A: There’s no doubt in my mind that if Razi were a “real person,” she would have been every bit as progressive and strong-willed. She would have been one of those women people whisper about, would have been appalled by, but then secretly admire. As for whether she could have overcome limitations during that time period, of course she could. Not many women became doctors, lawyers, advocates—what have you—back then, but such individuals did exist. The reasons why they were so resilient and determined probably vary widely. In Razi’s case, she was raised by parents who adored her and encouraged her intellectually. She was a nurtured child. She was fiercely curious about the world and made no apologies for that.
Q: This novel isn’t simply a love story, but that quality comes out very strongly from beginning to end. How did this aspect of the novel develop? Did it surprise you?
A: When I first started to work on the novel, Andrew was a peripheral character, the sweetheart Razi thought about with nostalgia. That seems hard to believe now. Somewhere during the first draft, I realized there was a great deal of passion between them. It took me years to sort this out, to understand the complexity of this relationship. Their passion wasn’t superficially romantic, and it wasn’t just sexual. The intensity of their love for each other was intellectual, psychological, and, in some context, spiritual. The parallels and intersections between Razi and Andrew and Amy and Scott evolved over time, too. I think Razi needed to witness Amy and Scott’s love and trouble in order to confront her thwarted relationship with Andrew. And no one is more surprised than I am that I wrote this.
Q: Is the paranormal something that interested you prior to writing The Mercy of Thin Air? Do you believe that souls linger in a between realm?
A: When I was a kid, I loved reading books about ghosts, monsters, fairies, and goblins. I’d read these books in broad daylight with one eye closed. It was the visceral thrill of imagination—the possibility that these things might really exist. But as much as the stories and accounts scared me, I didn’t actually believe in them. I was raised Catholic, a religion replete with mystery and intervening entities, so one might think I’d be more inclined to accept such ideas. I’m an open-minded skeptic. When I spent all that time reading about quantum physics, the thrill came back, but without the fear. Physics made ghosts—and a spirit realm—possible for me again. I’m grateful for this. I’m willing to be convinced, either way, but for now, the wonder is enough.
Q: Television shows about the supernatural are scoring high marks with Americans today. Why do you think we find stories about the afterlife so compelling right now?
A: I think it’s a reaction to what it’s like to live at this point in time. First, we all live in the harshness of this world. Every minute of the day, turn on a television and you’re confronted with the worst of our nature—war, violence, murder, deceit, greed. Some people have to deal with that in their own homes, where they should be safe and loved. It’s no surprise to me that people want to believe in an afterlife where their loved ones are at peace, waiting for them, at times intervening in their lives. We don’t feel safe in this world, and perhaps that won’t be the case when we’re dead. And then, second, science and technology are ripping right into the essense of existence. The Human Genome Project, stem cell research, cloning, advances in fertility treatments . . . we’re dealing not only with what makes a human being but also how it can be manipulated. One has to wonder, where does your uniqueness come from—and where does it go when you die?
Q: Razi states, “I would give them the speech about the common elements between our bodies and the air. I explained the postulate that subatomic particles remained after our bodies failed and had not dissipated in the atmosphere. The energy shared among the particles allowed us to have our heightened senses and the power to manipulate matter. To me, that reduction made sense.” Are these details about the souls who are between based on scientific theory? Tell us about the scientific research you did for this book.
A: I have to thank my mentor James Wilcox for this. When we met for lunch to discuss the first draft, he asked me, “What does Razi think she is?” I had no clue. The conceit of the novel was all in place—she was some entity that could see, hear, smell, and taste, one that had a flawless memory—but, really, what was she? Or as Jim had so correctly put it, what did she think she was? Science was not one of my favorite subjects in school. Physics and chemistry were torture. No one is more surprised than I am that I ended up spending so many hours reading and thinking about quantum physics, but I had to get into Razi’s head. She would not have turned to holy texts to figure out what she was. And this wasn’t easy. Most of what I read made no sense to me or contradicted what I thought I understood. It wasn’t until I read Gary Zukav’s Dancing Wu Li Masters that it all clicked into place in my head. In truth, what Razi says she is, is an interpretation of the volumes I absorbed. However, I did read some texts that basically claim the soul is energy. I think that’s a beautiful concept.
Q: One of the two epigraphs you include is from C. G. Jung’s “On Synchronicity.” How closely did you draw on Jung’s ideas for this book?
A: I’ve been interested in Jung since I was a teenager. His thoughts about the collective unconscious and synchronicity have always fascinated me. To research this novel, I reread some of his work and, in the process, discovered some essays that included discussion of the paranormal and physics. That’s synchronicity in action right there—I knew I was on the right track for this book. Frankly, Jungian theories informed my writing, but I didn’t actively try to integrate these ideas. I let the creative process itself decide what was important.
Q: Most of the male characters in this book come across as good, decent men—admirable in many respects. What did you intend by portraying them this way, especially Andrew, Barrett, and Scott?
A: These men started off good at the core. It wasn’t as if, midway through crafting the novel, I realized they were oafish and needed to be civilized and sensitized. The men in this novel don’t have all of their flaws exposed. The focus, instead, is on their strengths. Maybe that’s tearing apart expectations about men. Personally, I’m tired of the incompetent dad, moronic husband, drunken brute, and narcissist boyfriend types that seem to be everywhere in our visual media. Versions of them appear in our literature, too. These types are valuable to a degree. They’re something familiar, like a confirmation that people aren’t alone in their experiences. I imagine this helps some writers come to terms with their own lives. But these types don’t reflect my experience. I wrote about men I rarely get to read about myself. I could have easily arranged it so that Razi was constantly at odds, explicitly or implicitly, with men—her classmates, her professors—but that would have taken the novel off course. The fact is, the love that Razi gets from Andrew and her father—their examples of what it means to be admirable human beings—is far more powerful than the derision she knows she faces every day she walks out into the world. The same is true for Amy. Scott is an upstanding, caring man, and his decency is essential to her.
Q: Throughout the novel, there is an undercurrent of the gender role expectations that affect the relationships between Razi and Andrew as well as Amy and Scott. What critique, if any, do you think was made by comparing these two couples?
A: We all deal with gender issues, no matter how much we think the world has changed in the last hundred years. Most people now don’t question whether women should be educated, or even that they should have jobs, but our mass culture hasn’t reconciled how to balance work and motherhood. Men’s roles are in flux as much as women’s. In some ways, the roles in marriage/domestic partnerships are more “companionate” than “traditional” these days, but has that much changed? In the novel, both Razi and Amy have to consider the implications of having children. Almost seventy-five years separate them, but the expectation is still the same. Of course they will. Of course they want to. Even in the way these two couples interact, there are subtle indicators that “women typically do this,” �
��men typically do that.” Razi’s observation, I think, lends some degree of inquiry without making a statement. It’s up to the reader to question the dynamics of these characters, and I hope the dynamics of their own lives.
Q: What were your favorite books growing up? Who are your literary role models?
A: Until I was fourteen, my favorite books were A Wrinkle in Time, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, A String in the Harp, The Chocolate War, and To Kill a Mockingbird. My high school years drew me into adult fiction, going from The Catcher in the Rye and all things F. Scott to Sophie’s Choice and The Fountainhead. As for literary role models, I try to learn something from any writer I read. The ones who’ve been on the list the longest include Margaret Atwood, F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Irving, and Mark Helprin. Authors I like whom I’ve read most recently include Marilynne Robinson, Laurie Lynn Drummond, Audrey Niffenegger, Kathleen Cambor, Glen Duncan, Lisa Tucker, and Will Clarke.
Q: With the publication of The Mercy of Thin Air, you’ve joined a rich tradition of Southern writing. Why do you think Southerners have such a flair for storytelling?
A: Maybe because it’s so hot here, we hallucinate and talk as it happens. Or perhaps it’s because people from the South tend to be rooted to their places and families of origin and we have to make up stories to embellish these old connections. Or could it be that we Southerners enjoy our own unique collective unconscious and occasionally let the rest of the world in on our secrets.
THE MAPMAKER’S WAR
This will be the map of your heart, old woman.
In an ancient time, in a faraway land, a young woman named Aoife is allowed a rare apprenticeship to become her kingdom’s mapmaker, tasked with charting the entire domain. Traveling beyond its borders, she finds a secretive people who live in peace, among great wealth. They claim to protect a mythic treasure connected to the creation of the world. When Aoife reports their existence to her kingdom, the community is targeted as a threat. Attempting to warn them of imminent danger, Aoife is exiled for treason and finds refuge among the very people who had been declared her enemy.
With them, she begins a new life surrounded by kindness, equality, and cooperation. But within herself, Aoife has no peace -- saddled with the grief she feels for the home and children she left behind, unable to bear the warrior scars of the man she comes to love, and forced –upon the birth of her gifted daughter–to confront the truth of her past. On this most important of journeys, there is no map to guide her. The Mapmaker's War is a mesmerizing, utterly original adventure about love and loss and the redemptive power of the human spirit. Watch for its epic sequel, The Chronicle of Secret Riven, in 2014.
“Journey to the heart of a fairy-tale land with doomed queens, epic quests, and enemy kingdoms in The Mapmaker’s War. Ronlyn Domingue’s jewel of a book has a big canvas, memorable characters, and intimate storytelling.”
—Deborah Harkness, New York Times bestselling author of A Discovery of Witches and Shadow of Night
THE MAPMAKER’S WAR by Ronlyn Domingue
Now available from Atria Books
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
This narrative is an exceptional rarity. The source language scarcely has been heard spoken outside its cultural borders. Until the acquisition of this work, the presumption was that no writing system existed for the language. In remarkable condition despite its age, the handwritten manuscript is not only one of the earliest known autobiographies but also one of the first attributed to a woman.
The author’s rhetorical structure defies the conventions of any period; she addresses herself throughout and appears to be her own audience. Further, while matters of war and society are so often the domain of chroniclers, historians, and philosophers, this author offers a concurrent, heretofore unknown representation of past events through the story of a participant and a survivor.
Simplified pronunciations of several proper names are as follows. Aoife [ee-fah]; Ciaran [keer-ahn]; Wyl [will]; Aza [ah-zah]; Edik [ed-ick]; Leit [lite]; Wei [why]; and Makha [mahk-ah].
—S. Riven
THE MAPMAKER’S WAR
THIS WILL BE THE MAP OF YOUR HEART, OLD WOMAN, YOU ARE FORGETFUL of the everyday. | misplaced cup, missing clasp | Yet, you recall the long-ago with morning-after clarity. These stories you have told yourself before. Write them now. At last, tell the truth. Be sparse with nostalgia. Be wary of its tangents. Mark the moments of joy but understand that is not now your purpose. Return to the places where your heart was broken. Scars evidence harm done. Some wounds sealed with weak knits. They are open again. The time has come to close them.
Here, choose the point of entry. Any place, any time, right now and you have—
Your small finger in the hearth’s ashes. A line appears. You divide space.
Then there were twigs and broom bristles. Scratches and marks and lines until you had the control to create shape. Circle, triangle, square, said your older brother. Ciaran put the first nib under your thumb and first scrap of parchment beneath that. What you drew is missing in substance and memory. In its place, years apart, you transformed the circle into a tub. The triangle was a churn. The square became a table. You marked your spot with an X.
Aoife, said your brother, who taught you to draw a map?
The kitchen as it was when you were five. You could render space and suspend time.
You lived in a large cold house at the edge of a forest. The shady quiet lured, then hid, you. Wild child, said the nursemaid. Uncivilized, your mother declared when you returned home dirty with treasures. She tried and failed to tame you. Wait until I tell your father, said she. Next to his chair, you held your breath and your guard. He saw no harm in the fresh air and exercise. Good habit to start now because what man wants a fat wife? said your father. Indulgent, she called him. She stormed off on stout legs.
You had few ordinary interests as a girl. You didn’t dress your bronze hair, tend to dolls, or join petty quarrels. This perplexed your mother, who tried her best to create a being in her own image. You soon realized you had to give to take. When you were attentive to your morning girlhood duties, she fought less when you asked for afternoon freedom. You acquiesced to learn how to behave regardless of whether you intended to follow suit. The reward was worth the concession.
With meticulous care, you planned your provisions, though not your expeditions. Adventure wasn’t in the hunger to come but in the quest of what to follow. You packed your pouch | nuts and fruit, soft bread and hard cheese | along with parchment and ink, cloth scraps and straight edges.
You mapped the hidden worlds when you were still young enough to see them.
Spiderwebs and honeycombs taught the wisdom of symmetry. To you, everything before your eyes was built upon invisible lines and angles. The very spot where you stood only a point among many. A girl is not always in her place, you thought. A girl can be many places at once. And so you were. When you settled upon a space in the forest or meadow, you made a grid on the earth with small steps and tiny flags until there were row upon row of even little squares. You took your seat within the grid. You moved from square to square, noting what stood still and what passed by. All day long you observed and measured, sketched and colored. That which was off the edges appeared on the parchment as well. There were mysterious realms of bees and ants and creatures never seen before, with tiny castles and bright gardens.
One day, as you traced the uncovered trails of termites, you heard a rustle in the brush. You remained still with hope that the ancient stag or a sturdy bear would meet your eye. What a lovely beast to draw in that place! Instead, you faced a boy with green eyes and chestnut curls. A boy you knew well. Prince Wyl called your name and held up a dead rabbit by its hind legs. You lifted your hand in a polite wave and turned back to your work.
Did you see what I caught? I shall skin it and give the fur to the tailor to make you a fine collar, said Wyl.
It will be cold if you do that, you said.
It’s dead. It has no need for fur now.
<
br /> So literal, Wyl. You mistake my japes.
You meant no hardness toward him. As you looked to the ground again, you smiled. You knew his gesture was an act of affection. Such regard you had neither sought nor earned. His attentions you tried not to encourage or reject. That you two knew each other at all was a matter of circumstance. Your father served as the King’s most trusted adviser.
On that day, when you wished Wyl had been the stag or a bear, you realized he didn’t ask to see your map. He had on other occasions. You had no way to know that in years to come he would be privy to every chart you made, to the very last one.
See, you became a mapmaker.
Those hours you spent looking at the distance from one point to the next | star to star, rock to rock, blade to blade | were your study of geometry before you ever received formal instruction. You could be both abstract and precise, and sit for long periods. Ciaran gave you lessons in mathematics and astronomy. He had also taught you to read. You enjoyed the challenge of learning. You also liked the attention from your brother, amiable and patient with you. Your mother encouraged the companionship between her children. However, she saw no purpose for the lessons.
You need to know what is practical for a woman, said she. All this effort leads to nothing.
Nothing indeed would have come of it had you not heard your father and brother in conversation.
The kingdom was in a quiet time. For generations before, there had been years of strife, battles to claim land and battles to control it. At last, there was much to manage and little known about the holdings. They discussed the King’s consideration to map the entirety of his realm. Mapmakers would need to be hired and some trained.
The Mercy of Thin Air Page 32
