March 22, 2015
I got home last night from a six-day, five-city, four-event book tour to Virginia and D.C. The hardest part was sleeping in a different bed every night. There were many best parts, like:
• Meeting wonderful booksellers, like Kelly and Diane at Fountain Books in Richmond, Kim and Rocky at Phantastic Books in Lynchburg, and Anne from Over the Moon Books in Crozet.
• Hanging out with writing buddies from grad school, like Meriah Crawford and Bunny Goodjohn and Ted and Annie Deppe.
• The kindness of strangers, like Gary Dop and his Taproot Reading Series in Lynchburg, like the dedicated volunteers who make the Virginia Festival of the Book so amazing.
• The generosity of old friends, who opened their homes and invited their friends to my readings.
• Talking books and reading at writing with all of the above.
• Meeting new readers, like the woman who bought a book and sent my friend this email later that night:
“So, it's 11:00 P.M. and I Can't Stop Reading. Just wanted to thank you so much for including me in such a special night at Elli's book reading night. ...That's all for now because I'm on page 148 and the hurricane has not yet hit but I hate Tobias and am so proud of Austin and hope Henry emerges as a hero and...okay...I have to go back to reading now...”
It doesn’t get much better.
March 12, 2015
Speaking of torture
I did not set out to write a novel about torture. But sometimes you create a character and fall in love with her. You put her in a perilous situation that gets her into big trouble. So what can you do? You hang in there with her and try to get her out of that trouble. That’s what happened to Gandalf Cohen and me.
Six years ago I was going through airport security when a character jumped into my brain and made her home there. She arrived complete with a peculiar name and an odd profession. I could see her short graying hair and her no-nonsense persona. I imagined her standing ahead of me in the security line. When she stepped out of the TSA scanner, barefoot, a man in uniform escorted her down a side corridor and out of sight.
I had to know what happened to her, so I wrote a novel.
When Gandalf was kidnapped by federal agents I knew little about torture beyond what I’d read in novels, or seen on TV and in movies. All made-up stuff. So I made up some more to write the first draft of the novel and then I did research to try to correct the worst of my errors of imagination. I read THE DARK SIDE by Jane Mayer, and that led me to the U.S. Air Force Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (SERE) manual. I wish the Senate torture report had been available when I was trying to get the ugly details right.
Two things surprised me about writing this novel. First, the content transformed my writing practice. I was used to writing in the evening, a habit developed over years of having a day job. But if I sent my imagination to these dark places in the evening, it kept me up at night. It gave me nightmares. So I started writing first thing in the morning and into the early afternoon; I needed several hours of distance between the events Gandalf and I were living in the novel and any successful attempt to relax into sleep.
The second thing that surprised me was my intense curiosity about the bad guys. The torturers. I wanted to know what was going on in their heads. How did they justify their actions? What were their secrets? How did they sleep at night? I went back and reread Edwidge Danticat’s amazing novel, THE DEW BREAKERS, the Tonton Macoutes who tortured and killed resisters in Duvalier’s Haiti. Then I reread the thought-provoking interview with Danticat in The Writers Chronicle, in which she said, “Even if someone is a torturer, you don’t have the luxury of writing him off, of not ‘listening’ to him... Understanding the complexity of a difficult character’s life is most appealing to me as a writer.” It is appealing, but it’s also disconcerting and uncomfortable.
After doing the research, I returned to my novel. I took a deep breath and crawled back into the brains of my characters who did those bad bad things. Not to forgive them, but to understand them, and render them as well as I could to my readers.
It’s been odd timing for a novel about domestic detention and enhanced interrogation: first the Executive Summary of the Senate Intelligence Committee Report on Torture. And then newspaper reports about the existence of a secret interrogation facility in a Chicago warehouse operated by the Chicago Police Department.
After reading On Hurricane Island, or hearing me talk about it, people inevitably ask, “But do domestic detention centers exist? Could rendition and torture really happen on U.S. soil? To an American citizen?”
I’m not an expert. I don’t know if domestic detention centers like the one I made up really exist in this country. I do know that there are historical precedents for their existence, such as the internment of Japanese Americans after Pearl Harbor and the targeting and detention of Muslim residents after 9/11. And I know that the scaffolding for detention is firmly in place. Our national narratives about terrorism and the need for extraordinary measures are an accepted part of our culture, normalized by television, repetition, and fear.
As a fiction writer and a citizen, do I think that events like those in On Hurricane Island could happen?
I’m profoundly sad to say that I do.