Robin Oliveira Interview
Q: As a medical professional, familiar with modern-day trauma, patient
care, and the like, how did you translate your own experiences and emotions
into your protagonist and the events of the story?
Writing
Mary’s development as a physician was a matter of reliving difficult moments
from my work. At times I concentrated on remembering the terror I experienced
my first day as an Intensive Care nurse, when my patients’ lives depended on my
unseasoned skills. At other moments, I tapped into the confidence that
developed when I became more experienced, when I could act, it seemed, without
thinking. By using sense memory, I was able to imagine Mary’s more heightened
moments.
Q: Your novel is firmly based in research and the 19th century is
breathing on every page, whispering or shrieking in every moment. Could you
pass along tips for researching for historical novels along with
suggestions for how to turn research into narrative and not exposition?
My first step in research is to read a good
history text so that I know dates and important figures, thereby garnering as much
solid factual data as I can. After I glean the facts, I turn to primary source
material whenever possible: diaries, photographs, newspapers, government
reports, letters, whatever I can find. I try to make my own impressions from
the raw data while remembering that everyone has a point of view and that each
historical period has its own modes and norms. For example, in writing My Name is Mary Sutter, I read Civil War
era nurses’ letters that glossed over their difficult work with sentimental
phrases of devotion to duty. This was a literary convention of personal
correspondence of the time. So, even when examining primary source material, I
am mindful of the myriad personal motivations of its writer. Also, I believe
that while morés and values change, human nature does not. This fundamental
belief guides my research and writing.
As in all fiction, details put the reader in
the moment. When I do research, I learn as much as I can about the time period,
including all sorts of arcane details about transportation, hygiene, living
quarters, food, water quality, clothing, political situations, world affairs,
furnishings, prices, etc. In early drafts, while trying to incorporate and
learn the information, I tend to write boring expositional paragraphs and
include more research than I need. This is a kind of clearing of the decks, so
to speak, so that in subsequent drafts, the extraneous details fall away and
only the relevant details remain. That's when the research becomes, to use an
overused modifier, organic to the story.
Q: It's fascinating that you chose to include historical figures such as
Dorothea Dix, Clara Barton, and even Abraham Lincoln in the story. Tell us more
about your decision to include them and the particular challenges of
incorporating real people in fiction.
Because the story was, in part, about the medical and
political unpreparedness of the divided country for the war, I came to believe
that the full story couldn’t be told without the inclusion of the historic
figures you mentioned. Had Dorothea Dix not been influenced by Florence
Nightingale, had Lincoln
not appointed Dorothea Dix, had Clara Barton not traveled into the battlefield,
had George McClellan not dithered and delayed, then the history of the war and
the history of medicine and nursing would have turned out differently.
Therefore, they needed to be in the story.
The challenge of portraying real life characters with
entrenched characterizations is just that. People might accuse you of conceit
if they feel you have betrayed those characterizations when you reveal
something previously unknown or forgotten that alters the long-held public
perception of the historic person. But you don’t want to falsely portray them,
either. So it’s a balance between the known and the newly known. I found
historical figures easier to write than my fictional characters, however,
because I could go back and read their writings to find out who they were, as
well as consult newspapers and diaries for impressions of them by their
contemporaries. They were a puzzle, but not as much as a puzzle as my own
characters, who had no historical notes for me to refer to.
Q: How do you write about a woman who is ahead of her time yet still
make her realistic?
Just because society at a particular moment in history
holds a certain set of morés does not mean that everyone will conform to them.
A bright woman, infused with a desire that conflicts with her time period, is
still a bright woman with a desire. It makes it easy to write her. Again, human
nature hasn’t changed.
Q: Could you talk about how you wrote about a protagonist with flaws and
the importance of these flaws?
Any one of us could
minutely detail the flaws of any of our relatives, friends, spouses, and loved
ones. As writers we need to be able to describe our characters’ flaws just as
intimately. Characters need flaws in order to make them believable. Character
is desire, but character is also choice. A heroine’s or hero’s Achille’s heel
will trip him or her up at a crucial point in the story when choices will make
all the difference. To wit, a flawless heroine will make a perfect choice that
will not be compelling in any sense. No flaw, no story. However, a flawed
heroine will make a questionable choice that will create further dilemmas. And
that is how a novel is developed.
Q: Readers of this blog, like myself, are curious about how authors
create such daunting and elaborate stories. Could you describe your writing
process?
The way to broaden a
narrative is to create characters with subplots that either reflect or contrast
with the protagonist’s arc in order to magnify theme. I learned this from a
wonderful book called Rhythm in the Novel
by E. K. Brown, published by the University
of Toronto Press in 1950.
Discover this principle, and you will see it everywhere. Anna Karenina, Pride and
Prejudice, and Gone With the Wind all
work their elaborate and expansive stories based on this one principle. Each
secondary character lives an arc that intersects with the main character’s arc.
These characters all make decisions. A writer follows the consequences of those
individuals' decisions. What is it that the secondary character wants that is
different than what the main character wants? How do those choices move the
story along? How do those choices illuminate the larger theme? Or, when the
characters want the same thing, do they go about getting it in different ways?
(Think Sense and Sensibility.) The
trick is to make certain that the arcs come together from time to time, reflect
on one another, and then at the climax of the novel come together in a way that
illustrates the main character’s moment of crisis, redemption, or alteration.
Working out all the desires, choices, and consequences can be mind-bending and
time-consuming, but it results in a tale that seems to represent multitudes, as
Brown so aptly puts it.
Q:What do you think is the importance of historical fiction for today's
readers and for our times?
The best historical fiction interprets humanity. The best use of
literature, historical or not, is to hold a mirror to our lives and force us to
examine who we have been and who we are, so that, for instance, as we stumble
around trying to cap a runaway well in the deep ocean or react violently to a Muslim
world in turmoil, historical fiction can point the finger and say, Is there any
chance we might learn something from our previous experience and apply it here?
Q: What are you working on now?
A new novel of historical fiction.
Q: What books are on your night stand?
Mrs. Bridge, by Evan S. Connell
Stoner, by John Williams
The Following Story, by Cees Nooteboom
The Good Soldier, by Ford Maddox Ford
Matterhorn, by Karl
Marlantes
Woodsburner, by John Pipkin
Wolf Hall, by Hilary Mantel