Category: Writing Life

Writer Interview, Writers Chat, Writers Read, Writing Life

Writers Chat 57: Richard Fulco on “We Are All Together” (Wampus: 2022)

Front cover of We Are All Together showing a black and white sketch of a stage with instruments lined up against a stool, waiting to be played.

SG: Richard, Welcome to my Writers Chat series. Congratulations on your second novel, We Are All Together which comes out this November 2022 with Wampus. Let’s start with the cover. As We Are All Together is so person-centric, I’m curious about the cover which is a black and white sketch of the various instruments (literally) of We Are All Together. What message/s did you want to convey with this, and how much input did you have, working with Wampus, into the cover design?

RF: One reason I love working with Wampus is that its founder and creative director Mark Doyon provides me with ample feedback on everything from marketing to editing. Ultimately, Wampus leaves the decision-making up to its artists, so I am eternally grateful for the creative freedom that I have.

The cover art was created by my brilliant partner, the painter Nan Ring. She and I discussed the concept. I wanted something fairly cynical yet simple. The bare stage: a guitar, amplifier, microphone and stool. But where are the musicians? Nan and I wanted the cover art to start a conversation. We wanted to pose several questions considering the title of the book.

The Beatles have been an enormous presence on me as a writer and on this particular novel. The book’s title is from “I Am the Walrus.” “I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.” The title claims, “We are all together” but in fact, the characters are not all together at the beginning of the book. In the United States, we are not united, never was, and yet we are inextricably linked nevertheless. I don’t think the irony will be lost on readers.

In addition, the edges of the image dissolve, indicating the ephemeral nature of life and art. Even as we are here together, we are all slowly leaving this world, which makes the present moment all the more intensely poignant and beautiful.

SG: Thank you for that explanation – it’s interesting to hear the story and conversations behind the cover and title. Leading on from this, it seems that We Are All Together could not have been set in any other era and any other country than the 1960s New York (and other cities).  Was the era – and all the conflicts of national and individual identity – what brought you to this story?

RF: Syd Barrett and The Pink Floyd brought me to the story and the recent politics in America provided me with a blueprint.

It began as a rock and roll novel about a young musician so desperate to make it that he’s willing to do anything, even betray his best friend. I drew upon my experiences as a desperate musician, living the life of a starving artist, doubting my abilities, and unwilling to face the truth about my artistic pursuits.

For several years, I wrote about music on my blog, Riffraf. I had the opportunity to interview the great rock photographer Mick Rock who had taken some of the most iconic photos in rock and roll: David Bowie and Mick Ronson, Iggy Pop, Lou Reed and of course Syd Barrett. Syd’s story was a compelling yet strange one, and Mr. Rock shared his experiences with Syd that really piqued my interest. At the height of his musical powers, Syd just checked out. Was he an acid casualty? Was it mental illness? Or did he no longer wish to make music with the band he formed?

David Gilmour said, “Syd’s story is a sad story, romanticized by people who don’t know anything about it. They’ve made it fashionable, but it’s just not that way.” I am by no means trying to romanticize Syd’s story. Although I’ve included some of Pink Floyd’s mythology and lore. My novel resembled Syd’s story in the beginning, but eventually morphed into something more socio-political than I had anticipated. I owe a great debt to the American politics of the past decade.

SG: I thought you captured the public/private self well alright. Stephen is constantly trying to please those around him – on stage, at parties and even when he is supposed to be engrossed in his music he steps out of his reality to remember, for example, seeing the Beatles on TV. Stephen’s journey – and that of the reader – is about using others to find or create himself. Would you class this novel as a coming-of-age tale, a bildungsroman? Or is it more of a morality tale about vanity? Or does it belong to a genre at all?

RF: Whereas my first book, THERE IS NO END TO THIS SLOPE, is a coming-of-middle-age novel, this one is a more traditional bildungsroman. The novel’s protagonist, Stephen Cane, is a naive twenty-one-year old narcissist who is wrestling with his parents’ mixed messages, dreams, vocation and the belief that he is not a truly great man.

Stephen and his partner and friend, Dylan John, are young men on their own individual psychological, spiritual and moral journeys. Dylan travels in one direction as a civil rights activist, while Stephen, on a separate path, pursues his love for rock and roll. WE ARE ALL TOGETHER is also a buddy novel and a road novel. There’s even a touch of historical fiction and perhaps some thriller/mystery elements tossed in for good measure.

I suppose there are moral questions posed, but I don’t think of the novel as a morality play. At what lengths would you go to gain success? What role does the artist play in this world? Does the world need another rock star? Now that I think about it, Dylan is kind of like Everyman who is trying to justify his time on the earth.

SG: Yes, there is a touch of Dylan as the seer, and also the Everyman. While We Are All Together is, on a top level, an exploration of the lure of fame, and perhaps a commentary on a capitalist society – “My old man had been instructing me ever since I was a boy that whenever money was involved, I should seize the opportunity, no matter who gets shredded in the process, even if that person ultimately turns out to be me….” – it also sets its gaze at parent/child relationships in the formation of “character”, and “reinvention”. Early in the novel, we’re told:

“Some mothers inspire their children to aspire to greatness, to reach for the stars, like Arthur’s mother. But my mother, who was kind of musical in her own way, singing in the church choir and all, encouraged me to play it safe…the world ‘dream’ just wasn’t in her vocabulary.”

To what extent do you think Stephen’s strict religious moral upbringing with a focus on money making, is related to his constant misjudging what is expected of him in the relationships he tries to forge? I’m thinking here of the complex relationship with Emily, and then later with her as Gentle Wind (who, perhaps accurately, claims he has “never loved anyone” in his life).

RF: I’m not sure that Stephen misjudges Emily (also known as Gentle Wind). He witnesses her prejudice and bigotry on their first night together when she makes an anti-semitic remark. I think Stephen chooses to overlook Emily’s questionable, reprehensible behavior because she’s not only beautiful, but she’s also a terrific artist. He’s a young, lonely loser who just had his heart broken and is desperate in both art and love. He’s seeking the love, attention and approval that his parents failed to provide. Stephen is truly impressed with Emily’s natural talent. Wondering if he possesses greatness himself, Stephen wants to be near greatness, hoping that maybe some of Emily’s will rub off on him.

SG: I was thinking not that he misjudges her but that he misjudges the relationship. This desire to be near greatness, as you say, is also why he has John as a friend. You make great use of description, colour, and visuals to capture the clothes, atmosphere and attitudes of 1967, or the Summer of Love. From Emily’s “ratty dungarees with holes in both knees”, “yellow button down with a wide collar and large bright silver buttons”, to the “purple stairs” which Stephen and Emily descend, and a projection of a montage of “films of suburban families opening presents in front of a Christmas tree, psychedelic mushroom swirls, the conflict that was heating up in Vietnam, and police officers beating negroes with Billy clubs.” Or later the band is

“decked out in black and wearing dark shades… stunning female back-up singer, a blonde mannequin in a white leisure suit and black scarf”.

It strikes me that We Are All Together is very filmic. Could you see it as a film – or a play, given your playwriting background?

RF: I never envisioned this book as a play. Though I do think there is some fairly decent dialogue within. When I write a play, I accept the stage as my biggest challenge. I love writing dialogue, but I also consider ways to tell my story visually? Writing a novel is quite different. And for this book I attempted to write a more traditional, linear tale, but I wanted to go really big with its visuals. Let’s include a chapter with Andy Warhol and the Factory. Why not take a trip across America? I like Pete Townshend, so let’s make him a character. My vision was broad and ranging. I saw the narrative quite clearly. The Sixties provided me with color, extraordinary political events, and powerful images, so I’ve tried my best to preserve them in prose.

SG: Yes, you’re right about the vision – and it’s quite a journey you bring the reader on. We Are All Together also explores the expanding, changing world of music (and touches on the art and film world with Warhol making multiple appearances) in the 1960s, and shows the reader – through Stephen – how closely it was linked to political change. How important was it for you to track socio-political change and in doing so, echo tensions and polarisation in America of today?

RF: When I embarked on this project, my intention was to recall some of my experiences as a singer in a rock and roll band in the 80s and 90s. I set it during the Summer of Love because I wanted the protagonist to be somewhat of a precursor to punk, someone outside the mainstream. But early on it was clear to me that the character I thought was the book’s protagonist, Dylan John, was really the protagonist’s (Stephen Cane) foil.

The more research I did on the Summer of Love the more I learned about The Long, Hot Summer where more than 150 riots had taken place across America, the most notable rebellions were in Detroit and Newark.

As a white writer, I discovered that there were two narratives in the summer of ‘67. The white narrative of The Summer of Love – peace, love, and understanding, is more mainstream, while the black narrative of racial injustice, discord and the quest for equality takes a back seat.

I’m ashamed to say that I really didn’t know too much about the Long, Hot Summer until I began writing this novel. The more I wrote, the more invested I had become. Dylan John questions his role in society and decides to join the fight for civil rights. He doesn’t think the world needs another rock star. He believes the world needs soldiers in the fight for justice.

I created two narratives that parallel the socio-political events of the time. There is Stephen Cane’s story – The Summer of Love – and then there’s Dylan John’s story, The Long, Hot Summer. It was a very conscious dichotomy. While I was writing the book, America was in turmoil, mimicking the events of 1967. WE ARE ALL TOGETHER is set during the Summer of 1967, but I’m really commenting on present day America.

SG: That duality and commentary comes across really strongly, Richard. It really speaks of how our own situation as writers and the when/where we are writing from seems into our narratives. Stephen and Dylan John/Arthur Devane are polarised characters in this respect and your use of dialogue worked well in this respect. Can you talk about the relationship between Dylan John and Stephen Cane and how this asks questions about the role of the artist in society – is it to provoke? Create change? Make money? Do something “meaningful”, as Dylan says?

RF: We Are All Together addresses a nation struggling with its mythological past and the effects it has had on the integrity of the individual. Does the artist owe the world anything? Does the ailing world need another rock star? The role of the artist is to comment on the world. The artist seeks truth. The artist tries to make sense of this perplexing world. If the art is truthful it might offer a fresh point of view for the audience (or reader).

SG: Questions that are timeless. But was it difficult to incorporate real musicians and bands (The Beatles, The Velvet Underground, Mamas and Papas etc) into the fictional world of We Are All Together whilst maintaining the integrity of Stephen’s story?

RF: It was actually quite fun. I particularly enjoyed writing about George Harrison. I wanted to write about the time George was in Haight-Ashbury and how disappointed he was in the flower power counterculture. And there is Stephen Cane in the midst of it all, pleading with George to listen to the only song he has ever written.

The infamous story is that George and his wife Patti visited the Haight on August 8, 1967, but were really turned off by the culture. In his biography Dark Horse, Harrison said, “Somehow I expected them to all own their own little shops. I expected them all to be nice and clean and friendly and happy.” Instead, he said, he found the hippies “hideous, spotty little teenagers.”

SG: Again, it’s that duality – perception/ expectation/ reality. Part of Stephen’s journey is also experimenting with various class A drugs, especially heroin “his papa” which eases his guilt at

“Failing to protect my mother when my father went to town on her with his black belt and wide silver buckle. Breaking up Ghost Spider. Replacing Dylan in Red Afternoon. Sleeping with my best friend’s wife”.

There are times when our sympathy for Stephen wanes. But you pull us back with humour and bizarre horror, such as The Jolly Jokesters on their magic bus, Furthermore which bring both reader and Stephen out of his self-obsession and back into the reality of a divided society. Can you comment on the humour in the novel?

RF: I wouldn’t say WE ARE ALL TOGETHER is a particularly hilarious novel. One might find the hapless Stephen Cane somewhat amusing. Certainly Tony Campbell, the writer and entrepreneur, might make one smile. Neal Cassady has his moments too. Though even in the dark there is light. Mark Twain said, “The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven.” Whenever I’m writing I search for the humor in the tragic. I’ve written a number of tragicomedy one-act plays, and I approach all of my writing with some levity. You can’t write from inside a casket all the time, right?

SG: Exactly! So, lastly, Richard, let’s conclude our Writers Chat session with some fun questions:

  • If you could be a character in your novel, who would it be? Clementine. She is a poet, a lover, a traveller, a wandering spirit, an adventurer, a good friend.
  • What song from We Are All Together would be its soundtrack? “Arnold Layne” by Pink Floyd influenced the psychedelic songs written by Dylan John, Red Afternoon and even Stephen Cane’s one song.
  • Silence or noise when writing? Noise while writing. Silence while editing.
  • Favourite band doing the circuit today? Wilco.
  • What is the most surprising read you’ve had this year? The Talented Mr. Ripley and Oh William! 
Photograph of smiling Richard Fulco wearing black-rimmed glasses and a navy-blue shirt, against a background of a lake and forests.

Purchase We Are All Together at Barnes and Noble, Amazon or AppleBooks

Learn more about Richard Fulco at Wampus.

With thanks to Richard Fulco and Wampus for an advance copy of We Are All Together.

Writer Interview, Writers Chat, Writers Read, Writing Life

Writers Chat 56: Tara Masih on “How We Disappear” (Press 53: North Carolina, 2022)

Tara, How lovely to feature your work again on my Writers Chat series. We last chatted in 2020, about The Bitter Kind, a flash novelette and today we’re talking about your latest publication, How We Disappear (Press 53: North Carolina, 2022), a novella and stories – a Millions Most Anticipated book!

Cover of How We Disappear showing a painting of a woman disappearing or emerging against a light turquoise background

SG: I had the sense that How We Disappear is as much about appearance, judgement and expectation as it is about how we disappear and are disappeared. I was particularly moved by the last story in the collection, “Notes to the World” where the protagonist, Grigori finds that the notes he is reading speak not just of the woman’s life but also of his own. I loved the effect of the stories mirroring – literally timeless – but also how you show the repetition of human behaviour in relationships, who lives/survives, who hunts/is hunted and that haunting last line, “let me hear your voice”. Can you explain your intentions with the collection and the title (and the beautiful cover)?

TM: The stories were written over a period of time (“Those Who Have Gone” was actually written decades ago), and there was no intent in any of them to link up. It wasn’t until I realized I had enough for a collection and started looking at the stories to order them that I saw the connection of disappearance.

I think the various ways disappearance can be examined or experienced is only partially shown in this collection, but I do think my personal relationship history together with my upbringing in the sixties as a mixed child in a very white community allows me to understand both the feeling of having been left and the feeling of not being seen. Of disappearing into the background. What most allows us to be seen? I don’t think it’s all through the visual (though there is visual judgment) as much as through auditory (I include sign language as “auditory”). I think we have a greater need to be “heard” than seen, though both are powerful, often interchangeable needs. I want readers who have always had the benefit of being seen and heard to understand what it’s like to fight to be recognized, and I want those who can relate to the themes to find themselves or find ways to make better decisions so they can function at their best. We’ve also been collectively traumatized by the covid pandemic and many have lost loved ones. I hope some of the stories allow readers to work through the grief process.

The cover image is gorgeous and designer Claire V. Foxx did a beautiful job of making the type reflect the theme. She is the one who noted that the woman could be viewed as either disappearing or emerging.

SG: I love how you bring in the senses and all types of language and communication here, Tara. In “Fleeing Gravity” you tell a story that feels like an epic fairytale, yet it is grounded in history and colonisation. Ghosts flit in and out of reality – physically and psychologically – and it seemed to me that it was their story as much as Brandy’s story of displacement, creation and destruction. He says of the female ghost Miz Annabelle Fourier, “It’s easy to love a ghost who asks nothing of you”. I also found that this story had echoes – in terms of the relationships – of “In A Sulfate Mist”. What was your thinking behind these two stories?

TM: There is no conscious connection between those two stories outside of the fact that I’m drawn to stories set in the natural world. I love placing characters into landscapes and allowing those exterior settings to influence story and behavior. “Fleeing Gravity” began with my wanting to set a character in a ghost town. What would it be like to live among ghosts on a daily basis? To be a caretaker and be the only one left there at the end of the day? I also wanted to highlight the plight of the Montana “Landless Indians,” as they called themselves, who fought for recognition from our government for decades. They were basically told they were not worthy to exist and should disappear into the landscape. I’m thrilled to report that before this book got published the Little Shell Tribe members finally achieved their goal and are now federally recognized. They have essentially become “visible.”

Which brings up other issues such as power. Who holds it, and how it’s wielded to make others powerless by making them invisible.

SG: I think you’ve done a great job of highlighting the plight of the Little Shell Tribe members and here is hoping that in now being officially “visible”, the needs and rights are upheld and the Tribe treasured. A number of the stories in the collection explore connections between environment, emotion and story. I’m thinking here, for example, of “Delight” and “Billy Said This Really Happened to Lucy.” Desire is by the sea, Lucy is by the marsh and they both have ambiguous relationships with their surrounds. I really enjoyed the characters’ realisation about themselves and the land/sea around them and the powerful role that parental stories play in forming impressions, teaching social norms, particularly in relation to gender, the body and control. Can you talk about this?

TM: While I love the natural world, I recognize its disinterest in us. And its destructive power. Nature is beautiful and restorative. Nature is full of fury and can obliterate anything in its path in seconds. There are many writers now exploring the genre of cli-fi fiction. My writing doesn’t go that far into what we are facing now, but perhaps as someone who is bicultural, I try to present the reality of both sides. The same for people. In “Delight,” we first see the father as a typical abusive parent. In the last scene, I hope readers catch something else. In the Lucy story, her mother returns in the guise of a poisonous snake. Lucy both welcomes this new interaction but is also wary of it.

We rarely see women in wilderness stories, though that is changing as well. But I still can’t tell you there is a large list of women who write about nature and place, especially in short stories. Men have long had that domain almost exclusively to themselves. My female characters are either learning to be comfortable in that male-dominated wilderness, sometimes with the help of men, or have found their own ways into the wilderness and are leading the way for the men who are following.

SG: I loved how you channelled the writing process – and formation of a writer – in the cleverly constructed “Agatha: A Life in Unauthorised Fragments”. In some ways this story feels like the spine of the collection; it is almost like a reflection on the story telling process. “Every story is an escape story.”

In a way this book helps the readers escape. Did the writing help you escape and do you think this is one of the roles of writing/reading in our lives – and in Agatha’s?  

TM: Thank you. I just loved writing that story. I had studied Christie’s disappearance decades ago in high school. Besides loving her mysteries, I was obsessed with trying to find out what happened when she disappeared. When I realized I needed another story to flesh out this collection I recalled that long ago research and took to it again with great glee. As someone who has a minor in sociology, human behavior totally intrigues me and I have my own theory about what happened. It’s not anything ground-breaking, but I did channel my own experiences as a female writer, as a crisis counsellor, and as a woman who has been cheated on.

The epigram is just something that came to me when I was writing the story. Kind of a voice over, if you will. I think that all stories we tell are either escape hatches from our own lives or attempts to escape from someone or something or even ourselves. I was thinking of all that rather than of readers escaping into the stories, but yes, that is happening as well on the other end of listening or reading a story.

SG: Yes, I think we are touching on the very powerful invisible connection and dialogue between writer and reader! In the novella An Aura Surrounds That Night, a family views the news of the assignation of JFK on the TV, a child who captures slugs that escape and leave silvery trails on the bedroom ceiling comes of age and she begins to notice the inside/outside-ness of life:

“But there was Grammy below me, now trapped inside herself, while outside Japanese beetles, lightning bugs, moths, mosquitoes, gnats were flying into the window screens, banging and buzzing.”

Like other characters in the stories, she has the gift of second sight (hence the title) yet the gift cannot stop what is going to happen to her sister. I loved this novella and I think the placement in the book worked very well – the narrative carried much of the sensibility of the early stories and was one which I found really poignant. Have you any plans to write more of this story…?

TM: Ha! You are not the first to want more. I’m afraid at this point that story is as fully told as I can make it. It did begin as a novel and I just could not take it where it needed to go. But I kept tinkering with it, not wanting to lose the sisters entirely. When I finally recast it as a flash novella, it all fell into place. The writing flowed, the scenes congealed, and so I have to say it’s in the form it’s meant to be in, no more, no less. But never say never, right?

Thanks again for noticing and appreciating what I was trying to do not only with the story but the full collection. It warms my heart and helps keep me writing!

SG: Oh so wonderful to chat with you, Tara, and your writing warms many hearts. Now lastly, some fun questions:

  • Beach or mountains? Beach for sure. Love the ocean and all things watery.
  • Silence or noise when writing? Silence. Noise stresses me out.
  • Kindle, paperback or hardback? Hardback or paperback. Nothing beats the tactile feeling of a book in hand.
  • Dogs or cats? Love cats.
  • I love cats, too! So, what is the most surprising read you’ve had this year? I found a book in a remainder bin and loved it. The Australia Stories by Todd James Pierce. I don’t know why I never heard of it. A hybrid novel that was likely ahead of its time.
Tara Masih, Photograph courtesy of Tara Masih

Connect with Tara via her website.

Thank you to Press 53 and Tara for the advance copy of How We Disappear.

Writer Interview, Writers Chat, Writing Life

Writers Chat 52: Sara Baume on “seven steeples” (Tramp Press: Dublin, 2022)

Sara, You are very welcome to my WRITERS CHAT series. Congratulations on seven steeples (Tramp Press: Dublin, 2022). I loved the cumulative effect of this novel which felt – to me – like being swept away in a fugue of calm.

Photograph of the cover of seven steeples showing mountains with a blue sky in the background and symmetrical textile work on a grey wall in the foreground. Photograph provided by the author and used with kind permission from Tramp Press.

SG: Let’s start with the reading experience as I said above, reading seven steeples felt like being swept away into Bell and Sigh’s world and returning to my own world with new eyes, and a little less harried, even transformed. Since finishing the novel I’ve found myself paying more attention to the things that surround me, the purpose they serve, and considering how the space of our world can be as small or as broad as we need them to be. Can you talk a little about your intention with this novel – and what impact and effect you thought or hoped it might have on the reader?

SB: My intention, when I set out to write this novel, was the same as with every other book I’ve written – to catalogue a place and time and set of experiences that will not last forever. At the very beginning there was just a single road – the same one I walk every morning. Over the course of a year I took down notes every time I arrived home from my walk, little observations relating to how much – and how little – the road changed with the seasons. The novel finally grew out of those notes. I honestly didn’t think too much about what the reading experience might be. I was hoping people would find points of contact, details that struck a chord.

SG: And indeed there are many points of contacts and details that resonate. The prose – as all your writing (I really savoured handiwork ) is exquisite – I love the rhythm and pacing of seven steeples and in some way as I came to the end of the novel the symmetry of chapter lengths, the use of the number seven and the two dogs all felt soothing. It was as if you’d brought me through Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

“September was carried out on a week of bad weather”

“October mornings peeled the night cloud back to its subcutaneous lilac tissue.”

In composing the novel – and given you’re an artist – was symmetry and balance important to you, more, let us say, than plot or characterisation might be in a more traditional novel?

SB: Yes, certainly. It is, by my definition, an allegorical novel – driven by symbols and patterns as opposed to characters or plot. It is about the ritualisation of ordinary, secular life but there is also something very ritualistic about how it was written and is structured. Having said that, I never wanted it to be obscure. I always hoped that people would find some kind of kinship with Bell and Sigh (the protagonists) and their world, and be compelled to keep reading.

SG: One of the themes that stuck with me – as I was compelled to keep reading – was that of the ritual of journey. We have  the donkey, crows, cows, bullocks, seals, the journeys that Bell and Sigh make both within the house and in the surrounds; journeys that decrease in length and number with time.

“All four together…they arrived at the same places they always went.”

“They walked the way they always walked.”

Often narratives are about journey but with seven steeples you break the mould of a traditional novel that perhaps relies on a journey from one point to another and here the journey the people and animals make is for and of itself, attached to the landscape, following the seasons – and bound by time and overseen by the mountain, unclimbed.

“The years that it remained unclimbed piled up around them like their old clothes.”

Eventually, it seemed to me that their journeys contracted (“they made their long journeys on the internet”) in tandem with the growth in appreciation of the space around them. Have you any thoughts on this?

SB: That made me think again of bird migration – something I wrote about in handiwork. We all know what it means in relation to, say, swallows – who travel a long, long way from western Europe to sub-Saharan Africa and back again, but something I learned when I was researching for my last book was that some birds make very small migrations – moving just to a different part of the country – and many resident species, such as the skylark, have different spots for wintering and then for breeding. I guess what I’m saying is that we all make these tiny migrations all the time and they have always interested me infinitely more that the epic ones.

SG: The notion that we all make tiny migrations is fascinating, Sara. It seems to me that seven steeples is an exploration in mindful and harmonious living – in (literal) being – human, animal, land with the all-seeing mountain. It holds something of the pandemic entrapment but in a very positive and esoteric way. I know you’ve said in previous interviews (for example, The Irish Times) that much of your life goes into your writing. Does this reader’s experience echo your own experience of life writing the novel?

SB: It’s really interesting that you think it is so positive, and so soothing. Some people have read it as ominous and, in fact, I wanted the end to be dark, and everything else is more or less building toward the dark end. Lots of the descriptions come directly from my own life, but there’s also a lot in there that has been invented. It has been sometimes unsettling, to be honest, to hear people responding to it, though at other times enlightening. Apparently I am eccentric.

SG: Well, the different reactions maybe are about what we as readers bring to the novel, though there was an underlying darkness, I found comfort in being reminded to open my eyes! I really enjoyed the portrayal of the relationship between Bell and Sigh, their abbreviated names, for me, was the start of uncovering how they shake off the external world and begin to discover themselves, each other, what matters, what is left when the superfluous is discarded. I particularly liked your exploration of their speech – how they

“had been thoroughly infected by each others way of speaking…by their seventh year, they spoke in a dialect of their own unconscious creation. They sighed in synchronicity.”

It struck me that this a novel which explores the growth and expansion of a relationship over seven years, in a way that echoes what Marion Milner is doing in A Life of Ones Own when she explores – through introspective journaling – what happiness means to her over a period of seven years. Are you familiar with her work or do you have any thoughts on this?

SB: No! I’ll look it up. It sounds like a fascinating experiment. Though I think it would probably only drive me insane if I had to write it myself. I need the escape of fiction. The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd was on my mind while I was writing Seven Steeples, and Fair Play by Tove Jansson.

SG:  I need to look up those two books now! Lastly, Sara, similarly to handiwork, seven steeples is also an examination of the artistic process of living – a living artist – growth shown through every day routines that transform into rituals. I particularly loved how Bell and Sigh decided to have ‘house time’ whereby they didn’t change the clocks – this was also echoed in their experience of time marked by religious festivals whereby when they go to the village or to towns they see markers of these festivals – e.g. palms at Easter and they are almost strangers in this world. In a way, this is what seven steeples does – makes what is familiar in the world seem strange (or new) to the reader – to paraphrase Shklovsky, this novel showed me the sensation of life, made me feel and see the stone as stony again. Do you think it is an important role of art in society, to help people see the world with fresh eyes?

SB: Yes, certainly. You know that detail about ‘house time’ I actually stole from something I heard on the radio. They were taking about the possibility of scrapping daylight savings time and somebody texted in to say that she and her husband scrapped it years ago and function on ‘inside time’ and ‘outside time’ and I thought, of course, ‘that’s gold!’ and put it in the novel. But in a broader sense it’s something that’s been on my mind my whole adult life. I was raised Roman Catholic and abandoned it as a teenager and nowadays – the older I get – the more I miss all of those observances and ceremonies and the sense of belonging that came from being a part of a religious community. More than anything else the novel is about how to recreate that in the absence of organised religion.  

SG: It goes back to the importance of ritual again. So, to finish our chat, Sara, some fun questions

  • Tea or Coffee?  Coffee absolutely. I hardly ever drink tea tea. Most of all I soak mint leaves in boiling water and drink that – a lazy person’s mint tea.
  • Beach or Mountains?  That’s such an appropriate question for this novel! Preferably both, as in the novel, but if I absolutely had to pick it would always be the sea.
  • Yes! First draft handwritten or typed? Handwritten. Then I type it up without looking back at the handwritten draft. Completely bonkers but it works for me.
  • What’s next on your reading pile? I Never Promised You a Rose Garden by Joanne Greenberg, originally published in 1964 but reissued just recently.

Thanks, Sara, for such insight into your process and some intentions on writing this novel.

Buy seven steeples here.

Photograph of Sara Baume wearing a red beret, green earrings and denim shirt. Photogrpah provided by author and used with kind permission of the photographer Kenneth O’Halloran

With thanks to Tramp Press and Peter O’Connell Media for the advance copy of seven steeples.