Like Virginia Woolf did in Mrs. Dalloway, Anne Korkeakivi brilliantly weaves the complexities of an age into an act as deceptively simple as hosting a dinner party in An Unexpected Guest.
On a lovely spring day in Paris – post-9/11 and several months after the London Underground bombings — Clare Moorhouse, the Irish-American wife of a high-ranking British diplomat, is arranging an official dinner crucial to her husband’s career. As she shops for fresh stalks of asparagus and works out the menu and seating arrangements, her day is complicated by the abrupt arrival of her son from boarding school in England and a random encounter with a man on the street, who may be a suspected terrorist. More unnerving still is a recurring face in the crowd, one that belonged to another, darker era of her life. But it can’t be him…
On a lovely spring day in Paris – post-9/11 and several months after the London Underground bombings — Clare Moorhouse, the Irish-American wife of a high-ranking British diplomat, is arranging an official dinner crucial to her husband’s career. As she shops for fresh stalks of asparagus and works out the menu and seating arrangements, her day is complicated by the abrupt arrival of her son from boarding school in England and a random encounter with a man on the street, who may be a suspected terrorist. More unnerving still is a recurring face in the crowd, one that belonged to another, darker era of her life. But it can’t be him…
An Unexpected Guest is about a woman asked to put on
an elegant last-minute dinner in Paris, a task - as a cool
accomplished diplomat's wife - that should not be impossible for
her. Except that everything starts to go wrong in the course of
the day, all stemming back to this secret she's been harboring
about a choice she made in her youth, thrown into relief against
the climate of the mid-2000s when the novel takes place. This
post-9/11 period of widespread unease, secrets, and revelations
not only provides the backdrop for the story, it fundamentally
informs the story.
I am, indeed, an admirer of Virginia Woolf's work. At some
point early on, I recognized the similarity between what I
wanted to do and the manner by which Woolf talks about the
discomfort of the post-WWI generation in Mrs. Dalloway.
An Unexpected Guest is
set around one day in the life of a diplomat's wife and with
a beautiful attention to the details of that day. How much
research went into the development of this character and how
much was instinctual?
One of the first things I did in beginning work on An Unexpected Guest was to interview a life-long member of the foreign service on all questions of protocol, etc. I also spent hours reading about the lives and professional responsibilities of diplomats and their spouses, as well as conducting other types of pertinent research. But, above all, I asked myself: Who would be this person be? Who would have done what Clare Moorhouse did when she was twenty and would now be doing what she is doing at forty-five? I thought about Clare for over a year before writing the first chapter. By then, I knew her really well!
You've spent a great
deal of time in France. Do you think that it is important
for writers of fiction to base their works around places
they know?
I wouldn't want to presume as to what is right or isn't right for other authors. This may seem off the point, but John Fogerty, who wrote the all-time mega-hits "Proud Mary" and "Born on the Bayou," was from the San Francisco area and, apparently, had never even been to New Orleans! Numerous sci-fi books take place on Mars or in distant galaxies, and that seems to work for both those writers and their readers.
But, yes, I did live in eastern France for ten years and have
spent a great deal of time in Paris, and this was with me every
minute of writing An Unexpected Guest, as were every
raindrop I've felt or slice of brown bread I've eaten in Dublin,
Washington, DC, and the Boston area - other places that appear
in the book. I loved walking along the Rue de Varenne, crossing
the Seine, visiting the gardens of the Rodin Museum in my
imagination as I wrote. I appeared to be sitting at a desk in
front of a computer, but I was really miles away re-living
springtime in Paris.
No comments:
Post a Comment