have really become our palazzos. Rococo takes its name from an elaborate French style of art and decorating that can be found in many churches. Trigiani liked the juxtaposition of this elaborate style with the more modern turn that decor took in the 1970s, which reflects the contrast between B’s traditional belief system and the rapidly changing society in which he finds himself.

Throughout this fast-paced, abundantly charming novel, Trigiani focuses on the things that really matter: family, faith and home. Especially home. It is a deeply rewarding book that should make her legions of fans very happy indeed.

Amy Scribner writes from Olympia, Washington.

 

Adriana Trigiani enjoys the kind of zealous fan base reserved for a handful of contemporary authors. And deservedly so: she takes good care of her readers, devoting time each week to phone chats and meetings with book clubs around the country, and maintaining a…

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Who would have thought it? A prim 1930s British gumshoe is one of the freshest, most modern heroines in recent memory. With the third installment in author Jacqueline Winspear's mystery series, Maisie Dobbs takes her place in the upper echelon of literary female detectives, right next to Kinsey Millhone and Kay Scarpetta—the main difference being that unlike her thoroughly modern counterparts, Maisie Dobbs lives in post-World War I London. In Pardonable Lies, we find Maisie Dobbs' private investigation practice flourishing. Her compassionate yet methodical approach to her work has made her services much sought after. Still, although more than a decade has passed, her gruesome work as a nurse in a casualty clearing station in France during the war continues to plague her. When the powerful Sir Cecil Lawton hires her to discover the truth about his son's death while serving as a pilot in the war, Dobbs is forced to return to France and face her own awful memories.

When the powerful Sir Cecil Lawton hires her to discover the truth about his son's death while serving as a pilot in the war, Maisie Dobbs is forced to return to France and face her own awful memories.

Rich with historical detail and packing several interwoven mysteries for Maisie to untangle, Pardonable Lies is as stylish as a whodunit gets. Winspear paints a haunting picture of how it must have been to be young at that moment in history, with a gingerly hopeful world still reeling but also slowly rebuilding after the war. The devastating human toll of World War I cannot be overstated the war virtually decimated an entire generation of young men. It is estimated that two million young women faced the prospect of living their lives without husbands. Very much a woman of her time, Maisie in some ways also resembles a single woman circa 2005 she not only owns her own business, she has collected an eclectic group of friends, found herself a handsome young doctor to date and even is considering buying her own home.

"Life was never going to be as these women had expected it to be," says Winspear, who spoke to BookPage from her home in southern California, where she had just returned from back-to-back trips to New York and England to promote her current book and research her next one. "They had to make a life alone, and were fiercely independent. They had to work; they had to find companionship in other ways. The whole period is one of immense change and turmoil."

Long fascinated with the role of women between the first and second world wars, Winspear was eager to continue exploring this new reality for women in Pardonable Lies. Maisie clearly feels the pressure of making her business a success, and she also experiences the subtle prejudice against spinster women when she seeks a loan to buy a home. Winspear's fascinating peek into the life of a long-ago generation adds depth that makes the Maisie Dobbs series so difficult to define: it's part mystery and part historical fiction, with a dash of love story thrown in.

Although Winspear has won Agatha Awards for both Maisie Dobbs and Birds of a Feather, the first two books in the series, she is still amazed when she hears one of her books described as a mystery that reads like a novel. "Well, why shouldn't it?" asks Winspear.

Although she's a fan of mystery writers such as Patricia Cornwell and Jonathan Kellerman, Winspear admits she is more likely to read nonfiction, particularly biographies, which satisfy her nosy tendencies. "Because I write mysteries, I very rarely read mysteries," she says. "I know that's a sin—or is it?" She finds herself drawn to the genre as an author because of the particular challenges of writing a compelling mystery that also captures human elements.

"A mystery offers an enormous landscape with which to work," she says. "With a mystery, everything must come right in the end as much as possible. Yet life doesn't give perfect endings. Life is a journey. So this challenges an author: give readers something that rings true, and that also satisfies them." To make sure Pardonable Lies did ring true, Winspear paid a visit to the site of a casualty clearing station cemetery in Belgium. It was to these mobile hospitals that the wounded were brought in the middle of combat, and they were the scenes of some of the bloodiest, most horrific moments of the war as doctors and nurses of many nationalities worked to save as many lives as possible.

A pivotal scene in the book has Maisie returning to such a spot, and Winspear wanted to be sure she got it right.

"The rain was sideways across the land," Winspear recalls of her pilgrimage. "The cemetery was no bigger than someone's backyard garden. It was a very emotional experience. I wanted to know, how would it be if you had spent a significant point in your girlhood where you saw such terrible things?" This painstaking research and loyalty to the truth of the time in which Maisie lives is important to Winspear, but she is careful never to sacrifice story for the sake of historical accuracy. A graceful writer, Winspear brings 1930s London alive, describing the clothes, the food and the manners of the era without ever getting bogged down in details.

"The truth of the matter is, I'm a storyteller first and foremost," she says. "Everything else has to be in support of the story. I just want to reflect the spirit of the era." She suspects current events might have something to do with the success of the Maisie Dobbs series. "We're living in what are perceived as uncertain times in this country," Winspear said. " When you read something historical, you know we got through it and life goes on. When you read a mystery, you know that in the end everything will be right in the world. We need some of that."

Winspear, who moved to the United States from England in 1990, is already at work on the fourth Maisie Dobbs book. She pledges to continue the series as long as she feels the stories continue to offer something original.

"It has to be fresh for me," she said. "Maisie Dobbs has to grow and change like we all do. If she's not, it's stagnant. A reader comes back to serial characters to see how they've changed."

 

Amy Scribner writes from Olympia, Washington.

Who would have thought it? A prim 1930s British gumshoe is one of the freshest, most modern heroines in recent memory. With the third installment in author Jacqueline Winspear's mystery series, Maisie Dobbs takes her place in the upper echelon of literary female detectives, right next to Kinsey Millhone and Kay Scarpetta—the main difference being that unlike her thoroughly modern counterparts, Maisie Dobbs lives in post-World War I London.

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Any mother who lives in the suburbs knows about car culture. Strap screaming toddler/infant into minivan/SUV/late-model station wagon, drive 20 minutes to coffee shop/library/play date. Complete errand, then do it all in reverse.

Raising kids in the 'burbs can be an incredibly lonely endeavor. Best-selling author Jennifer Weiner, who burst onto the literary scene in 2001 with Good in Bed, may be a city-dweller herself, but she feels the pain of suburban stay-at-home moms in her new novel, Goodnight Nobody.

After the birth of her daughter (followed in too-rapid succession by twin boys), Kate Klein finds herself transplanted from Manhattan to Upchurch, a Stepford-esque Connecticut town where mothers spend their days making sure their children eat organic snacks, have plenty of enriching social activities and never guess that Mommy is bored out of her mind.

Of course, the town's bucolic charm is disturbed a bit when Kate finds local uber-mom Kitty Cavanaugh stabbed to death in her own kitchen. Missing her old days as a reporter, Kate launches an amateur investigation of the murder and discovers some not-so-wholesome activities going on behind the closed doors of Upchurch.

Although Weiner lives a more urban life with her husband and two-year-old daughter in Philadelphia, she clearly understands the singularly weird culture of one-upsmanship raging among modern middle-class moms. In Goodnight Nobody, she explores that segment of the population in which only the best is good enough for parents worried about getting their child into a top-tier preschool. Weiner is fascinated with how the isolation of the suburbs might feed this phenomenon.

"In the suburbs, you have to get in the car to go anywhere," Weiner says, talking to BookPage while taking a brief break from her current project (potty training her daughter, Lucy Jane). "Social circles can be so much more hierarchical and rigid when you have to plan every outing and get-together."

As someone firmly on the outside of Upchurch's social circle, Kate is the antithesis of her overachieving peers. She fastens her hair with a paper clip from her husband's office when she can't find a barrette, and she is quite certain she will die if she has to play one more game of Candyland.

"Kate is a very extreme example of the dislocation and confusion every new mom goes through," Weiner says. "You can feel your life slipping away a little—maybe not your life, but certainly your autonomy."

With a toddler at home, Weiner knows the effort it takes to juggle a career and kids. She's had to readjust her own life to make time for her writing. A nanny comes in from 1 to 5 p.m. every weekday, while Weiner and her laptop relocate to a coffee shop down the street.

"I'm luckier than probably 99 percent of women anywhere," she notes. "I don't have a boss to deal with, I don't have an office to go to. I have a lot of flexibility and freedom. But still it's not easy. You can't answer e-mail and take care of a two-year-old."

Those afternoons writing in the coffee shop have yielded Goodnight Nobody, which is Weiner's first foray into the mystery genre. Her previous bestsellers, Good In Bed, In Her Shoes (made into a feature film starring Cameron Diaz that hits theaters this month) and Little Earthquakes, feature women facing major turning points in their lives. Weiner found that writing a believable, suspenseful whodunit was a whole different task.

"Mysteries are so plot-driven, whereas my previous books were very character-driven," she says. With a mystery, "you've got to have great characters but also intricacy in the clues and pacing. I probably did more rewriting on this book than the first three put together. It was a very intense year."

Even while changing genres, Weiner continues her tradition of writing smart, funny novels about smart, funny women. She infuses her characters with humor and believable angst, thus earning a place among the queen bees of the so-called chick lit scene, something she's come to accept and even embrace.

"There's nothing wrong with the pink cover with high heels," she says, referring to the glut of pastel-colored books published in recent years that feature lovelorn heroines who tend to shop too much and have really, really awful bosses.

"There are a great many other things in the world I can get outraged about."

But Weiner did wade into the debate a few months ago, after Prep author Curtis Sittenfeld wrote a scathing review of Melissa Bank's The Wonder Spot, deriding it in the New York Times as fluffy chick lit.

Weiner blasted back on her blog, SnarkSpot, charging that the review was a transparent bid by Sittenfeld to position herself as a serious author rather than a mere member of the chick lit brigade.

Weiner wrote: "The more I think about the increasingly angry divide between ladies who write literature and chicks who write chick lit, the more it seems like a grown-up version of the smart versus pretty games of years ago; like so much jockeying for position in the cafeteria and mocking the girls who are nerdier/sluttier/stupider than you to make yourself feel more secure about your own place in the pecking order."

Months later, Weiner still bristles at the idea that any author should "turn up her nose at a whole genre."

"I found it mean-spirited and narrow-minded," she says of Sittenfeld's review. "I almost feel sorry for her. She's alienated a lot of women authors and readers who don't want to be told they're stupid for liking this kind of book."

In the end, though, Weiner's latest work transcends such easy labels. Call it chick lit if you must, but more than anything, Goodnight Nobody is a page-turning mystery that would make the "Desperate Housewives" proud.

Best of all, Weiner bravely goes where few have dared, allowing her character to feel conflicted (with an occasional flicker of full-blown regret) about her new role as full-time mom. An entire nation of chicks will thank her.

 

Amy Scribner tends to her toddler son in Olympia, Washington.

Author photo by Andrea Cipriani.

Any mother who lives in the suburbs knows about car culture. Strap screaming toddler/infant into minivan/SUV/late-model station wagon, drive 20 minutes to coffee shop/library/play date. Complete errand, then do it all in reverse.

Raising kids in the 'burbs can be an incredibly lonely endeavor. Best-selling…

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As a longtime reporter and newspaper columnist, Jacquelyn Mitchard couldn’t help but wonder what happens to victims of high-profile violence after the headlines fade away and the camera crews disappear. In her powerful new novel, Cage of Stars, the Swan family—what’s left of it—is wading through its grief after a deeply disturbed young man, Scott Early, kills their two youngest daughters in a particularly brutal way.

Twelve-year-old Ronnie Swan, the eldest daughter and the one baby-sitting when Becky and Ruthie were murdered, is left to deal not only with the intense media attention but also with her own guilt and anger. While her deeply devout Mormon parents eventually choose to forgive Early, Ronnie is consumed by her need to avenge her sisters’ deaths.
 
Mitchard found the basis for her novel in a newspaper story detailing a similar real-life killing in California. But instead of lingering on the violence itself, she wanted to explore the aftermath of having a loved one suddenly torn away. In Cage of Stars, the murder scene is harrowing, but brief.
 
"I didn’t want violence to be the subject of the book," she says in an interview from her home in Wisconsin. "I wanted to handle the crime as discreetly and delicately as I could. I was more curious about what happened after."
 
Mitchard is known for her gripping and thought-provoking portrayals of families in pain. In her best-selling novel The Deep End of the Ocean—the very first Oprah Book Club selection—a child is kidnapped, only to be found years later and returned to parents who are virtual strangers. Custody battles, failing marriages, chronic illnesses: Mitchard has covered them all in her six previous novels, which include The Breakdown Lane and A Theory of Relativity. Cage of Stars is another Mitchard classic, a gripping journey into an unthinkable situation. It is a lovely meditation on faith, family and finding peace in the unforgivable.
 
When speaking, Mitchard exudes a down-home energy and humor that belies the tough subject matter she often tackles.

When thanked for talking with BookPage at 10 a.m., she exclaims, "It’s midday for me! I live in the country. The children have to catch the bus at an absurd hour." She goes on to matter-of-factly add that she has already exercised and met her morning goal of 200 sit-ups. And somehow, because of her cheerful breeziness, you are happy for her.
 

Mitchard lives on a farm near Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband and seven children, as well as two Clydesdales and one horse "of indeterminate origin." A picturesque life, to be sure, but it wasn’t always so easy. Her first husband, reporter Dan Allegretti, died of colorectal cancer in 1993, leaving her behind to provide for their three young children.
"We had nothing," she recalls. "We had learned every way to serve rice."
 
Even worse for Mitchard was the uncertainty of wondering what really happens to loved ones after they die. She found it unbearable.
 
"Being a widow, I know that survival can be worse than death," she says. "None of us knows for sure whether we go to eternal life or a good night’s sleep."
 
For their part, the Swans cope with the loss of two children by relying heavily on their faith. Mitchard chose Mormonism mainly for its focus on family, and seems surprised at the interest that choice has garnered.
 
"It’s the least important question of the whole book, yet the one I get the most," she says. "I chose it because I wanted Ronnie to have an extremely sheltered girlhood, but I wanted her to live in a community where she could be a lawyer, a dancer, a basketball player—anything she wanted to be. A part of the world, yet not worldly."
 
For a young girl who grew up free from the modern culture of violent video games and television, the murders would be almost incomprehensible. So a shattered Ronnie finds herself plotting to track down Early, without really knowing what she will do when she comes face-to-face with him again.
 
"Revenge is a primary human emotion. Forgiveness isn’t," Mitchard says. "When we are wronged or hurt, our instinct is to strike back. But it doesn’t always get us what we think it will, which is peace."
 
As with her previous novels, Mitchard found writing Cage of Stars to be an all-encompassing project.
"When you are writing fiction, you sort of drop down into this other kingdom," she says. "It isn’t as though I ignore my children and don’t feed them. It’s just that some part of your mind is living in that invisible house you’ve created."
 
And Mitchard has one steadfast rule while immersed in writing a novel: She doesn’t read any other fiction.
"I become desperately jealous," she says. "I wonder why I ever tried this at all."
 
Certainly thousands of aspiring writers felt the same pangs of envy when, on Sept. 17, 1996, Mitchard’s The Deep End of the Ocean was announced as the inaugural Oprah Book Club selection. Winfrey herself left Mitchard several messages, but Mitchard, assuming it was a prank, didn’t return the calls. Only after Winfrey persisted did Mitchard learn that her life was about to change drastically. She had no way of knowing just how much.
 
"Who knew what it would mean?" Mitchard says. "People had such a hunger and thirst to gossip about a book. They just embraced it."
 
The kind of fame and financial windfall that comes with being an Oprah Book Club pick comes at a strange price—but it’s one that Mitchard has easily accepted.
 
"Some days I think it set the gate so high for me that it’ll be difficult for me to attain that kind of success again," she says. "On the other hand, it gave me the privilege and ability to support myself, my husband and my children.
"I’m privileged to write stories for a living."
 
Amy Scribner writes from Olympia, Washington.

As a longtime reporter and newspaper columnist, Jacquelyn Mitchard couldn't help but wonder what happens to victims of high-profile violence after the headlines fade away and the camera crews disappear. In her powerful new novel, Cage of Stars, the Swan family—what's left of it—is wading…

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How does an author face the daunting task of following up a debut novel that is a critical and commercial sensation? In the case of Prep author Curtis Sittenfeld, she avoids the sophomore slump by writing another beautifully crafted coming-of-age story that stands up to the original. In The Man of My Dreams, we follow Hannah Gavener from high school through college and into adulthood. Deeply introspective and haunted by a painful childhood, Hannah is convinced that happiness is out of her reach. When she moves to Boston for college, she enters a series of very different relationships that leave her wondering whether she'll ever find the perfect partner.

As a 30-year-old with one of the New York Times' 10 best books of 2005 and a movie option in her pocket, Sittenfeld knows about figuring out this thing called life. She answered some questions for BookPage about how it feels to be a best-selling author, and the path she took to get there.

You won the Seventeen magazine fiction contest when you were 16. When did you know that you wanted to be a writer?
From the time I learned to read and write, around kindergarten, I always loved to do both. My parents talk about how when I was two or three years old, I used to refuse to go to bed because I'd be sitting on the toilet holding a book upside down, and I'd tell them I was reading. Probably I, like a lot of people, became a writer sort of in imitation of or in homage to the books I enjoyed. When you're so captivated by something, you think, could I do that? Hmm, let me try.

You're still so young. How much did your own memories of being a teenager and a college student influence your books?
People who think my books are autobiographical, which they're not, credit me with having a much better memory than I do. I do, however, have a powerful imagination. It's never that hard for me to imagine what it must feel like to be someone else, whether it's an American teenage girl or a Japanese octogenarian man.

There's a great line in the book: She just hadn't expected that adulthood would seem so ordinary. How does your adulthood compare to your expectations?
Well, a typical night is: My boyfriend and I make stir-fry, we play Scrabble, I lose, he turns on baseball, I fall asleep on the couch at 9:45 p.m., and he wakes me up in time for The Daily Show. That probably falls under the definition of ordinary, right? But not in a bad way.

Hannah's cousin tells her, "You're not that funny no offense . . ." How funny are you in real life?
Let's see. I'm funnier than knock-knock jokes, Wings reruns and Dick Cheney . . . but less funny than Dick Cheney in heels and a feather boa.

As someone who's been compared to so many iconic writers, from Wally Lamb to Judy Blume to J.D. Salinger, which authors do you admire?
There are so many books I've loved, but my all-time most favorite writer is Alice Munro I just worship her. She's so smart and entertaining, and her writing doesn't draw attention to how good it is language-wise; instead it fully and perfectly evokes a particular scene, making you feel like you're present in it. Plus, she doesn't shy from depicting people's dark sides.

You took some criticism for a book review you wrote in the New York Times in which you seemed anti- chick lit. Set the record straight.
I've realized that there's no consensus on what the term chick lit means. Is it defined by subject matter (meaning any books about young women) or is it treatment (meaning books about young women that are willfully fluffy)? Many of my favorite books have young female protagonists, and part of the reason I enjoy Alice Munro so much is that she often writes about that demographic. But, undeniably, there are a lot of books about young women that just aren't very good. . . . [T]heir use of language is mediocre, their insights aren't actually insightful, their plot lines are predictable and boring. I'm not saying nobody should enjoy them, but I'm saying I don't.

If you could fast-forward right now, where do you see Hannah in 10 years?
I think she's realized by the end that she can't hang her happiness on a man which, as everyone who has ever read a women's magazine knows, means she will find happiness with a man immediately. But 10 years from now? By then, she's probably married and having an Updike-esque affair.

What will your next book be about?
Japanese octogenarian men. Just kidding.

How does an author face the daunting task of following up a debut novel that is a critical and commercial sensation? In the case of Prep author Curtis Sittenfeld, she avoids the sophomore slump by writing another beautifully crafted coming-of-age story that stands up…

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Sara Gruen keeps her cat's ashes in an urn behind her desk and donates a portion of her book royalties to animal charities. It's not terribly surprising, then, that one of the most memorable characters in this animal lover's new novel is a pachyderm named Rosie.

"I've always been a complete sucker for animals," says Gruen, whose novel Water for Elephants has garnered considerable buzz for its offbeat story of a Depression-era traveling circus. "I didn't realize that maybe other people weren't until recently. I've always been 'Feed the wild ones, tame the stray ones.' "

Gruen's own menagerie—which she shares with her husband and three young sons—includes four cats, a dog, a horse and goats. Gruen spoke with BookPage recently from her home in an environmental community north of Chicago, where the residents live in energy-efficient homes and share an organic farm and a charter school.

It was in this bucolic setting that Gruen started writing her third novel (following Riding Lessons and Flying Changes) after intensive research that included several family visits to circus shows. But Water for Elephants almost didn't happen: Distraction after distraction kept Gruen from finishing the book, including the usual family illnesses and a technical-writing project that dragged on for four months.

"I found it very difficult to get back into the characters," she recalls. "I almost gave it up."

Gruen laughs as she explains the sensory-deprivation method she finally employed to buckle down and finish the book—she moved her desk to a walk-in closet, covered the window, turned off the phones and wore earplugs.

"I hope to never have to do that again!" she says.

The result was worth the struggle. Water for Elephants is the remarkable, captivating story of the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth, a 1930s traveling circus fighting to stay solvent during the Great Depression.

Gruen brings to life a fascinating, nearly forgotten world of big tops and bearded ladies, in a time when the circus coming to town was a rare treat for those suffering through one of the bleakest chapters in our nation's history.

The story is also a bittersweet statement on growing old in modern America. Jacob Jankowski, who is either 90 or 93 years old (he's not entirely sure anymore), whiles away his days in a nursing home, missing his wife and his life. His children and grandchildren come to visit, but he finds it increasingly difficult to keep them all straight. When a traveling circus sets up in the parking lot next to his residence, his shaky mind is transported back to his days as the Benzini circus veterinarian.

After young Jacob's parents die in a car accident, he abandons his veterinary studies at Cornell and hops a Benzini train. He is soon taking care of a host of big cats, monkeys and horses, and spending his nights with the circus crew drinking bottles of the foulest bootleg imaginable.

Jacob is quickly captivated by Marlena, the lovely but married star of the Benzini show. Her husband August is a dashing, vicious man who trains (and often beats) the circus animals. Rosie, the prized elephant that the Benzini show bought from a failed competitor, is often at the wrong end of August's wrath. Eventually, so is Jacob.

Gruen was one day away from starting a new novel on an entirely different topic when she read a newspaper feature about famed circus photographer Edward J. Kelty. In the years after World War I, Kelty followed circuses around the country, capturing mesmerizing images of sword swallowers, giants and midgets.

Gruen saw Kelty's work and thought, "Wow! I could put a novel in that." She set aside her other project and began researching the unique community of circus workers.

"I wanted to preserve a snapshot of that very extreme culture, because it's gone," she says.

The book is stuffed with authentic, largely forgotten details about life during the Depression. Gruen writes about a grizzled circus worker named Camel suffering from "Jake Leg." The condition afflicted tens of thousands of people who drank a Jamaican ginger extract during Prohibition, not knowing that it could cause paralysis.

Getting the historical details right was painstaking work, but Gruen found she had no trouble capturing the nuances of Jacob, a crotchety nonagenarian.

"He was the one who was just there," she says. "I think it scared my husband. I just turned on the tap and there's this cantankerous old man."

"It was much more difficult to write the historical chapters," she says. "You know, was there running water in a 1930s train car? I would finish those chapters with my tongue hanging out. Then I'd reach the safety of Jacob's nursing home."

Some of the history included in the book—such as Jake Leg and the rampant abuse of circus animals and workers—is haunting, but Gruen doesn't flinch from that reality.

In one of the book's many poignant moments, Jacob discovers why the elephant Rosie is so seemingly ill-suited for circus life, leading to her many beatings at the hands of August. In her author's note, Gruen makes clear that such abuse is historically accurate. A 1930s elephant named Topsy killed her trainer after he fed her a lit cigarette.

"Topsy's owners at Coney Island's Luna Park decided to turn her execution into a public spectacle," Gruen writes. "But the announcement that they were going to hang her met with uproar—after all, wasn't hanging a cruel and unusual punishment?"

The elephant was electrocuted in front of 1,500 spectators.

Sad? Absolutely. But if anything, discovering such stories while writing Water for Elephants only intensified Gruen's devotion to animals.

"I came into this project loving elephants, but now I'm absolutely besotted," Gruen laughs.

Amy Scribner writes from Olympia, Washington.

 

Sara Gruen keeps her cat's ashes in an urn behind her desk and donates a portion of her book royalties to animal charities. It's not terribly surprising, then, that one of the most memorable characters in this animal lover's new novel is a pachyderm named…

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For a first-time novelist, tackling a book that traces the intertwined stories of several generations of Jewish immigrants is ambitious, to say the least. Wouldn’t it be simpler to ease in with a breezy novel about bad boyfriends or career troubles? But Jennifer Gilmore doesn’t shy away from a challenge. As publicity director for Harcourt, she knows just how much work is involved in transforming a good idea into a finished book, yet she went for it anyway.

Golden Country is the sweeping, luminous story of 20th-century New York City immigrants with pasts marred by tragedy and futures filled with promise. Traveling salesman Joseph Brodsky is sure he is on the verge of inventing a product that will revolutionize the way America cleans. Seymour Bloom yearns to trade in a life of organized crime for one as a Broadway producer. Frances Gold wants to be a star.

Gilmore recently answered some questions about the immigrant experience and her leap-of-faith in taking on a new role in the publishing industry.

You’ve said that your novel is inspired by your own family’s American experience. Who is the most colorful member of your real-life family?
The most colorful member of my family was probably my grandmother. She told dirty jokes, did crosswords while smoking on the toilet, and used to sneak Dove Bars from the deep freeze in her garage in Portland, Maine. My great-grandmother Grandma G was also quite something. She came from Montmartre in Paris, was a Lane Bryant model for a while, and used to shake me and tell me she loved me to pieces!

So many of the characters in Golden Country struggle to realize their American dreams. What’s one of your lifelong dreams? Have you achieved it yet?
I am interested a lot in failure, the flip side of the American Dream, and my dreams always felt suffused with this. It’s part of life, but our dreams get so curtailed. Mine, truly, was to write a book and have it published. I think it was my only dream. When I was a little girl, I had no idea how difficult that would be.

Your very vivid portrait of New York City from the 1920s to the 1960s reveals your affection for the city. What’s your favorite thing about New York?
There are so many lovely things about New York, it’s difficult to pick only one. I think the wonderful things about living here are small and everyday: Prospect Park before 9 a.m., walking down Fifth Avenue, rooftops. And then there is going to the theater, which I have been lucky enough to do since I was a kid visiting the city heading into Times Square, or Lincoln Center or BAM, waiting in the velvet seats for the curtain to swing open.

As Harcourt’s publicity director, you’ve spent much of your career on the business side of publishing. How is it being on the author side of the experience?
Being on both sides is actually quite difficult. You know everything that can go wrong, and you know all a publisher can do to help a book. The surprise is that everything is still so surprising to me: getting the cover, the first reviews, seeing it bound up in book form. And I’m also surprised by my disappointment. Sometimes it feels like: all this work six years! for this? A book is a very strange thing. . . .

You’ve read a lot of books in your line of work. Which authors inspire you?
The authors who inspire me are the same ones that have since before I even came to New York. Philip Roth, Delmore Schwartz, Grace Paley, Carson McCullers. I have since added Zadie Smith to my list. Through my job I have worked with some wonderful writers Umberto Eco, Michel Faber, Amos Oz, to name a few but the authors I read from the beginning are the ones my mind returns to time and again.

In Golden Country, Joseph Brodsky developed his cleaning product in the basement. Another character, Vladimir Zworykin, worked at the office late into the night on his invention. What was your process for writing this book?
I wish I wrote at night! My life would be a lot easier. But I am one of those people who needs to get up at the crack of dawn and write before work. I’m a morning writer the impurities of the day get to me.

So, are you treating the publicity folks for this book extra nicely?
Most people turn this question around and ask if I am being horrid to publicity! I am trying to treat my publicist with respect and be aware of her time, which sometimes authors forget to do. Publicity is the end of the line in the very long process in a book’s life and it causes incredible anxiety for authors. I admit, I feel that part too.

 

For a first-time novelist, tackling a book that traces the intertwined stories of several generations of Jewish immigrants is ambitious, to say the least. Wouldn't it be simpler to ease in with a breezy novel about bad boyfriends or career troubles? But Jennifer Gilmore…

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Kate Atkinson has spent her afternoon stuck in traffic. It's hardly an ideal way to pass a day, but after finally making it to her home in Edinburgh, Scotland, the best-selling author sounds undaunted even effervescent in a telephone interview. The cheerful Scottish lilt in her voice probably doesn't hurt.

Of course, Atkinson has a lot to be happy about. She rocketed to success with her first novel, Behind the Scenes at the Museum, which beat out Salman Rushdie to win the Whitbread Book of the Year in 1995. Critics heaped more accolades on her most recent novel Case Histories, including some unimaginably high praise from Stephen King (more on that later). In her latest book, One Good Turn, we revisit Jackson Brodie, the now retired detective from Case Histories. Brodie finds himself at the Edinburgh Arts Festival just in time to become enmeshed in a growing scandal that includes a frightening road-rage incident and the murder of a has-been comic.

Atkinson manages to keep tabs on a host of engaging characters in addition to Brodie, including depressed mystery writer Martin Canning, police detective Louise Monroe and feisty Gloria Hatter, wife of an unscrupulous homebuilder whose illegal practices are about to catch up with him. It's Gloria a 60-something woman who is arguably the soul of the book with whom Atkinson most identifies.

"Gloria is me," Atkinson says with a laugh. "She's the closest to me of all characters I've ever written. She's very strong and secretive, although she doesn't appear to be secretive. She's powerful yet disenfranchised. She likes rules and likes to obey rules. She wants people to do things properly. She's become fascist in her old age. I really feel myself becoming that way." Gloria, who despises her husband's deplorable business dealings and yearns for a clean break, also happens to live in the same Edinburgh suburb, known as the Grange, where Atkinson lives. "I've never brought a character so close to home," she says.

The characters of One Good Turn, including Brodie, who is drifting through retirement, seem to be struggling to find their way. Atkinson sees this as a reflection of the ups and downs of real life.

"I never see them as miserable, unhappy characters," she says. "They're just complex. Most people have fractured lives and are unhappy. I kind of see them as normal people." Such richly imagined characters set Atkinson's books apart from many mysteries, in which the unsolved case generally takes precedence over character development. Despite the success of Case Histories and the subject matter of One Good Turn, Atkinson actually does not consider herself a crime writer.

"People always want to ask a genre question when I write a book," she said. "It's just the book I'm writing. I was aware when I wrote Case Histories that it would be perceived as crime fiction. But I didn't feel I was writing a crime novel. It was just my novel with crime in it." As it turns out, the genre question is not the only thing readers want to ask Atkinson about when she hits the road to promote a new book. While grateful for the support of her fans, Atkinson still is shocked at the level of familiarity some people assume when she appears at book readings. In fact, the character of Martin Canning reflects Atkinson's fascination with the dilemma of being a well-known author who is actually quite private.

"I was once asked by two women at an event how often I had sex!" she recalls. "People think they're intimate with you from reading your books. I never think of giving myself away like that." What Atkinson does give consistently is clever, intoxicating storytelling that keeps readers guessing until the end. One Good Turn is a fast-paced, intricately woven tale of mistaken identity and bad behavior. Atkinson's new novel is even more intriguing thanks to its colorful backdrop: Edinburgh's annual arts festival, a booming mix of dance, music, theater and opera that takes over the Scottish capital (and in fact was responsible for the traffic jam that tied her up all afternoon). Atkinson brings her hometown's quirky festival to life, offering the perfect setting for murder and mayhem. It is a romp of a read that makes good on the promise of Atkinson's earlier efforts.

Which brings us back to Stephen King. In 2005, the author and Entertainment Weekly columnist named Case Histories his favorite book of the year, calling it the literary equivalent of a triple axel and the best mystery of the decade. In King's opinion, this placed Atkinson head and shoulders above some of his other favorite authors from that year, including heavy hitters J.K. Rowling, Ian McEwan, George Pelecanos and Cormac McCarthy. When this is mentioned, Atkinson laughs uproariously, still sounding more than a bit disbelieving.

When King's column appeared, Atkinson recalled, her publicist "forwarded the quote to me in an e-mail, and wrote 'Holy Cow!' with 100 exclamation points. It's a quote you could not buy. That was just a gift, really. It will now be on every book!" And may there be many more Atkinson books on which to plaster that gift. 

 

Amy Scribner is a writer in Olympia, Washington.

Kate Atkinson has spent her afternoon stuck in traffic. It's hardly an ideal way to pass a day, but after finally making it to her home in Edinburgh, Scotland, the best-selling author sounds undaunted even effervescent in a telephone interview. The cheerful Scottish lilt in…

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Nothing is more miserable—or more exhilarating—than a good case of lovesickness. But what does it mean to be lovesick? Is it high school puppy love, dreamily doodling the initials of a crush? Or is it something much darker?

In Peony in Love, the elegant and haunting follow-up to her extraordinarily successful novel Snow Flower and the Secret Fan (2005), author Lisa See explores the true phenomenon of lovesick maidens: privileged but cloistered Chinese girls who fell under the spell of a romantic opera and literally wasted away.

The Chinese government actually censored the 1598 opera, "The Peony Pavilion," believing it to be dangerous. The opera tells the story of Liniang, a young woman who meets her lover in a dream, and upon awakening is so lovesick that she dies of a broken heart. In the end, her lover brings her back to life. The opera was revolutionary in its time, because it depicted a young woman choosing her own path.

In 17th-century China, the setting of See’s Peony in Love, it was customary for the wives, concubines and daughters of wealthy men to live their entire lives behind the gates of the family villa. Young women were promised to men they didn’t meet until their wedding night, when they were transferred like property from their natal family to their in-laws. Even if the girls were allowed outside the "inner chambers" of their homes, the disfiguration caused by their bound feet—an indication of good breeding and wealth that rendered women unable to do the hard work that should be left to servants—made it impossible for them to travel far.

These well-educated but sheltered girls who died in the name of love intrigued See.

"These girls were living more or less totally confined lives," See says in an interview from her home in Los Angeles, where she was preparing to embark on a 15-city book tour. "They never met their husbands. A lot of them never went out. They thought that in emulating Liniang, maybe they, too, would have some choice in their lives. Maybe true love would bring them back to life."

That fate doesn’t await the doomed 16-year-old in See’s new novel. Peony meets her soul mate during a forbidden late-night walk on the outskirts of her family villa. She sneaks away again the next night to meet him while her family is engrossed in a local production of "The Peony Pavilion." But Peony knows she is destined to marry a man she’s been promised to since birth. Soon, she finds herself obsessed with the very opera that has condemned so many other girls to their deaths. She sets off down the same dark path as she awaits her wedding day.

At its heart, Peony in Love is a ghostly coming-of-age novel.

"Peony learns the way we all learn: She makes horrible, stupid mistakes," See says. "Her heart is always in the right place but like all of us, sometimes that isn’t enough."

See uses her book to explore the mythology and beliefs that still linger in her own Chinese-American family, including the tradition of honoring the spirits of family members after they die. Although she and her grown sons are thoroughly American, See still identifies with the culture and customs of her ancestors.

"I have red hair and freckles," she said. "I don’t look Chinese, and (my sons) look even less so." But, she says, most of the some 400 relatives they have in Los Angeles are fully Chinese.

"When my kids think about family, that’s the family they envision," she said. "Those people, they were my mirror."

Writing is another tradition that runs in the See family. See’s mother, Carolyn See, is an accomplished novelist and book reviewer who taught her daughter to commit to her writing.

"Ever since I was a little kid, she was saying, ‘Write a thousand words a day,’" See recalls. "She also taught me to not be afraid to go to some pretty dark places in my writing."

Although See is able to disconnect from her work at the end of the day ("I still make dinner and go to the dry cleaners," she laughs), being immersed in such intense projects does affect her.

"When I write, I don’t have dreams," she says. "The first six weeks after I finish a book, I have the most vivid dreams. I think in some ways I’m doing my dreaming during the day, and by the time I’m done writing for the day, I can wake up."

It might have seemed to See that she was dreaming when Snow Flower—which now has almost a million copies in print—became a bestseller. See keeps on her desk a photo she snapped of a Snow Flower promotional poster she saw in a Paris Metro station.

"What happened with Snow Flower was and still is such a shock and a surprise to me," See says. "Of all of my books, I thought, no one is going to read this. I thought, if I’m really lucky, 5,000 people will read this book. But they’ll be the right people."

Part of the novel’s magic was See’s fascinating depiction of two nearly forgotten Chinese customs: the secret women’s language of nu shu, and foot-binding, a gruesomely painful custom in which mothers would break their daughter’s feet to reconfigure them in a smaller, daintier shape. See likens the practice to our society’s current fixation on breast enhancement.

"Breast implants are now a big high school graduation gift," she says. "It’s that same thing. Who’s giving that gift? Mothers to daughters. At its core, it’s to make her more marriageable. I live in L.A., so there are a lot of men walking around with women with these big plastic things on their chests."

Having already uncovered the lost worlds of nu shu, foot-binding and lovesick maidens, what’s left for See to explore? In her next book, she’ll write about the Chinese-American experience through the eyes of two girls sent to California from Shanghai for arranged marriages. See views it as a chance to write about the rapidly disappearing Los Angeles of her youth.

On a recent visit to L.A.’s Chinatown, she discovered that the community in which she grew up is already changing, with shops and buildings closing or being demolished.

"They were so much a part of my identity and who I am," she says wistfully. "In five to 10 years I won’t have any more ties to Chinatown. I’ve been kind of reeling from it, actually. This book is about people and places that disappear."

Amy Scribner writes from Olympia, Washington.

Author photo by Patricia Williams.

Nothing is more miserable—or more exhilarating—than a good case of lovesickness. But what does it mean to be lovesick? Is it high school puppy love, dreamily doodling the initials of a crush? Or is it something much darker?

In Peony in Love, the elegant and…

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