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The storyline of Denise Giardina’s new novel, Fallam’s Secret, features time travel, an orphaned heroine and a love story punctuated by sex lots of sex.

It seems at first a departure for Giardina, a West Virginia author best known for serious historical fiction, including Saints and Villains, her acclaimed 1998 novel about the life of Nazi resister Dietrich Bonhoeffer. A closer examination of Fallam’s Secret reveals threads of serious themes, but it’s clear the author is mostly enjoying herself in this first book of a new series.

“It was just so much fun,” Giardina says during an interview in Charleston, West Virginia, where she lives and teaches writing. “I finally reached the point where I thought, you know, I don’t have to prove anything writing some big, heavy, serious thing anymore. Saints and Villains took a lot out of me.” Fallam’s Secret tells the fascinating story of Lydde, a West Virginia woman who goes back in time. “She’s an actress and she’s been living in England for a long time but she comes home because she thinks the uncle who raised her has died,” Giardina explains. “She ends up in the Mystery Hole, which has a wormhole under it, and she goes back in time.” A wormhole, in theory, is a space tunnel where time behaves differently. Giardina based the setting of the Mystery Hole on a real tourist attraction near the New River Gorge in West Virginia. “The gorge itself has always seemed very mysterious to me. It just popped into my head that it would be fun to have the Mystery Hole be the site of one of the wormholes.” Part of Lydde’s adventure is traveling through time as a 55-year-old woman and emerging in 1657 with a 20-something body. Giardina’s other books contain sex scenes, but she acknowledges these are more explicit. “I try to do different things in each book and this was something I decided to explore it’s supposed to be hard to write, so I wanted to try it. I also wanted to show sex as a beautiful thing and to show married sex as explicitly erotic and to challenge the puritanical attitudes toward sex that still exist.” Giardina researched the 17th century for authentic details, but emphasizes that most of the book came from her imagination. “It’s fantasy history. Chichester and Stratford I mushed together into a town I call Norchester. Even the New River I’ve fictionalized. I’ve got the Mystery Hole on the other side of the gorge I moved it.” On the serious side, characters in Fallam’s Secret challenge attitudes of prejudice and struggle against injustice, a trademark of Giardina’s fiction. “I really take on fundamentalism. The Puritans in this book stand in for modern fundamentalists. Not just Christian fundamentalism, but Islamic fundamentalism, too,” says Giardina, a multi-faceted woman who holds a divinity degree and ran unsuccessfully for governor of West Virginia in 2000. “This whole fundamentalist mindset is very scary to me. I think it’s the big challenge that we’re going to have for the next generation. It’s very powerful, it’s very irrational.” The ease with which Giardina wrote Fallam’s Secret astonished its author. After the arduous task of writing about the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer in Saints, “I didn’t even know if I’d ever write another novel,” she says. But in six months, she was finished. “It even took my publisher by surprise. I’m already in the middle of book two.” “I hit 50, and I started doing several things differently. I started saying I’m going to read things I want to read, not because I think I should read them. If I start a book and I don’t like it, I’m not going to finish it. I’m 50. I don’t have as much time left as I used to have,” Giardina says. “I think I’ve decided to do that with my fiction, too. I just decided if it’s not fun, I’m not going to write it.” Belinda Anderson is a West Virginia writer and teacher and the author of The Well Ain’t Dry Yet, a collection of short stories published by Mountain State Press.

The storyline of Denise Giardina's new novel, Fallam's Secret, features time travel, an orphaned heroine and a love story punctuated by sex lots of sex.

It seems at first a departure for Giardina, a West Virginia author best known for serious historical fiction,…
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Jasper Fforde takes readers on a witty, wild ride Humpty Dumpty and his nursery rhyme mob are threatening a boycott. The rabbits from Watership Down have reproduced in such numbers that only Lennie from Of Mice and Men cares to visit anymore. Everyone in Wuthering Heights has been ordered to attend rage management class. And all misspellings must be reported at once to the Cat Formerly Known as Cheshire.

Welcome to the deliriously topsy-turvy world of Jasper Fforde's The Well of Lost Plots, the most incessantly inventive literary satire since Alice what's-her-name fell down the you-know-what.

A frustrated writer who was making a living in the film industry, Fforde first made a splash in the publishing world with The Eyre Affair, a genre-stretching fantasy featuring ace "Prose Op" literary detective Thursday Next. Thursday operates in an alternate universe where authorized Prose Ops can pursue villains into BookWorld, a place where fiction comes delightfully to life, in order to prevent dastardly plot tampering with classic novels.

Thursday continued her literary enforcement in a sequel, Lost in a Good Book, but even ace detectives occasionally need a rest. In his latest novel, Fforde chose to virtually suspend the series' storyline involving Next, her time-traveling Uncle Mycroft and missing husband Landen Parke-Laine in order to get downright daffy with the inner workings of the Well of Lost Plots.

In the 26 dingy sub-basements of the Well, characters, premises and prose are polished and peddled to nascent novels. Part Moroccan thieves' market, part B-movie back lot, the Well also is where A-list heroes and villains take a break from their classic novels to vacation in unpublished works via the Character Exchange Program.

So plentiful were the satiric possibilities of this font-of-all-fiction that The Well of Lost Plots is "is a 340-page digression almost, but the idea was so strong that I really just needed to play with it," Fforde says by phone from his home in Wales. "And rather than play with it in a separate book, since I've already established that Thursday can travel into the BookWorld, let's just have a go at the whole thing."

Indeed, the presence of the Cat Formerly tips us to the unusual adventure ahead. Along the way, we encounter bat-like, text-deleting grammasites, mispeling (sic) viruses, the chatline-like footnoterphone (with running gossip about Anna Karinina), black-market plot contrivances (Still waiting for Godot? That's him in the head-in-a-bag plot device) and one particularly uncivil Minotaur on the loose.

Casting a long shadow over the future of BookWorld itself is UltraWord, a revolutionary book operating system featuring Enhanced Character Identification (you'll breeze right through War and Peace), WordClot (Bigger words? Smaller? You choose!) and PlotPotPlus (to keep you from getting lost in a good book). UltraWord: Good for business, bad for books.

"It's having a little go about modern marketing. It's about trying to get the formula right so we can sell it instead of trying to get the story right so people will buy it," says Fforde. "Bookshops didn't used to be about retailing and marketing, they just used to be about books. Now they seem to be very much about hard sell this is what is selling, this is what you should read. That's what I was sort of railing against."

The London-born Fforde spent his youth at a Harry Potter-esque boarding school in Devon, where his interests ran to Victorian classics, airplanes and movies. Rather than continue on to university, he left school at 18 and became a "focus puller," or second assistant camera operator. He spent the next 19 years traveling the world, working behind the camera on such films as Goldeneye, Entrapment and Quills.

On the road, he stayed busy conjuring a fantastic alternative England circa 1985 in which some technologies, such as cloning and time travel, are hum-drum routine while others, such as computers and jet engines, do not exist at all. Great literature, not soccer, is the national passion in his alternate U.K. Shakespeare, Dickens and Austen are virtual superstars. Thursday Next, the detective assigned to protect these national treasures, is a thoroughly modern career woman, veteran of the still-in-progress Crimean War and proud owner of a regenerated pet dodo named Pickwick.

Fforde's fondness for puns is reminiscent of the late, great Douglas Adams of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fame. He has a particular soft spot for character names Paige Turner, Millon de Floss (after George Eliot's Mill on the Floss), Landen Parke-Laine (what you want to do in the British version of Monopoly) and so on. And the setting unremarkable Swindon echoes the buttoned-down world of Arthur Dent in Hitchhiker's Guide.

In each outing, Fforde selects major works from the Western literary canon around which to weave his merriment: Bronte's Jane Eyre in his debut; works by Poe (The Raven), Austen (Sense and Sensibility) and Carroll (Alice in Wonderland) in Lost in a Good Book, and Wuthering Heights in his latest. It's both an artistic and a pragmatic decision.

"People ask, why don't you use contemporary novels? For one reason, they're not in public domain. But for another reason, why? When there is so much good stuff to use in the classics," he explains. "I regard Dickens, the Bront‘s, Austen and Trollope as going back to primary sources."

The Well of Lost Plots might have been a drastically different book, in fact, but for the modern-day legal hurdles. Disney denied Fforde's request to enlist Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh, and the estate of H.G. Wells wouldn't release the Morlocks from The Time Machine, either.

How in the world, then, did he manage the neat trick of bringing in Godot from Samuel Beckett's classic existential play, Waiting for Godot, much less as a head-in-a-bag plot device? Fforde laughs: "The good thing about Godot is, he doesn't actually appear in the play; they're waiting for him but he never appears! He's not actually a copyrighted character because he doesn't exist, he's not there. And now you know why: his head is in a bag in the Well of Lost Plots."

 

Jay MacDonald is a writer based in Mississippi.

Jasper Fforde takes readers on a witty, wild ride Humpty Dumpty and his nursery rhyme mob are threatening a boycott. The rabbits from Watership Down have reproduced in such numbers that only Lennie from Of Mice and Men cares to visit anymore. Everyone in Wuthering…

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Fairy tales are, by their very nature, magical things. But something rather extraordinary happens to them after they’ve been re-imagined by Gregory Maguire: they get a loyal following. Best known as the author of the wildly popular Wicked (adapted into a Broadway musical) and its sequels, as well as books for both children (Leaping Beauty, What-the-Dickens) and adults (Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, Mirror Mirror), Maguire has lent his witty, sophisticated storytelling to some of the most beloved tales in our collective consciousness, often altering our long-held and deeply felt reactions to notorious characters and infamous plotlines. While never contradicting or poking fun at the original tale, he always adds a new dimension to our interpretations.

All of which makes Maguire’s work perfectly suited to adaptation for stage, screen and, most recently, radio. Each year, NPR asks a well-known writer to create a Christmas story for broadcast, and in 2008, Maguire was tapped. The result was Matchless, inspired by Hans Christian Andersen’s classic story “The Little Match Girl.” In the original work, translated from Danish in the mid-19th century, a poor young girl dies alone in the night, freezing to death in the bitter cold. At the time, her dying visions were widely interpreted as religious metaphors. In Matchless, Maguire gently shifts the focus to illuminate a seldom-considered character. Young Frederik, living through desperate times with his mother, is the nameless boy from Andersen’s tale who absconds with the match girl’s shoe just before her death. The shoe is quite a find for Frederik, who has very little in the way of material possessions. But his intention for the shoe is unexpected. He returns home with his prize and quickly retreats to the attic where he has been meticulously constructing a miniature island town, made from bits and pieces he’d collected at the docks.

“Andersen left me a little thread to pull,” Maguire says in a telephone interview. “Frederik is the only other child and he has a line: ‘Here’s a cradle for my babies.’ Therefore I felt invited to follow that. I began to realize who the boy was and what his particular hardships were. As sad as it is, it’s a beautiful story. There’s this little bit of domestic magic that re-illuminates the possibility of connection between the living and the dead.”

While “The Little Match Girl” was adored by generations past, it hasn’t reached as many 21st-century readers as Andersen’s other tales, which include “The Little Mermaid” and “The Ugly Duckling.” That’s one of the reasons Maguire selected it for the NPR project. “It struck me as being perfect,” he explains. “Though people of a certain age will remember the story, it has been gradually slipping away.” But writing a story—with very little lead time—intended to be read aloud before being published was a new experience for the author.

“When you’re doing a radio story, you have to let your characters have individual-sounding voices,” Maguire notes. “You have to roll the story out very quickly with just enough, but not too much, description so that the listeners can learn about the environment as well as the conditions. So it was very different for me. Sometimes I’ll have the story idea on my desk for five years before I feel like I have caught the particular cadence of how it should go.”

Published for the first time this fall in a beautifully designed gift edition, Matchless contains Maguire’s own finely detailed black-and-white drawings. These vignettes, each contained in a small circle as if viewed through a lens, show such scenes as a carriage on a cobblestone street and a cozy attic room accessed by a ladder.

Maguire’s story has the weight and solidity of a treasured folk tale, something to be handed down and retold. It’s for children at bedtime but also for their grandparents. That’s one of Maguire’s obvious strengths: the ability to write on several different levels to personally address the interests of his entire audience. He credits Andersen with a similar talent: “He had the capacity to start the story in the first sentence. He dispensed with many of the conventions of storytelling—the once-upon-a-times—and spoke colloquially.”

In Matchless, Maguire leaves open the possibility of an optimistic ending, as Frederik’s family joins together with the poor match girl’s. And with this retelling comes the possibility of renewed interest in the original story. But perhaps, too, the reading of Matchless will become a new holiday tradition for many families. “It’s something that all artists hope,” says the author, “that their work will live beyond the length of their days.”

Ellen Trachtenberg is the author of The Best Children’s Literature: A Parent’s Guide. She writes from Philadelphia.

Fairy tales are, by their very nature, magical things. But something rather extraordinary happens to them after they’ve been re-imagined by Gregory Maguire: they get a loyal following. Best known as the author of the wildly popular Wicked (adapted into a Broadway musical) and its…

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What marks the start of the holiday season for you?

The beginning of the holiday season for me is the Christmas shopping trip I take with my best friend. We arm ourselves with lists, clear out our cars, and head for either Shreveport or Texarkana for a day of shopping. We plan our route, eat a lunch at a good place, and come home tired but happy. Then I'm officially in the holiday mood.

Does your family have one very special holiday tradition?

We have a few things we usually do, but I wouldn't characterize them as traditions. We do always have the same meal, and I do always get all the kids books even now that they're grown. We open presents on Christmas morning, and we go to church on Christmas Eve.

What are you most looking forward to during the holiday season?

I most look forward to having my whole family together. The winter my son was in the service and had to stay on post in Alaska for Christmas was so painful.

What’s your favorite holiday book or song?

I love Christmas carols, and nothing gets me in the Christmas mood faster.

Why do books make the best gifts?

Books are such a great gift because you take the time to match the book to the recipient.. That process is a lot of fun, and you're thinking about the giftee all the time.

What books are you planning to give to friends and family?

I usually give my daughter some nonfiction book, my middle son gets science fiction, and my oldest son . . . well, he's pretty hard. Sometimes a nonfiction, sometimes some sort of adventure book. My husband is a Civil War buff, and if I can find a new publication on that topic, that's what he gets.

What was the best book you read this year?

The best one. Hmmm. That's almost impossible to pick, because I've read some really good ones. Kate Atkinson's When Will There Be Good News? was awfully good. So was Harlan Coben's Long Lost. I also loved The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death by Charlie Huston, and Martin Mullar's The Lonely Werewolf Girl.

What’s your number one resolution for 2010?

I don't make New Year's resolutions! That's just asking for defeat.

What marks the start of the holiday season for you?

The beginning of the holiday season for me is the Christmas shopping trip I take with my best friend. We arm ourselves with lists, clear out our cars, and head for either Shreveport or Texarkana for…

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In The Rise of Endymion, Dan Simmons brings the epic tale of his Hyperion universe to its powerful conclusion. Spanning four novels and many centuries of real and imagined galactic history, the Hyperion saga is an astonishing achievement, overbrimming with adventure, lyricism and insight. A miracle of invention and economy, played out on a dozen and more meticulously created worlds, the tetralogy is surely one of science fiction's grandest visions of humanity's shared fate with its technology — not least because of the unforgettable character of Aenea, the young girl (and later, woman) in whose hands lies the future of humankind.

Simmons will return to his Hyperion universe once more in an upcoming novella, part of a set of stories by a select group of science fiction authors who have been asked to revisit their now-classic worlds just one more time. ("If only Herbert and Asimov were still with us," says Simmons, wistfully.) But for now, with the culmination of the preceding novels Hyperion, The Fall of Hyperion and Endymion (all Bantam paperbacks) in the current volume, Dan Simmons takes time out to introduce the entire series to new readers and to share some thoughts with his avid fans about The Rise of Endymion.

BookPage: The universe of your four-novel epic is so vast and so fully realized. What was its genesis?
Dan Simmons: It started 25 years ago, when I was teaching elementary school in a small town in Missouri. I first created the Hyperion universe for my students during storytelling hour, little by little, day after day. Later, I incorporated that experience into my story, "The Death of The Centaur" (from Prayers to Broken Stones, Bantam paperback).

BP: There is a deep strain of great literature running through the four novels. It's not hard to recognize the models for many of the things you write: The Canterbury Tales, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and of course, John Keats' poetry. Is it important to you that your readers make those connections? Would you like your books to send readers back to those sources?
DS: I think the readers who know that literature can enjoy pursuing those references, and that can deepen their Hyperion experience — it certainly did for me. But it's not just a game of finding literary references. In fact, when I first started writing Hyperion, I knew I'd have to deal with Keats' long poems, "Hyperion" and "The Fall of Hyperion." I really appreciated his theme of life evolving from one race of gods to another, with one power having to give way to another, as Hyperion must. But I think, and hope, that the novels can be understood and enjoyed as science fiction, on their own terms.

BP: Well, it works nicely on both levels when John Keats' persona appears as a "cybrid" artificial life form in the story!
DS: Yes, that was the idea.

BP: As I understand it, there are three mighty powers which become unleashed throughout the four novels, and which vie together and apart for the soul of humanity: the first is the church, the second is artificial intelligence and I'm not sure what to call the third — maybe the basic human freedom to choose one's own fate?
DS: That's a good way of putting it.

BP: Let's focus on the first two for the moment: do the futures which you envision for religion and technology in these books reflect a conviction on your part about where those forces are headed? Are they prophecy of a sort?
DS: No, I don't believe in prophecy. They're a story, a development of ideas. I'm very interested in the evolution of technology, and it's really the idea of artificial life which intrigues me, more than just intelligence — a new, evolving life form arising within our datasphere and coming into living relation with humanity (this is where Keats' theme resonates). As for the depiction of the Catholic church, it's not meant to be a prediction. It's really about what happens whenever religion and power go hand in hand. I'm not anti-church by any means; what interests me is that human beings are almost always corrupted by the control they wield over other human beings. That situation has been especially tragic for religions.

BP: I have a question specifically about the current book, The Rise of Endymion, coming out this month. To me, it's a love story more than anything —
DS: Oh, I'm glad to hear you say that.
BP: — between Aenea and Raul Endymion. It's a love story against all odds, even against death and time. "Love is a fundamental force in the universe," says Aenea over and over again. That's what she calls "the music of the spheres." How do you hear this music?
DS: Well, I think all the simple things can and do still work — holding your child's hand while walking across the street will do it. But we can hardly hear it for all the noise which has turned love into a cliche, and most people can't even hear John Lennon's "All You Need Is Love" anymore without wincing.

BP: I know what you mean. It's too bad. I teach a Beatles course at Vanderbilt and we go dangerously into that hokey territory.
DS: Well, I write that way.

BP: Well, I feel that way. And I don't know how to express my gratitude to you. I feel like I'm speaking for countless fans here. You have enriched that feeling for us beyond calculation, and way beyond "hokey-ness." It's more like holiness. It's wholeness, certainly.
DS: Thank you. It's very kind of you to say that.
BP: Thank you for creating so generously and so well.

Michael Alec Rose is a professor of music at Vanderbilt University.

In The Rise of Endymion, Dan Simmons brings the epic tale of his Hyperion universe to its powerful conclusion. Spanning four novels and many centuries of real and imagined galactic history, the Hyperion saga is an astonishing achievement, overbrimming with adventure, lyricism and insight. A…

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Anna North's dark, gripping and wildly creative debut, America Pacifica, goes where few Iowa Writers' Workshop grads have gone before: a futuristic end-of-days setting where the buildings are made of sea-fiber and solvent-huffing hoodlums roam the streets. Still, North's story of a young girl in search of her mother (and her island's history) is remarkably universal, with characters as real those found in any contemporary fiction.

We sat down with the author to chat about dystopias, female protagonists and the pressure of happy endings.

America Pacifica is a difficult book to categorize. To what extent do you consider it a post-apocalyptic or sci-fi novel?
I definitely consider it post-apocalyptic, but whether it’s sci-fi is a more difficult question. I think the reputation of science fiction has really improved a lot over the years, but a lot of readers of literary fiction still tend to think of sci-fi as badly written, or as not concerned with character. This isn’t true—there are a lot of wonderful and beautiful sci-fi novels. Sometimes I call America Pacifica “literary sci-fi” so that people know I care about emotions and sentences, but I do look forward to a day when that kind of marker won’t be necessary.

The creation of a fantasy world like America Pacifica requires creating a universe larger than the book itself. Did you have the entire landscape and rules of the Island in your head before you began to write, or did you develop as you went?
I developed as I went, but my knowledge of the world had to be pretty far ahead of the story. So if Darcy was going to a particular neighborhood I had to know where it was on the map and how long it would take to get there before she set out. I drew a lot of maps, and I kept a map of the whole island in my desk and referred to it constantly. A lot of the rules—things like the absence of cameras and phones and Internet, and the general difficulty of getting your hands on metal—I established very early on, because I did a lot of thinking about how hard it would be to get a bunch of stuff across the Pacific. But others, like the toxic seawater, actually came in much later drafts.

The dystopian setting and strong female lead brings to mind the (wildly popular) Hunger Games books. Have you read that series and how do you feel about the comparison?
I haven’t read the Hunger Games books, because someone recommended them to me while I was in the thick of writing America Pacifica and had banned myself from reading dystopias until it was done. But I’d like to read them. They sound like the kind of thing I’d really enjoy, and I’m happy they’ve done so well. I think we need more books about girls swashbuckling and having adventures.

Speaking of strong female lead, Darcy is quite a character. Had you always imagined her as book’s focal point? Or did you develop the concept first and the character second?
I started with the idea of writing a post-apocalyptic novel involving a missing person, but Darcy came fairly quickly after that. In my very early stabs at a beginning, she had a different name and lived in a totally different place—a mainland full of tent cities that people got around by bicycle. But she was pretty much the same person—she was always someone young who has to seek and search, and carry a lot of responsibility mostly on her own.

Along similar lines, I see your publisher is doing cross-promotion with YA markets. Were you ever pressured to publish this as a Young Adult book? What do you think makes it decidedly adult?
I was never pressured, but I did have an agent suggest to me that I make Darcy several years younger and try to sell the book as straight-up YA. I felt strongly that Darcy should be 18, because I wanted her to be an adult, but only just. Over the course of the book, I wanted her to be finding out what kind of adult she would be, the way you do when you’re still very young but not a child anymore. I didn’t want it to be about coming of age quite so much as I wanted it to be about the fashioning of a grownup self. The fact that it’s less about the (very real) perils of adolescence and more about what happens afterward may make it more adult than your average YA book. But I think it’s getting tougher and tougher to make these distinctions—young readers have always read books for adults, and now more than ever, adults are reading YA.

Without giving too much away, I’ll say that book’s second half and ending definitely diverge from norms within the YA/sci-fi genre. Did you feel pressure to wrap things up neatly? Did you always know how the book would end?
I always knew more or less what the last chapter would look like. It was probably the fastest to write because I had it all planned out in my head. But my first draft did end a bit more ambiguously than the finished one, in a way that my advisor found way too sad. I think she was right—not because sad books are bad, but because it hadn’t really had the effect on her that I was going for. So I did end up making some changes, but I never felt pressure to make things too neat or tidy. I think that would be contrary to the spirit of the book.

I see you’re an Iowa grad. Were you working on America Pacifica while you were there? If so, how did it differ from what your classmates were up to?
I wrote pretty much the entire first draft while I was at Iowa, which was a wonderful place to do it. Work set in the future was pretty uncommon there, though one of my classmates did write some post-apocalyptic stories set in Maine (another wrote very compelling fantasy). I worried about this a little before I got there, but it turned out to be totally fine. Everyone was very respectful of America Pacifica and treated it like it was a serious book, and even though futuristic stuff was pretty uncommon, the diversity of my classmates’ work was really impressive. I got to know a lot of people who were taking big risks and trying new things in their writing, and I never felt like I had to conform to one specific mode or do things in a traditional way.

You’re also a writer for the smart-lady blog Jezebel. How does writing in the online (and feminist) sphere influence your fiction?
Writing online means I read a ton of news every day, which is really good for my fiction, because I end up having a lot of ideas and facts swimming around in my head all the time. It’s also exposed me to a lot of writers I might not be aware of otherwise, which is a good thing for any fiction writer. I do think my interest in female protagonists and especially female protagonists doing heroic things was set before I started working for Jezebel, but working there and also reading the other great feminist blogs I became aware of as a result has given me a better understanding of the politics surrounding women’s writing and women’s stories. And I think being more politically aware is making me a better fiction writer, even if my work doesn’t end up being overtly political

We have to ask: what’s up next for you?
I’m working on a novel about a dead female filmmaker, told in the form of a filmography composed by the four people who loved her most.

 

Anna North's dark, gripping and wildly creative debut, America Pacifica, goes where few Iowa Writers' Workshop grads have gone before: a futuristic end-of-days setting where the buildings are made of sea-fiber and solvent-huffing hoodlums roam the streets. Still, North's story of a young girl in…

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Tom Perrotta is often called a satirist. It’s a nice, neat label, as square-cornered as a pigeonhole. But it’s just not true.

"The classical definition of satire is that you’re exposing the folly of human behavior,” Perrotta says during a call to his home in the Boston suburb of Belmont. Perrotta lives there with his wife, the writer Mary Granfield, and their two teenaged children. “For me there is no position where it is possible to be a human and not be implicated in the folly of human behavior. I always feel I’m implicated in that folly.” 

Perrotta supposes he earned the satirist label from the movie Election, which starred Reese Witherspoon as Tracy Flick. He wrote the novel on which the movie is based. “Election is one of the great satires in recent film history,” Perrotta says. “It was much more satirical than the book. Just compare Tracy Flick in the book with what Reese Witherspoon does with her in the film. The book is a comic novel but it’s not a satirical novel. The film pushes out! Because Election first brought me to the attention of most people, I’m in this box: People think of me, they think ofElection, and they think of the movie.”

Perrotta’s boldest novel to date puts a whole new spin on apocalyptic anxiety after a Rapture-like event.

Not that Perrotta has any objections to the movie. “I really loved the movie, myself. I still do. It really holds up too, and it’s been really influential in all sorts of ways. I think the success of the movie basically changed my life. I had published a few books and I was struggling to find an audience. I felt a real difference in the aftermath.

“I used to have that moment where I’d be introduced at a party and say, oh, I’m a writer, and people would say, have you written anything I’ve read? And I’d name my books and I’d get that terrible blank look. Now I could say, well, there was this movie with Reese Witherspoon, and people would light up,” Perrotta recalls. “It felt like a big difference that my name was attached to something people had positive feelings toward. The other concrete thing it did was allow me to find work as a screenwriter, which allowed me to stop teaching and really solidified my sense of myself as a professional writer.”

Still, the satire label that has trotted beside Perrotta like an over-friendly stray dog does not come close to encapsulating his estimable gifts as a writer. Or, as Perrotta says wryly, “Certainly what I’m doing now is very far away in terms of tone from that movie.”

That’s for sure. Perrotta’s early novels were set in working-class New Jersey, where he grew up and developed a passion for writing that eventually took him to Yale. But since his novel Little Children (2004), “there’s been a shift in the suburban territory that I write about” that both comically and tenderly reflects the attitudes and personal dilemmas of residents of the more affluent middle-class suburb where he now lives.

Not only that, his use of language has matured. Reminded that he once proclaimed that he wrote in the plain American English tradition of Ernest Hemingway, Perrotta laughs and says, “If you go back to Bad Haircut (1994) you’ll definitely see more of the Hemingway influence. I mean those sentences were just so short! But even then I was using that shortness for comedy in a way that Hemingway didn’t. Probably since Joe College (2000) the sentences have gotten looser and more complex in terms of syntax. So I’ve moved away from the Hemingway impulse. But I have to say that I have not moved away from the idea that literary fiction should work the way that popular fiction works, in terms of being a pleasure to read, with a story that moves swiftly.

“I have always wanted to be democratic,” Perrotta says. “My parents didn’t go to college and a lot of people I grew up with are not ‘intellectuals’ in the graduate school sense. I never wanted to write for a self-selected group of people who see themselves as literary. I want to write for anybody who is interested.”

All of these maturing impulses meld in near-perfect harmony to bring us Perrotta’s newest, most audacious and best novel to date, The Leftovers.

Set in the leafy suburb of Mapleton, The Leftovers opens on Departed Heroes’ Day of Remembrance and Reflection, three years to the day after a Rapture-like event has caused millions of people all over the world to disappear in an instant. In reaction, some people, like Laurie Garvey, join a monastic penitential cult called The Guilty Remnant, whose members dress all in white, smoke cigarettes as an article of faith and ghost about Mapleton to remind people that the end is near. Others, like Laurie’s college-age son Tom, follow the prophet Holy Wayne, a former UPS delivery van driver, and his Holy Hugs Movements. But many, like Laurie’s husband Kevin, the mayor of Mapleton, struggle to lead normal lives and keep their children—in Kevin’s case his teenage daughter Jill—from going off the rails. The action of the novel unfolds over nine months, as the Garvey family and their friends and acquaintances struggle to make sense of a world that is in most ways much the same as before but is also profoundly different.

Perrotta, who devours literary biographies and hardboiled detective fiction rather than literary novels while he is composing his own books, admits that he was thinking about books like Cormac McCarthy’s The Road while writing The Leftovers

“Obviously The Road was on my mind. But I think this book is almost the opposite ofThe Road. The landscape of The Road is utterly altered in the physical and in the human/social sense. What I wanted to do was create a world where the landscape wasn’t altered at all physically or socially. But psychologically it’s completely different. So whatever strangeness there is, is hard to locate, aside from the people dressed in white who are smoking, I mean. There are some changes that are visible and troubling. But in most cases it’s just much more a sense of ‘I can no longer trust the nature of the world,’ and that creates this feeling of anxiety.” 

Another huge difference between The Leftovers and The Road is Perrotta’s gift for comedy. “I certainly found subject matter that is hard to treat comically. Loss is not easy to treat in a comical way,” he says with a laugh. Yet Perrotta is such a keen observer of human psychology—and human foibles—that many moments in The Leftovers are laugh-out-loud funny. “I think the comedy in this works best when it’s organic to the situation,” Perrotta says. “There’s comedy in incongruity. This juxtaposition of almost clinical grief with this insistence on living a normal life does create certain kinds of very dark comedy.”

But Perrotta’s comedy is colored by great empathy for his characters. “Certain characters open up over time. It’s very satisfying for me as a writer to live with these characters long enough to get a fuller sense of who they are and how they fit into the story. They just seem to get more agency somehow to tell you a little bit about who they are.”

Among The Leftovers’ most appealing characters are the smart, vulnerable teenager Jill and her Goth friend Aimee. “I’ve written a lot about my own teenage years and coming of age. But with this book I suddenly realized I had to write the Jill sections from Jill’s perspective, and this time I was filtering that through my daughter and her friends, not through my own personal memories.” 

Perrotta notes, “I had this idea and it seized my mind—but for a long time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it. It’s probably good for a writer to feel that way, to feel like you’re delving into messy, interesting, important subject matter without exactly knowing why. And I was starting to feel my identity was almost too solid. Like people talked about me in a certain way. Like they knew what a Tom Perrotta novel was. I wasn’t comfortable with that. You start going into the old bag of tricks too much. 

“Obviously some things in this book will be familiar—the setting and the subject matter will remind some people of other things I’ve written. But I think on the most basic ground level, I’ve forced myself into unfamiliar territory.”

It’s true. In this brilliant novel, he has definitely gotten himself a whole new bag of tricks. If you’ve never read a Tom Perrotta novel, now’s the time.

Tom Perrotta is often called a satirist. It’s a nice, neat label, as square-cornered as a pigeonhole. But it’s just not true.
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The Night Circus is the story of two magicians who each select a champion to compete in a decades-long tournament that takes the form of a stranger-than-average circus. As competitors Celia and Marco match wits, and fall in love, the  reader becomes equally enamored of the complex, magical world that author Erin Morgenstern has created. We talked to Morgenstern—who describes herself as "a writer, a painter & a keeper of cats"—about the inspiration behind one of this fall's most touted debuts.

Literary/fantasy hybrids, from Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell to The Magicians, are hotter than ever. To what extent were you aware of genre as you were writing?
I wasn’t even convinced it was a novel for a while so genre wasn’t something I thought about too much. I was mildly concerned that it was too literary to be fantasy and too fantasy to be literary—I hadn’t even considered hybrid territory an option—so I wrote the story the way it wanted to be told and figured I could worry about categorizing it when I was done.

Did you have the full parameters of the circus in your mind before you began, or did you discover as you went?
I began with the idea of endless looping tents with a bonfire in the center and I explored it as I went along. I didn’t have a map at all as far as what the circus was and how the world worked when I started writing. There was a lot of revising and trial and error involved before I discovered all its secrets. (If I even know all of them. Sometimes I think there are things in the circus that remain mysteries even to me.)

One of the great pleasures of reading The Night Circus is following the different time periods that intertwine throughout the narrative. Did you always intend to tell this story in non-chronological order and was it hard to keep track of what was happening when?

I always intended it to be non-linear. In early drafts it was even more so but it never really worked properly that way. It ended up too convoluted. I wanted the book itself to seem like the circus: individual glimpses of tents and pieces of story. And time is an underlying theme throughout, so it made sense to me to play with timeline and history. I did have to write out timelines to keep track of dates and ages quite a bit, but that forced me to keep everything organized.

Katherine Dunn (author of Geek Love) called The Night Circus a fable. Do you agree? If so, what is the lesson or moral learned?
I sometimes call it a fairy tale but I hadn’t thought of it as a fable, though it may have fable-esque qualities. I do think there are themes about making choices and following dreams and defying consequences that could probably be shaped into morals or lessons. Perhaps it is several fables tied into one tale.

Though readers of the novel are very much immersed in the circus, we see very little of the actual performances. Was this a conscious decision?
Originally I had long, sprawling descriptions of the circus but I think it was better to leave more to the imagination, to provide tastes rather than full courses. There were things that I never wanted to describe in detail, like Celia’s performances, which I have a feeling would defy description. I also wanted to leave the impression that there was more to the circus. More sights, more sounds, more tents around unseen corners.

Although Le Cirque des Rêves is quite obviously a fictional troupe, it feels very rooted in turn-of-the-century history and literary tradition. What type of research, both historical and literary, did you do to prepare?
I didn’t actually do much research. I’ve always been fond of that time period in movies and fashion and literature and I think all that previous exposure gave me a decent sense of style and tone. A lot of it was built around a gut-level feeling of what worked and what didn’t, and I occasionally checked to make sure I wasn’t being too terribly anachronistic. But I didn’t want to bend over backwards to make it properly historically accurate. I wanted it to feel believable more than anything else, as I like my fantasy to be grounded in reality.

Friedrick Thiessen, the circus’ reigning expert and academic, is an interesting character. What was it like to be charged with the (rather postmodern) task of writing about a person who studies your own fictional creation?
I suppose it was easier since I sometimes forget that I had created the circus. It seemed more like something that I discovered in my subconscious and excavated rather than something I built. Herr Thiessen is very dear to my heart and I think I understood him immediately—who he is and what the circus means to him, why he feels compelled to capture something of it in prose. He’s the person, along with Bailey, who sees the circus from the outside when so many of the other characters are unable to have that perspective, so to me it was the point of view that the circus was meant to be viewed from. It is his eyes that see the sum of the parts, his words that reflect the circus back on itself. I suppose it is a bit postmodern but, given the nature of the circus as a performance space, the audience plays an important role and Friedrick is the beating heart of that audience.

You say all your work is a fairy-tale of one kind or another. Can you elaborate?  What’s up next for you?
I think everything I create, whether in writing or painting, has a strong sense of story, that Once upon a time . . . element. Otherworldly but familiar, laced with magic and possibilities, with light and dark and shades of grey. The story-ness of books and art is important to me, that intangible quality that elevates them beyond words and pictures and gives them lives of their own.

As far as what I am working on next, it is another novel, which I suppose could be described as something of a film noir-flavored Alice in Wonderland. It is still figuring out what it wants to be, but it’s developing a life of its own already, so I think that’s a good sign.

Read our review of The Night Circus.

The Night Circus is the story of two magicians who each select a champion to compete in a decades-long tournament that takes the form of a stranger-than-average circus. As competitors Celia and Marco match wits, and fall in love, the…

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Colson Whitehead has a problem—a big problem. He can’t stop thinking about zombies, even when he’s asleep.

“I’ve been having zombie dreams ever since I saw Dawn of the Dead in seventh grade,” Whitehead says during a call to his home in Brooklyn’s Fort Greene neighborhood. “Some people have anxiety dreams about showing up late for school or having forgotten about that big assignment. I have zombie dreams.”

Whitehead is explaining the genesis of his newest marvel, Zone One, about a zombie fighter in lower Manhattan whose post-apocalypse nom de guerre is Mark Spitz.

“I had some guests out to Long Island but I was going through something and I think I really wanted to be alone. I was wishing that my guests would leave, and I had a dream that I was going downstairs to the living room and I was wondering if someone had cleared out the zombies yet. I woke up and I thought, hmmm, that’s something you have to consider: Once you put civilization back together, what do you do with all these zombies? So the book grew from there.”

Whitehead, a highly—and deservedly—praised novelist and recipient of a MacArthur Foundation “genius” grant, says his “schtick at the moment is to try different genres. Sag Harbor is a coming of age novel. John Henry Days has a very loose structure. The Intuitionist has a very tight structure. . . . In Zone One I wanted to pay homage to the zombie movies and horror movies that I loved as a kid and still love to watch.”

Of course Colson Whitehead inhabits a genre like no one else. And his take on zombie/horror movies pays homage to the form but is at the same time startlingly original. “I have a darkly absurdist sense of humor that is part of my personality,” he admits. 

Whitehead’s main character, Mark Spitz, is a supposedly mediocre human being. “My sense,” Whitehead explains, “is that if you’re incredibly dumb, you’d probably be killed off quickly, and if you’re really on top of things, you’d probably kill yourself.” 

“I thought . . . once you put civilization back together, what do you do with all these zombies? So the book grew from there.”

But Spitz is also the consciousness through which Whitehead delivers some of his most enthralling—and sometimes hilarious—observations about modern life: “But then there are the personal barricades, Mark Spitz thought. Since the first person met the second person. The ones that keep other people out and our madness in so we can continue to live.”

Or, describing a chopper trip over Central Park: “Mark Spitz had seen the park unscroll from the windows of the big skyscrapers crowding the perimeter, but never from this vantage. No picnickers idled on their blankets, no one goldbricked on the benches and nary a Frisbee arced through the sky, but the park was at first-spring-day capacity. They didn’t stop to appreciate the scenery, these dead visitors; they ranged on the grass and walkways without purpose or sense, moving first this way then strolling in another direction until, distracted by nothing in particular, they readjusted their idiot course. It was Mark Spitz’s first glimpse of Manhattan since the coming of the plague, and he thought to himself, My God, it’s been taken over by tourists.”

Although Whitehead is a native New Yorker, Zone One is the first novel he has explicitly set in the city (The Intuitionist was set in a kind of “alternative gotham”). A meticulous researcher who plans out his work before he begins writing, he notes that “about two years ago at this time, I was taking photographs of downtown New York, trying to figure out what corners would be good settings for the story. Part of the tone in Zone One is a nostalgia for your lost city and trying to get it back. I spent six or nine months before I started actually writing the book researching and plotting it out. I mean, I knew where Mark Spitz was going to be on the last page on the very first day I started writing. Some people start with a blank page and see where the characters will take them. I always feel it’s hard enough to find the right words each day. If you wake up and don’t even know what’s going to happen, it’s twice as hard. That’s my simple model.” 

Whitehead’s “right words” make Zone One not just keenly observant and funny but often downright scary. Before signing up to fight zombies in lower Manhattan, Spitz tries to escape the horror of the all-pervasive plague that unleashed the zombies by making a harrowing journey to Northampton, Massachusetts. In retrospect, as with many horror movies, a reader might laugh, but in the moment, such is Whitehead’s skill, one is more likely to cringe or even scream. Zone One is at times quite disturbing.

“Well I was disturbed when I was writing it,” Whitehead says. No, he doesn’t think that was because he was contemplating the upcoming 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attack. “I grew up in New York in the ’70s. It was a sort of apocalyptic New York then. But certainly tackling the idea of how you come back from disaster, how you make the world livable again after it has been destroyed, how you find those reserves of strength in yourself and other people was important. I wasn’t thinking about 9/11 specifically, but it was one of the many disasters, personal or communal, that I was thinking about.”

The father of a six-year-old daughter, Whitehead was newly divorced while working on Zone One and wrote the book “camped in the corner” of his smallish new digs. “I like working at home. There’s something about being able to make coffee, watch some CNN, take a nap and go back to writing that works for me. I play loud music when I work. When I have only a couple of hours left, I put on ‘Purple Rain’ by Prince and ‘Daydream Nation’ by Sonic Youth. That’s my exit music for all of my books.”

Whitehead is justifiably proud of the final pages of Zone One. “Finally after a year and a half, you get to what you’ve been building toward. What makes a good ending is secretly encoded all along.”

And the ending of Zone One is very good indeed.

 

Colson Whitehead has a problem—a big problem. He can’t stop thinking about zombies, even when he’s asleep.

“I’ve been having zombie dreams ever since I saw Dawn of the Dead in seventh grade,” Whitehead says during a call to his home in Brooklyn’s Fort Greene…

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In the decades since he was first introduced, Drizzt Do’Urden has become a fantasy archetype on par with any of Tolkien’s Middle Earth crew. But unlike Bilbo, Gandalf and company, Drizzt’s adventures are still being newly minted by creator R.A. Salvatore. Neverwinter, the followup to 2010’s Gauntlgrym, is the second of six planned books in the Neverwinter Saga, a series that races ahead 100 years in the Forgotten Realms timeline. With the last of his original companions gone, Drizzt must forge new bonds while facing determined, powerful foes at every turn. While it’s anyone’s guess what awaits Salvatore’s iconic protagonist, it’s certain where the book itself will go—straight to The New York Times bestseller list, where 23 of Salvatore’s earlier books have already been.

You’ve written more than 20 novels featuring Drizzt Do’Urden. That’s a lot of books, a lot of New York Times bestseller lists and a lot of built-in and built-up fan assumptions and desires. Do you ever find your creative direction—be it for a character or an entire story—altered by the pull of reader expectations?
It’s hard to find that balance emotionally between satisfying yourself and satisfying the fans. I’ve always erred on the side of satisfying my own creative needs; I’m letting the story tell me where to go. And let’s be honest, when Wizards of the Coast decides to fast-forward the Forgotten Realms a hundred years, that forces some changes upon me that I might not have done otherwise. That’s just the reality of working in a shared world. I’m not going to be mad about it. If I don’t like it, I can go write in somebody else’s sandbox or make my own. But as far as the fans go, their reactions do have an impact.

Can you give us an example?
I wrote a book called Road of the Patriarch, featuring Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle—both villains.  Entreri has been a intricate part of the Drizzt series pretty much from the beginning. I wrote a short story [called “The Third Level” that recounts] his origin—as a child he was betrayed by a relative, by his mother, by a church, by everybody around him. At the end of Road of the Patriarch, Entreri has just burned down this temple in the city and he’s got a priest up on the ledge. He tells him to go, rebuild, stop lying to the people and to follow the tenets of his god, or Entreri will come back and burn the temple down again, this time with the priest in it. Right after that, he tells Jarlaxle, “Go away, I don’t need you anymore.” To me, that was Entreri for the first time in his life not hating himself. To me, that was a proper ending for Artemis Entreri.

Then the letters started coming in. Letters and emails from people sharing really personal stories of betrayals as children where they had been similarly abused, and begging me to keep going with Entreri. They had to see him healthy; they had to see him come through the other side of this epiphany he had in that book.

That sounds like a pretty heavy load to put on a fantasy writer.
It’s humbling. It’s a reminder that when you’re writing books and putting them up there for public consumption, people are letting you into their lives just a little bit as well. There’s no other way to put it—it’s humbling.

And how do you feel about fan fiction?
I won’t be beholden to it, but I love that people think enough of [my work] to go and do that. I’m not going to read it because that would get me in trouble, but if people want to do it, fine. If they try and sell is, they’re going to get sued, but that’s a whole different ball game.

What’s the latest on a Drizzt movie?
The good news is Hasbro really wants a Drizzt movie now. [Hasbro owns Wizards of the Coast, which owns the Forgotten Realms setting.] With the Transformers movies and G.I. Joe, they’ve made lots of money in movies, so they are very interested in doing it. They are raising the profile; they are contacting people. Will anything come of it? I don’t know.

One of the things working against us? They are protecting an enormously successful and stable franchise. Every year a Drizzt book comes out, we know how many we’re going to sell. A good movie would help the franchise, but a really bad one could hurt something we all love.

You’ve written more than 53 novels in the last 20 years. That’s basically the definition of “prolific.” What’s an average writing workday look like for you?
On an average day, I get about two hours at the computer. Typically, the amount of words I can do in a day is between 500 and 2,000. Once I get over 2,000, I’ve kinda drained the battery. Every now and then, I have a 5,000-word day—usually a battle scene—but I haven’t had many of those lately. I must be getting old.

In addition to your host of writing endeavors, you’ve also been working, along with Todd McFarlane and Ken Ralston, for Curt Schilling’s 38 Studios, which is releasing the open world role-playing game Kingdoms of Amalur: Reckoning in 2012. Your title is Executive Creator of Worlds . . .
Yes, I’m a creator of worlds—a CoW.

How does lore-building for a massive multiplayer online game compare with writing a novel?
It was very much like when I created the whole world of Corona for my DemonWars books. My job is not to design a game. We have mechanics designers—very good ones—who figure out things like class balance, the merits of fast travel versus walking or riding mounts, etc. No, my job was be the historian of the world, a world I’ve created. When a player enters the world, it has to all make sense. Why are these races where they are? Why does this particular faction hate that particular faction? Does the economy makes sense?

For the first year, all we did was world-build. I had a content team and an art team. I would meet with each team every week. At first, in the meetings with the content team, they would come in and say: “Here’s what we’re doing,” and present what they were working on. My most common response? “No. No. No.” Then I would take out the green binder that is the bible of our world, slam it down and say “How does what you’re doing relate to this? Because this is the Bible. You have to go by this.” After about three months I knew my job was almost done. Instead of “No, no, no!” I was saying, “Aw, that’s cool!” because they were getting it.

So you’re working with Todd McFarlane. You’re working with Curt Schilling. You’ve been on book tours with legends like Gaiman, Pratchett and Moorcock. Who else would you love to meet or work with?
I’d like to meet Vin Diesel because I know he’s read the books and we almost did the television series at one point, apparently. (He was interested in doing one.) I’d really like to meet him and get to know him a little bit. He’s a pretty cool guy from everything I’ve heard. I’d like to work with Ronnie Howard. If Ronnie Howard ever called me up and said, “I want to do one of your books in a movie,” I’d die on the spot because I just love his work.

How often do you have a “recognized in the street” moment?
Not often—I’m a writer. But there are moments. I was at a Renaissance Fair—King Richard’s Faire in Carver, Massachusetts, about 10-15 years ago, and who showed up but Steven Tyler and Joe Perry of Aerosmith. They are having a blast. They are hanging out with people and are as fun as you would think from watching their music videos. All day long, people are following Tyler and Perry around like little puppy dogs, including most of the people I had come with. At one point, I’m standing outside this vendor’s stall. I’m just standing there enjoying this great October day in New England. Tyler and Perry are standing like 10 feet away from me, and for some reason they are alone. Then this kid walks out of the stall, looks over and his eyes pop out of his head. He goes running up, right past them, to me. They both looked at me, so I just kinda crossed my arms and went, “Hah!” So yeah, there are moments.

 

Michael Burgin writes from Nashville. You can find the entire transcript of his talk with R.A. Salvatore here.

 

In the decades since he was first introduced, Drizzt Do’Urden has become a fantasy archetype on par with any of Tolkien’s Middle Earth crew. But unlike Bilbo, Gandalf and company, Drizzt’s adventures are still being newly minted by creator R.A. Salvatore. Neverwinter, the followup to…

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The day that fans have been eagerly anticipating for more than 20 years arrives on January 8 with the publication of A Memory of Light, the final entry in Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series.

Like the progress of time itself, this remarkable fantasy series has had a long and circuitous journey. Author James Oliver Rigney Jr. launched the series in 1990, writing under the pen name Robert Jordan, and continued it until his death in 2007.

After reading a heartfelt eulogy to Jordan by fantasy author Brandon Sanderson, Jordan’s widow and editor, Harriet McDougal, chose Sanderson for the difficult task of wrapping up the epic series. Working from Jordan’s voluminous notes, outlines, character lists and scenes (including the ending), Sanderson has completed the final three books in the series: The Gathering Storm, Towers of Midnight and A Memory of Light.

The final hefty volume, at more than 900 pages, will provide the answer that readers have clamored for: How will the Last Battle play out?

To provide a satisfying answer to that question, Sanderson was assisted by the members of “Team Jordan,” which includes Harriet McDougal, as well as longtime assistants/editors Maria Simons and Alan Romanczuk. We asked McDougal a few questions about this final chapter.

With Robert Jordan you did “curb-side editing” (editing a manuscript as it was written, chapter by chapter). How did your process work with Sanderson?
Harriet McDougal: With Brandon, Alan and Maria and I made broad-gauge suggestions and agreed with him on major trajectories, back in the spring of 2011. In early 2012, Brandon delivered a draft to us. We worked on this draft for weeks, sent revision suggestions back, doing this in bunches all spring long. In the summer of 2012 we worked long weeks on more revisions.

It was a different process. Remember, by the time of Jordan’s death we had worked together on about 20 books, Maria had been working with us for almost 12 years, and Alan for six.

It was more like working with Jordan on one of his early manuscripts. In the later books, he had already learned everything that would drive me nuts, so he didn’t do those things anymore.

What was the hardest part of seeing the series through to completion after your husband’s death?
The repeated reminder that he was no longer alive.

Can you share a favorite scene from A Memory of Light or from the series as a whole?
I have never forgotten Hopper’s death and joyful flight. Other than that, I love the whole series. And A Memory of Light as a whole.

How do you feel about the series coming to an end?
Sadness, joy and relief.

The day that fans have been eagerly anticipating for more than 20 years arrives on January 8 with the publication of A Memory of Light, the final entry in Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series.

Like the progress of time itself, this remarkable fantasy series…

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Caribbean author Karen Lord has taught physics, trained soldiers, worked in the Foreign Service and earned a Ph.D. in the sociology of religion. In her new novel, The Best of All Possible Worlds, Lord manages to combine many of these experiences—along with her telling eye for detail—in the story of Grace Delarua, a mid-level scientist who has to work with a high-level refugee. Against the odds, the two begin to fall for each other. Although it begins with a tragedy, Lord’s inviting storytelling and range of voices make this novel a fascinating read, and we asked Lord, who lives in Barbados, a few questions about it.

What was the genesis of The Best of All Possible Worlds?
The precursors were the 2004 Boxing Day Tsunami (more women and children than men were killed in certain fishing communities); gender imbalance in countries with prenatal screening and/or family size restrictions; and the effects of female-scarcity on societies. It didn’t become a story until one day I read a blog post about the Star Trek movie reboot, commenting that from what they’d seen of Vulcans offplanet, most of the survivors were likely male . . . and what would that mean for future societal dynamics?

From there I started some postcolonial musings. What happens when an empire is suddenly wiped out? How does a society transition from wealth and widespread influence to dependency and refugee status among those once considered inferior? I thought about the British and the Japanese empires during the 20th century. I imagined a benevolent and slightly aloof paternalism deeply shaken by unanticipated defeat.

I imagined a planet, Cygnus Beta, to provide a context to highlight those issues. Founded by refugees and adventurers from all over the galaxy, it is a place where groups have mixed and blended their genetic and cultural heritages while others have tried to hold onto a certain amount of tradition and homogeneity. The full gamut of preservation, adaptation and assimilation has been played out many times by different communities. I slipped in bits of history and myth when creating some of those communities. (In one case I was directly inspired by a modern-day news article about an actor who sliced his throat on stage when a prop knife was accidentally switched with a real knife!)

I took visual inspiration from countries I’ve visited, or wanted to visit: Guyana, Colombia, Trinidad, Montserrat, India, New Zealand, Australia (or at least the opera!), Malta, Wales, Jordan, Argentina and Iceland.

What happens when an empire is suddenly wiped out?

The Best of All Possible Worlds begins with an ungraspable tragedy and moves on leaving us in the same state as the novel's characters: with the ground swept away from beneath our feet. What drew you to this beginning?
With a tragedy of that magnitude your centre is shaken, your sense of up and down is destroyed and somehow, amidst the hugeness of the tumult, mundane life goes on, expecting you to have a drink of water, or a cup of tea, or get out of bed and get dressed. It’s almost laughable, but life doesn’t stop for tragedy even when you want it to. Grief is experienced as vertigo. How do people find their ground again?

Grace Delarua, who tells the story of The Best of All Possible Worlds, is at once highly observant and, although there are other reasons for it, a little obtuse. Why can't she see what others see? Was she based on anyone you know?
I have always found people to be variably observant. There are some things they are very good at noticing and other things that pass them by completely. There are, as you say, reasons for that, including fear and denial, lazy expectations based on deeply ingrained stereotypes and lack of key information. The worst offenders are those who are convinced that they are observant, certain that they are unbiased and completely unaware that they don’t have all the facts.

Delarua’s not directly based on anyone I know, but I was inspired by something someone told me years ago. She had to briefly work with a frivolous, chatty and completely irritating woman. Then, near the end of her stint, she got to know the woman better and discovered that she was extremely intelligent, hardworking and ambitious. In fact, they had a lot in common and she thought they could have been great friends if she hadn’t been stuck for so long with her bad first impression.

Was there anything about this book that surprised you as you wrote about it?
The romance surprised me. There wasn’t supposed to be any! I was also surprised at the explanation for psionic abilities [like telekinesis or telepathy]. It was strangely fascinating and I was tempted to write pseudo-academic papers on the topic. The Elves . . . yes, the Elves surprised me by being astonishingly plausible when by rights they should have been pure farce.

The biggest shock was inventing the savannah dog, then doing research on the name only to discover that there actually is a savannah dog . . . which looked like I imagined it and is located in the real-life region on which I based the Cygnian region.

How has your life changed since your first novel was published?
I co-write research reports for socioeconomic projects but I haven’t written an academic paper in a good while. I’m certainly not famous yet. The local newspapers are learning not to misspell my last name (there are more Lordes than Lords in Barbados). This year I’m going to the Adelaide Writers’ Week, which will be my first time in Australia, and I’m really looking forward to it!

I know you read far and wide. Have you read anything recently you'd especially recommend?
I love to recommend Caribbean science fiction, [like] Ghosts by Curdella Forbes (2012) and The Rainmaker’s Mistake by Erna Brodber (2007). I’ve gained a new appreciation for short story collections. I recently read Ted Chiang’s brilliant Stories of Your Life and Others (I know, I’m late). Karin Tidbeck’s recent debut collection Jagannath is beautiful, and The Weird anthology, edited by Ann and Jeff VanderMeer, is essential reading.

 

Gavin Grant is the publisher of Small Beer Press, which published Karen Lord’s debut novel, Redemption in Indigo. He lives in Northampton, Massachusetts.

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How did debut author Helene Wecker—who just published her superb fantasy novel The Golem and the Jinni—burst onto the literary scene with such an extraordinary achievement right off the bat? When we asked her that question, the answer only made us shake our heads in further wonder.

“To be honest, this really was the first big project that I worked on. When I jumped out of college, I went straight into the corporate world,” Wecker says by phone from her home near San Francisco.

After seven years of corporate work, the urge to write wouldn’t let up. “I got to a point where I thought, I’m going to really kick myself if I don’t give the writing a fair shot.” So she went back to school: at first, night classes, then Columbia University’s writing program. In the workshop there, she was building a collection of linked short stories about her own family and her husband’s family. “I’m Jewish and he’s Arab-American. But I was too close to that real-life material. When I tried to turn it into fiction, it lost its power over me.”

Then a friend in the workshop gave Wecker the leg up she needed. “My friend said, you’re such a total nerd, you’re always talking about fantasy and sci-fi, you’re always talking about the legitimacy of bringing genre elements into literary fiction. So how come you’re not doing that?

Wecker's remarkable debut combines two legendary beings from Jewish and Arabian folklore.

It was the right question. On the very same day, the premise for The Golem and the Jinni came to Wecker. Conceived at first as a short story, the idea expanded into a novel over the course of seven years. “It wasn’t just writing the book; it was learning to be a writer,” she recalls. “It went through so many drafts and I learned so much about how to get across what I wanted to say. This book was my crucible for becoming a writer.”

Wecker’s novel is a dream come true for any devoted reader of fantasy (and is sure to make many new ones). Everything about the tale marks it as an immediate classic. The two greatest legendary beings of Jewish and Arabian folklore are brought together in the melting pot of lower Manhattan, at the peak of the immigrant tide a century ago. The book’s fusion of golem and jinni is nothing short of epic, their encounters ever more fraught with powerful emotion and mortal danger both for the creatures themselves, and for all their magnificently varied human relations.

Being so new to writing, Wecker felt intimidated by the thought of looking into the sizable catalogue of modern literary retellings of golem and jinni stories. So she decided to start from scratch, drawing from two beautifully divergent sources: on the one hand, the old, original legends of the golem and jinni; on the other, pop-culture icons like Star Wars, “Star Trek” and “Battlestar Galactica,” where “approaching-human” characters abound. “In a way, I felt like my own golem Chava was almost a cross between Data and Counselor Troi” (of “Star Trek: The Next Generation”), Wecker says. “Chava can feel people but not understand them.”

Obvious question: Are the female golem and the male jinni stand-ins for Wecker and her husband? “At about a year into the writing process, the story shed that connection. The characters really became themselves,” she says. Even so, the long gestation period of the novel had its vivid counterpart in the efforts of Wecker and her husband to get pregnant during those same years, fertility treatments and all. “In one of the final editing sessions, I started to realize just how many childless people were in this book, people who wanted to have kids. And I thought, oh come on, was my unconscious really spewing onto the page like that? So I took a couple of them out.”

But Wecker need not have worried about making her story too autobiographical. The internal logic of The Golem and the Jinni is both profound and startlingly unsentimental. Its expressive content feels uncompromisingly truthful, even difficult. The book’s ironic realism—including its intensely vivid portrait of the “grit and squalor” of the Lower East Side at the turn of the 20th century—comes close to the spirit of fantasy masters Tolkien, Rowling and Clarke.

Another bond between Wecker and this magisterial company is the strong ethical thread running through her tale. In essence, the golem and the jinni are both potentially destructive to humanity. But they evolve through the novel, going against their own natures.

“A conscious angle of the book was this idea of humanizing, and what that means for each of them—in the Pinocchio sense of becoming a real person, but also adapting to society and learning to live with those around you and what that means on a moral level,” she says. “For the jinni, it’s having to learn to accept help, having to learn that his actions have consequences.”

Wecker also reflects on the way her monstrous hero and heroine change and grow together, bringing the process back to its source in her own marriage. But it’s not just because she is a Jewish woman married to an Arab-American man (although that in itself is worthy of a U.N. resolution).

“It’s drawn from my experiences of being in a long-term relationship and growing up with someone,” she says. “You’re not fully formed when you’re 18 or 20. Being together for years and learning to adapt to each other and with each other—that’s a feat of endurance and of empathy, and it’s really, really tough sometimes. That’s what I was trying to bring across. I wanted the golem and the jinni to have a real relationship.” The fact that each of them is the only living being in the world capable of seeing exactly who and what the other one is—that’s terrifying to both of them. And it’s the essence of any true love.

There’s a thrilling spiritual challenge, too, at the heart of Wecker’s tale, embodied in the communion of two creatures from completely different cultural traditions.

“It’s the idea that there could be many truths, all coexisting, none of them negating the others,” she says. “My question is, does that point to something larger? Is each truth a facet of a larger whole? That’s the question I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to answer. But it’s really fun to turn over.”

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE
Read our review of The Golem and the Jinni.

How did debut author Helene Wecker—who just published her superb fantasy novel The Golem and the Jinni—burst onto the literary scene with such an extraordinary achievement right off the bat? When we asked her that question, the answer only made us shake our heads…

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