Interview with Caitlin Sweet

KatG: Your second novel, The Silences of Home, is a prequel of the first, about the historic war of Queen Galha that figures as such an important myth in A Telling of Stars. Were you worried about how your fans would react in discovering that the actual events and people of that war were quite different from how they were portrayed in the myth? What did you want them to take away from Silences?

CS: It wasn't until Silences was about to be published that I started to worry about the potential for negative fan reaction to its "backstory." Until then I'd been so enraptured by the narrative possibilities of the myth/history collision that it hadn't even occurred to me that others might not be quite so enraptured. My pre-publication worry didn't last long, though. I really did (and do) believe that both novels are essentially sad stories that involve a certain amount of redemption, in the end - redemption of individuals, if not of societies (in the case of Silences). Yes, it may be a bit depressing to find out that the myth that so inspired Jaele was a fabrication - but it's the fate of the characters themselves that's the most important thing. And I don't think that finding out about the fabrication should make Jaele's quest any less important or true. Some readers have commented that they re-read Telling right after finishing Silences, and found that the first novel took on more layers of meaning for them. Which is wonderful.

However: while I don't want my readers to get upset about the true nature of Queen Galha's reign, I do want them to find the myth/history dichotomy provocative. A couple of readers have commented on possible political parallels in our own world - and although I never had any of these in mind while I was writing, it's a reading I don't object to. How do myths evolve? Who tells them? How does historical fact become legendary fiction? I know that reviewers and readers of Silences have asked questions like these, and I find this really exciting and satisfying.

CS: A Homer analogy, now! This one I get (whilst murmuring, "I am not worthy, I am not worthy"...).
I had no idea, when I wrote Telling, that there'd be a prequel. In fact, the whole multi-book fantasy industry was one of the genre elements I was rebelling against (ah, intemperate youth! I'm now considering a, er, multi-book scenario). One fairly slender novel set in Jaele's world, and only one: this was my firm, fast intention, for a very long time. But years passed, and her world continued to demand my attention. I eventually found a loophole in my initial argument, and decided that dealing with events that had preceded Jaele's life by centuries would be permissible. I can guarantee, however, that there will never be a sequel. Really!

Once I'd settled on a prequel, Queen Galha and her legend were particularly intriguing to me. At that point I believed the legend I'd created. Never once, during the ten years I spent writing, ignoring, then editing Telling, did I imagine that Galha was anything less than a heroic figure. However, I had no hesitation about ripping into the legend; in fact, I felt inspired and a bit giddy, doing so. I was also pretty daunted. Instead of a single point-of-view character, I had many; instead of an episodic journey that unfolded organically, I had a fairly complex structure that would have to be mostly figured out before I wrote anything. So I planned. I filled notebooks with scrawl: chapter layouts, diagrams, general notes on the world and the possible arcs of the various story-lines. I'm sure most writers do this as a matter of course, but for me it was an entirely new process. I did some of the planning before I started writing (i.e. a synopsis for Penguin), and a whole lot more when I was actually immersed. I got more and more confident as I went along, though a few sections in particular made me fibrillate a bit, when I knew they were getting close. One of these was the attack on Luhr. Once I'd written that part (which happens about a third of the way into the book), my confidence soared. The ending also made me nervous for about a month before I got to it - or, more accurately, to them. There were so many separate strands to tie up; some of my earlier insecurity returned as I tried to do that tying. But it worked - with the help of some long, long evening showers! (The best place for plot mulling.) And several of the endings surprised me, which was lovely; it was as if the characters really had taken on lives of their own (a concept I'd previously found kind of pretentious, when authors mentioned it).

Readers ask me which book was more satisfying to create. Telling was a real journey: very intense and long and often difficult. Silences was pure, unmitigated enjoyment. I loved writing each of them. I wonder how Homer would have answered this question? ;)