Carrie Rollwagen

BookPage Fiction Top Pick, May 2015

It’s a regular day in New York City. The subways are running, people are getting coffee and listening to headphones and going about their business. Then, in one seemingly isolated incident, a woman with blonde hair lashes out and kills without reason. As it turns out, the incident is not isolated at all.

In Emily Schultz’s third novel, The Blondes, the world succumbs to a mysterious, rabies-like pandemic that causes people to attack and kill at random. But it’s not everyone who is affected by the disease: It’s women. And not all women, but blonde women—both those who’ve colored their hair and those who were born blonde. Suddenly, the preferred hair hue for starlets, beach babes and Barbie dolls is dangerous and nearly forbidden. Women shave, color and cover their hair to try to stem the disease’s spread.

In the midst of these events, our main character, Hazel Hayes, tries to cope with a breakup and a pregnancy. She wants to get out of New York and go home to Canada, but the world is suspicious of women, and she faces literal attacks (from “Blonde Fury” victims), plus discrimination and paranoia.

Clearly, The Blondes touches on themes of gender identity and politics, broaching topics of adultery, pregnancy, abortion, gender studies, myths about female hysteria, menstruation prejudices and female portrayal in media. But the book delves deeper than hot-button issues and talking points to explore what happens when women turn against other women, what we do when we feel out of control and the choice of whether to stand aside when someone needs help or to hold out a hand.

Schultz handles all these themes masterfully, and that alone is impressive, but what really makes the novel great isn’t the gender politics—it’s the story. Hazel’s journey is outwardly terrifying and inwardly harrowing at the same time, creating a narrative we want to follow and a character we truly care about.
The Blondes is the book you can’t put down; it’s also the book you can’t stop thinking about after you do.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

It’s a regular day in New York City. The subways are running, people are getting coffee and listening to headphones and going about their business. Then, in one seemingly isolated incident, a woman with blonde hair lashes out and kills without reason. As it turns out, the incident is not isolated at all.

Tolstoy is famous for writing, “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” What he doesn’t mention is that each member of the family can be happy and unhappy in their own individual ways. That’s where Angela Flournoy picks up in The Turner House, the story of a big African-American family struggling with the decision of what to do with their family home.

In a Detroit struck by poverty and violence live the Turners, a sprawling family of 13 children. The oldest and the youngest practically belong to different generations, different Detroits and different parents. Their mistakes and their lost hopes are the bonds that connect them to each other.

Flournoy doesn’t just detail the journey the family goes on together; she also lets us in on the problems each individual struggles with alone. Family is their support system, but that doesn’t mean they share everything. Sometimes family members only serve to make each Turner feel more alone with their personal weaknesses.

What makes The Turner House profound is its reality, its observation of a family so diverse and well-drawn that they seem real. Many books center on romantic love or parental love, but we rarely find such an honest portrait of what it means to be a sibling—defined by your differences as much as your similarities—as the one Flournoy gives us. The Turners are continually rebuilding their lives, re-establishing connections that get tangled, torn and broken. Their story is beautiful in the way family is beautiful: full of heartbreak and broken dreams, but ultimately connection and community, understanding and love.

 

This article was originally published in the April 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Tolstoy is famous for writing, “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” What he doesn’t mention is that each member of the family can be happy and unhappy in their own individual ways. That’s where Angela Flournoy picks up in The Turner House, the story of a big African-American family struggling with the decision of what to do with their family home.

So much can happen in one day. And when it comes to Eddie Joyce’s first novel, so much is remembered in one day: Small Mercies is the story of the Amedolas, an Irish-Italian family living on Staten Island. The story is set in the current day, but it stretches back through generations with a particular emphasis on September 11, 2001, the day they lost Bobby—he was a firefighter, but he was also a son, brother, father and husband.

Losing Bobby is the pebble dropped in the middle of this plotline—everything centers on that day, but its ripples extend into both the present and the past. This is an intergenerational story of family dynamics that’s layered, complicated and intensely readable.

Staten Island features as more than a setting. It’s the heart of the family, what they cling to for stability, especially after they lose Bobby. The fact that they all grew up watching New York City without being a part of it stands in harsh relief against the reality that their favorite son was lost protecting it. Firefighting was a family business, and the idea that you can save others but you can’t save yourself is a metaphor that informs the rest of the book.

Just as this family’s history is a huge part of their story, so are their shortcomings. Because the novel is told from the perspectives of different family members, we have a clear view into each person’s private sins. This isn’t a novel that paints people as saints and sinners; every character here comes complete with individual triumphs and failures. We see in detail the way coping mechanisms drive the Amedolas apart and bring them back together in a way that, far from being unique to them, is part of the fabric of every close family.

 

So much can happen in one day. And when it comes to Eddie Joyce’s first novel, so much is remembered in one day: Small Mercies is the story of the Amedolas, an Irish-Italian family living on Staten Island. The story is set in the current day, but it stretches back through generations with a particular emphasis on September 11, 2001, the day they lost Bobby—he was a firefighter, but he was also a son, brother, father and husband.

Will’s entire world exists inside the walls of his house. Raised by an agoraphobic mother, he’s taught to fear the world outside—and the world inside, too, wearing a helmet constantly and donning body armor just to change a light bulb. He feels safe. Then he goes outside, and everything feels strange.

It doesn’t help that what he encounters really is bizarre: Neighborhood kids steal water hoses and make explosives, and he’s lied to by a boy he doesn’t know better than to trust. Despite its dangers, the outside attracts Will. Determined to solve a particular mystery in town, he forces himself and his mother to accept his going to school, walking and playing on the outside—even skateboarding.

Michael Christie, who was a professional skateboarder before turning to fiction, does an outstanding job exploring agoraphobia and panic disorders. He describes the “Black Lagoon” of depression that envelopes Will’s mother with remarkable insight and accuracy without either glorifying or trivializing her condition. The rest of the novel is fully drawn, too, including the psyches of Will, his friend Jonah and even the bullies. If I Fall, If I Die begins within the walls of a single home, but it eventually stretches to encompass an entire town, including its history and its mysteries.

Besides the obvious themes of leaving the nest and coming of age, this novel is about pushing boundaries and striving for change while understanding that the people we love may not be able to follow us. It’s about recognizing the beauty in new relationships even when they don’t turn out the way we plan. It’s about the ways we escape who our parents raised us to be—and the ways we’re inevitably drawn back into our histories anyway.

 

This article was originally published in the February 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Will’s entire world exists inside the walls of his house. Raised by an agoraphobic mother, he’s taught to fear the world outside—and the world inside, too, wearing a helmet constantly and donning body armor just to change a light bulb. He feels safe. Then he goes outside, and everything feels strange.

BookPage Fiction Top Pick, January 2015

We hear plenty of stories about falling in love. What we don’t often get, especially in romantic comedies, is the idea that marriage just might be the beginning of the love story, not its culmination. As The Rosie Effect shows, sometimes it’s possible, and even necessary, to fall in love with your partner over and over again. Sometimes that process can be just as beautiful—and just as romantic.

In The Rosie Project, we met Don. He may or may not be on the autism spectrum, but he certainly relies on logic instead of emotion and is often baffled by his interactions with other people. When he meets brash, break-the-rules Rosie, he discovers a love that defies logic.

We left them at happily ever after. Now we meet them again after a life-changing move to New York and news of a pregnancy. Both Don and Rosie are growing as people, but they’re not really growing together, and Australian author Graeme Simsion portrays that tension beautifully. Just as in a romantic comedy, we find ourselves hoping that two characters will overcome obstacles to find true love—but this time, they’re sitting just across the dinner table from each other.

Many sequels falter, but this one is pitch-perfect. It’s cute, but it isn’t cheesy. It’s extremely funny and clever, but not at the expense of the characters or as an insult to the reader. The unexpected twist in The Rosie Effect is the way Simsion manages to make marriage romantic. This book isn’t really about pregnancy or living with autism or moving to a new city. It’s about having your world rocked when you really, truly have to compromise with another person. It’s about how tricky that is, how hilarious that can be, and how beautiful it is when you pull it off.

 

This article was originally published in the January 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read a Q&A with Simsion for The Rosie Effect.

We hear plenty of stories about falling in love. What we don’t often get, especially in romantic comedies, is the idea that marriage just might be the beginning of the love story, not its culmination. As The Rosie Effect shows, sometimes it’s possible, and even necessary, to fall in love with your partner over and over again. Sometimes that process can be just as beautiful—and just as romantic.

Spoiled Brats is ridiculous in the very best way. It’s a short story collection that avoids the usual pitfalls because the stories work well together and don’t lose steam as they go along. A common theme (spoiled rich kids, mostly) keeps these stories cohesive, and author Simon Rich holds our interest with a unifying style—each chapter is very funny, and they’re all based on a different outlandish premise.

There’s the hamster that narrates a story of starvation and struggle from inside a private school classroom; the text-addicted girl who travels all the way to Saturn just to obsess about her boyfriend; the Brooklynite who’s accidentally brined and pickled, only to be awakened 100 years later to streets crawling with hipsters. The situations are fantastic, but in Rich’s hands they’re still human, realistic and down-to-earth. He remembers what many humor writers forget, which is that story is the key that keeps us reading. His silly characters are treated seriously, even the ridiculous ones (even the hamster), and the book is better for it.

Spoiled Brats mocks its protagonists without being mean; we find ourselves sympathizing and relating with these characters even as we laugh at them. Straight-up cynicism feels a little cruel, but Rich stays away from that, and his stories make the same old tropes feel fresh and funny and new again.

That’s important, because even though the book is technically focused on young rich kids, it’s also a treatise on the self-centered, self-absorbed culture that we all indulge in, at least sometimes. Rich gives us perspective on our ourselves in a way that feels safe because we’re seeing it through the prism of humor and out-of-this-world scenarios.

Spoiled Brats is undeniably funny, but its real genius is that, like the best comedy, it encourages introspection as well.

 

Carrie Rollwagen is the owner of Church Street Coffee & Books in Birmingham, Alabama.

Spoiled Brats is ridiculous in the very best way. It’s a short story collection that avoids the usual pitfalls because the stories work well together and don’t lose steam as they go along. A common theme (spoiled rich kids, mostly) keeps these stories cohesive, and author Simon Rich holds our interest with a unifying style—each chapter is very funny, and they’re all based on a different outlandish premise.

Reunion is a novel of death and life and family. It’s about the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive, and what happens when those narratives break down and we’re forced to grapple with real life and real people.

Kate lives in Chicago with her husband, Peter. He’s a therapist; she teaches screenwriting. Their lives look perfect from the outside, but Kate’s struggling with financial dependence on Peter that seems to be driving them apart. She hides the internal battle between loyalty to herself and fidelity to her husband so well that no one sees what she’s really thinking—not Peter, and certainly not her family.

She grew up in Atlanta, in privilege that she alternately tries to shake off and run back to. Her mother died when she was young, and her father responded by marrying a string of women who were less evil stepmothers and more inattentive and temporary babysitters. Despite an impressively large set of step-siblings, Kate considers her “original” siblings, Nell and Elliot, to be her only true family. She’s cut everyone else, even her father, out of the picture.

But the mythologies that served her so well as a child—her father as caricature, her step-families as disposable, her relationship with Nell and Elliot as sacred—begin to break down when her father commits suicide and the family returns to the South.

Kate’s world seems to wilt in the Atlanta heat. Her own marriage seems unfixable; her career is stalled; her debt is crushing. She struggles to hide the truth from both herself and her family, and in attempting that illusion only succeeds in making desperate choices that hurt everyone, including herself.

The story author Hannah Pittard tells us isn’t new, but it feels fresh and true anyway. We actually care as Kate struggles to hide the truth (from herself as much as from her family), and we care as she tries to undo the results of her self-destructive behavior. Because Kate sees her own shortcomings as much as she finds them in others, she’s relatable, and it’s this self-awareness that makes Reunion truly unique and insightful.

Reunion is a novel of death and life and family. It’s about the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive, and what happens when those narratives break down and we’re forced to grapple with real life and real people.

Poet Gregory Sherl’s first novel, The Future for Curious People, is set in a world much like ours, but with one key difference: A scientific breakthrough has made it possible to see the future of relationships. A simple doctor’s visit and insurance co-pay is all it takes to see if the first-date awkwardness will melt into love or misery, to know if a relationship is worth saving, or even to see if your partner will have an awkward hairstyle 20 years in the future.

Enter Godfrey and Evelyn, two people who are lonely despite their seemingly happy relationships, romantic souls living in a world where they just don’t seem to fit. These are characters defined by their quirks—he wears mittens and has mother (and father) issues, she has a kleptomaniac best friend and a job as a librarian—but their eccentricities work a sort of charm, creating characters that are easy to love, even if they have trouble finding love themselves.

Underneath the sci-fi elements driving the plot, The Future for Curious People is really about love. It plays with our idea of true love, remixing it and even slightly mocking it, but always with a nostalgia that makes the story more sweet than sour. It gently reminds us that knowing the future isn’t the answer, but never judges us for wishing we knew more.

Is destiny real? Do soul mates exist? Is fate immutable? The Future for Curious People toys with these questions without drawing crystal-clear conclusions. In that way, it’s a lot like love itself.

 

This article was originally published in the September 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Poet Gregory Sherl’s first novel, The Future for Curious People, is set in a world much like ours, but with one key difference: A scientific breakthrough has made it possible to see the future of relationships. A simple doctor’s visit and insurance co-pay is all it takes to see if the first-date awkwardness will melt into love or misery, to know if a relationship is worth saving, or even to see if your partner will have an awkward hairstyle 20 years in the future.

First love, young love, unexpected love—any kind of love with a deep vein of naiveté and innocence—this is Rainbow Rowell’s wheelhouse. She manages to capture raw emotion with a wave of nostalgia that captivates not only her primary audience of young adult readers, but also those of us who, at least in theory, have moved past the age of soaring crushes and crushing heartbreak.

Rowell’s new novel, Landline, aims to capture adult fans with the story of sitcom writer Georgie and the conflict between her relationship with her best friend, the womanizing Seth, and her husband, the long-suffering Neal. Thankfully, Rowell avoids the played-out chick-lit love triangle and creates a much more interesting story of the tension between friendship and love, and between a successful woman’s work life and her family life. Georgie has complicated choices even before she discovers the magic telephone.

That’s right—the title refers to an old phone Georgie uses to call college-age Neal, the boy she fell in love with. Rowell uses the phone to play with the differences between old technology and new, and she leverages it to echo the differences in the relationship between young-in-love college students and the married adults they grow up to be.

The sci-fi elements make Landline a bit of a bumpy ride, and Rowell’s description of adult relationships lacks the authentic feeling of her description of young love. Still, her characters are incredibly true-to-life, and her writing is consistently fun. We may not all have access to magic phones, but Landline gives us all a way to travel back in time and remember the emotional roller coaster of loves we may have left behind.

Carrie Rollwagen writes from Birmingham, Alabama, where she is the co-owner of Church Street Coffee & Books.

This article was originally published in the July 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

 

First love, young love, unexpected love—any kind of love with a deep vein of naiveté and innocence—this is Rainbow Rowell’s wheelhouse. She manages to capture raw emotion with a wave of nostalgia that captivates not only her primary audience of young adult readers, but also those of us who, at least in theory, have moved past the age of soaring crushes and crushing heartbreak.

The fun of reading Dutch author Herman Koch is his constant questioning of normal human behavior. His commentary on etiquette and the trappings of wealth is hilariously biting; it’s like standing next to the cynical party guest who keeps you laughing all night by mocking the pretentious host. And just like that funny guy at the party, Koch can go from companionable to creepy before you realize what changed. He did it in his stateside breakout book, The Dinner, when a simple meal turned twisted, and Summer House with Swimming Pool is no different: We watch as a happy family vacation grows complicated and dark.

This time, our misanthropic narrator is Marc, doctor to the stars. His patients are artists, writers and actors who are co-dependent more than anything else, relying on Marc’s reassurance and attention more than his medical opinion. He spends his time counting the minutes until his patients leave and yawning his way through their performances. He’s not disillusioned by wealth so much as utterly bored by it.

Or is he? One of Marc’s patients is Ralph Meier, a big, hulking actor who seems to get whatever he wants. The good doctor is both repulsed and intrigued by Ralph, and he’s obsessed with learning what makes him tick—to the point of borderline stalking the actor’s family on their summer vacation.

Koch has assembled all the elements for a good summer thriller, but his style is a bit unsettling. Just when you begin to connect with the characters, he zooms wide and you lose focus. It’s fun to peek inside the windows of the rich, but it’s frustrating to be kept outside, and these characters never really let you in. They’re always hiding something, and just like in The Dinner, the real mystery here is the human condition. Summer House with Swimming Pool describes a world where hopelessly damaged people live perfect-looking lives, where all is not as it seems, and where the shadows overtake the sunshine. One thing’s for sure—Koch is not afraid to take us to the dark side.

 

This article was originally published in the June 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

The fun of reading Dutch author Herman Koch is his constant questioning of normal human behavior. His commentary on etiquette and the trappings of wealth is hilariously biting; it’s like standing next to the cynical party guest who keeps you laughing all night by mocking the pretentious host. And just like that funny guy at the party, Koch can go from companionable to creepy before you realize what changed.

My friends all know when I'm reading a new Megan McCafferty book: I can't stop texting them quotes from her addictively sarcastic heroine, Jessica Darling.

Candy-colored book covers often indicate saccharine heroines too focused on chasing new purses and cute guys to develop real character, but McCafferty allows Jessica to grow up, taking her from age 16 to 26 through the five-book series that culminates in Perfect Fifths. Without getting stuck in either the Young Adult or Chick Lit category, McCafferty competes with Gossip Girl and Bridget Jones—and holds her own.

For a character like Jessica, a cookie-cutter ending would be a disgrace, and luckily Perfect Fifths avoids this pitfall. Fans of Marcus Flutie, Jessica's on-again-off-again boyfriend and, some would argue, soul mate, will be glad to see he's back in a major way, actually narrating half the story. We find Marcus finally emerged from his monk-like meditations, and he's as sexy and smart as ever. The adult Jessica is mellower, but she hasn't lost her fierce wit or talent for hilarious cultural commentary. McCafferty has put her in a job suited to her talent and her quest for authentic meaning, assuring us about Jessica's future without forcing her into a sugary-sweet happily-ever-after.

Years of Cinderella stories and romantic comedy kisses have trained me to hope that love will prevail, and I thought I needed this semi-star-crossed couple to end up together. I'm not about to spoil the ending, but it turns out what I really wanted was a well-matched conversation between Jessica and Marcus, something that readers haven't seen since they were teenagers back in Second Helpings. In that, McCafferty certainly delivers.

Jessica Darling is a smart heroine who doesn't lose her head—or her skirt—over every possible Prince Charming. She mocks relentlessly, but she also loves wholeheartedly. McCafferty convinces readers that it's OK to be witty and smart, and that even a hard-line cynic can be a bit of a romantic in the end.
 

My friends all know when I'm reading a new Megan McCafferty book: I can't stop texting them quotes from her addictively sarcastic heroine, Jessica Darling. Candy-colored book covers often indicate saccharine heroines too focused on chasing new purses and cute guys to develop real character, but McCafferty allows Jessica to grow up, taking her from […]

When your mood runs more toward cozy than chic, turn to Elizabeth Berg, an author with a great talent for comfort. Home Safe, her latest novel, is a perfect antidote to everyday chaos.

Here we meet Helen Ames, a novelist and recent widow struggling to adjust to the untimely death of her husband, the declining health of her parents, and her daughter Tessa's desire to be taken seriously as an adult. Helen's husband sheltered his wife from life's difficulties, and Helen embraced, even clung to, her position as caretaker. After his death, she discovers that her provider mysteriously spent the bulk of their savings, and she is suddenly forced to navigate the course of her life. For a woman so used to drifting with the current, the change is difficult. Fortunately, in the hands of a pro like Berg, "tender" doesn't translate to "weak," and we can identify with Helen even as she is reluctant to make brave decisions about her future.

The conversations between Helen and her daughter are so authentic they can feel uncomfortable to read. Berg's trademark musings about life are particularly effective coming through Helen, a character who is constantly sharing helpful anecdotes that charm her readers and annoy her daughter.

Plot twists and tricky relationships are sure to keep readers interested, but Berg's goal isn't to force us through an emotional wringer. It's no surprise to readers of Berg's previous works that Home Safe ends on a pleasant note, but getting to the destination is a joy, and walking Helen's path for a few hours helps us better understand our own.

Reading this new effort from Berg is like listening to a favorite storyteller. We may predict where her voice will rise and fall, and the story and characters may feel familiar, but joining in the story is a pleasure, a comfort in a world too often filled with hardship.

 

Carrie Rollwagen has uncomfortable conversations with her own mother in Birmingham, Alabama.

When your mood runs more toward cozy than chic, turn to Elizabeth Berg, an author with a great talent for comfort. Home Safe, her latest novel, is a perfect antidote to everyday chaos. Here we meet Helen Ames, a novelist and recent widow struggling to adjust to the untimely death of her husband, the declining […]
Interview by

Australian novelist Graeme Simsion found unexpected success with his first novel, The Rosie Project, a romantic comedy starring an uptight geneticist and a free-spirited young woman.

In The Rosie Effect, Simsion returns to the life of Rosie and Don as they struggle to turn their marriage into a lifelong love affair.

The Rosie Project was something of a surprise bestseller—had you always planned to continue the story of Don and Rosie?
On the contrary, I had made a firm decision that there would not be a sequel. I had tied up all the loose ends in the tradition of the romantic comedy happy ending, and was well advanced with a new novel when I changed my mind. A number of readers and critics had commented that the happy ending was unrealistic—Don and Rosie would struggle in a marriage. Of course they would! Everyone does at times. I wanted to explore this and show that they could make it through in their own ways. I also felt that we had more to learn about Don: that I hadn’t really plumbed the possibilities of this character. I struggled for a while to find a way into the story—then, one evening at dinner we were celebrating the pregnancy of one of my writers’ group . . .

The book explores what happens after the “happily ever after.” Was it hard for you to put your characters through these difficulties, or exciting to explore what happened next?
Overall it was exciting. Don is a great character to write: you put him in a challenging situation and just ask yourself, honestly, what would he do? But I wanted to take Don and Rosie to a very low point, to where their marriage was in real jeopardy. That meant having both of them lose faith in the relationship. We are in Don’s head, so we understand why he is doing what he does. But we only see Don’s view of Rosie, and if we take this at face value, it’s easy to judge her harshly. I knew some readers would lose their empathy for Rosie, but hoped that most would ask themselves “Really, if I was in her position…?”

Why did you decide to move Don and Rosie to New York, and what challenges came up because of that?
It was a carry-over from The Rosie Project, where Don and Rosie’s visit to New York allows Don to re-invent himself away from his routines and the expectations of others. In a restaurant, a fellow diner tells Don that there are so many weird people in New York that everyone just fits right in. So, at the end of the story, I moved Don and Rosie to New York, to allow him to continue his own re-invention. I didn’t plan a sequel! So when I started writing a sequel, there they were, in New York, and I decided to play the cards I’d dealt myself.

Rosie seems closed off and unapproachable to the reader as well as to Don for much of the book, whereas in the original she was the more accessible character.
Ah! See response to earlier question about putting characters through difficulties.

We are looking at the world through Don’s eyes—and this is how Rosie appears to him. And she’s not in every scene: Don is the protagonist here. We’re all accustomed to the chick-lit genre, which is where we expect to find books that focus on regular domestic relationships, but almost invariably the protagonist is female. I guess we’d not be surprised in the male partner was invisible, at work, closed off, unapproachable when the protagonist was having a drink with her female buddies—but when we reverse the genders, we notice the absence of the woman.

I know some readers are also bothered by what seems to be a change to the bubbly Rosie we saw in The Rosie Project, but let’s remember that (a) the honeymoon is (literally) over; (b) Rosie has taken on a challenging workload and is now pregnant; (c) Rosie’s nemesis, Gene, has moved in with them and Don is spending a lot of time in his company (d) much as we may love Don, he’d also be a difficult guy to live with at times!

I think (a) is pretty important. The Rosie Project was about falling in love. The Rosie Effect is about making a long-term relationship work. The tones of the books reflect these different moods—and different challenges. The psychologists tell us how important communication is to the success of a relationship, but most of us don’t do it as well as we could. Don and Rosie are no exceptions. What the two stories do have in common is that we should see that these guys are fundamentally compatible—and we sometimes want to bang their heads together!

Don interprets deceit differently than many people and can’t stomach even “little white lies.” How does that complicate his relationship with Rosie?
Deceit is a recurring theme in the The Rosie Effect. I think “can’t stomach” is a bit strong: Don just finds these white lies puzzling and unnecessary—as illustrated by Gene’s lie about Don having doggy do on his shoe. I don’t think the small stuff complicates his relationship with Rosie: that’s the sort of thing she can find refreshing and amusing—cute. It’s when Don decides that deception is warranted (in keeping his arrest from Rosie) that complications arise. He’s uncomfortable with what he’s doing, worried he’ll be caught. He withdraws, Rosie senses this, and the downward spiral begins.

It’s clear why people on the autism spectrum might relate to Don, but can you tell us about other readers who relate to him in unexpected ways?
I didn’t expect so many women to “fall in love” with Don. I wanted readers to be sympathetic, empathize, but, “I’d give up being a vegan if I could marry Don”; “Is there a real Don and can I have his email address?”; “Rosie doesn’t deserve Don!”—no, I didn’t expect that. Don, for all his intelligence, decency and “cuteness” would be hard work! Okay, he is a romantic hero, but he’s a long way from a conventional one.

I’ve had very interesting feedback from women married to men on the spectrum. They find the portrayal of Don realistic, but not necessarily funny. Some do, some don’t. All who I’ve spoken to have related to the portrayal of Rosie in The Rosie Effect: “Sometimes you just need space away from the verbal barrage”; “I’ve done extreme things like threaten to leave just to provoke an emotional response.”

I do have a problem with women who seem to relate to Don as a pet rather than an intelligent adult. And they’ll say, “Rosie knew what she was getting herself into (so she should suck it up)”. Said no marriage counselor, ever. These guys are in an adult relationship, and that means negotiation, change, and give-and-take. Don’s quite capable of all of these. 

What made you decide to write about Rosie’s pregnancy instead of writing about Don’s reaction to the baby after it was born, which seems like the more obvious plot choice?
Many reasons! The question that drives the story is, “Can Don and Rosie make their relationship work in the face of the sorts of stresses that couples are likely to encounter?” So I wanted to focus on Don and Rosie, not Don and Rosie plus baby. With a baby in place, Rosie would have been less available (and with good reason).

The pregnancy provided opportunities to explore the theme of how we deal with advice and information (something that causes us all stress, but Don in spades). Yes, I could have done this with child-rearing too, but I’m looking at a third book for that! 

The character of Gene is the opposite of Don—it’s easier for him to fit in with other people, but he makes a lot of decisions that seem unethical. How does his character help you develop Don’s? Why do you think these two very different people have such a strong bond?
I don’t think they’re as different as they look. As Don points out when he confronts Gene about his infidelity in The Rosie Project: “You’re similar to me. That’s why you’re my best friend.”

I see Gene as the dark side of Don—a man who was probably as much of a geek as Don at school, but learned to fake it till he made it. I mean, what sort of man in his mid-fifties is “collecting” women? What’s he trying to prove? Why the interest in collections? I think unusual people have a choice of finding a place that accommodates them or changing to fit it with broader society. Don and Gene represent those two different choices.

One reason Gene likes Don is that Don relies on him for advice. Who else would listen to Gene on social behavior? (Although he’s chosen to study and teach it for a living.) That’s a simple take: I like to think that in The Rosie Effect we see Gene in more depth.

You did a lot of readings and appearances for The Rosie Project. Any fun fan stories? What do you like about meeting readers?
I love meeting readers. It’s affirming to know that my stories are reaching people, and I continue to be amazed about what readers bring to the table—things they find in the book that I perhaps put in unconsciously, or that they simply constructed themselves. Interestingly, I don’t see any differences in how readers in English-speaking countries, at least, respond to the book.

I have lots of stories about people who have family members or close friends on the autism spectrum—some funny, some moving, some uplifting.

“Hi, my name’s Ben and I have Asperger’s. I have a problem with your book (long pause). Page 27, line 23. Don says he doesn’t want a partner who’s mathematically illiterate. The word is innumerate. Don Tillman would not make that mistake.”

“My brother had difficulties all his life, and was finally diagnosed with Asperger’s in his 40s. The family read books and went to seminars to learn to be more supportive, but it was only after he passed away and we read The Rosie Project that we understood what it was like to be him.”

“We always thought my dad had Asperger’s and we thought it’d help if he acknowledged it. We gave him books on the subject and he kept saying, ‘That’s not me.’ Then we gave him The Rosie Project. He read it and announced, ‘I’m coming out!’

 What are you working on next? 
I’m currently writing a novel about a love affair re-ignited after 22 years. 

Carrie Rollwagen is a bookseller and author in Birmingham, Alabama. 

In The Rosie Effect, Simsion returns to the life of Rosie and Don as they struggle to turn their marriage into a lifelong love affair.

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