Interview: Garden of Dreams by Melissa Siebert

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Title: Garden of Dreams
Author: Melissa Siebert
Publisher: Penguin
ISBN: 9780143538707

Buy a copy of Garden of Dreams at Kalahari.com

Siebert discusses her debut novel, Garden of Dreams, with Jonathan Amid.

Melissa, let’s get the most obvious question about Garden of Dreams out of the way first: Why, as an American journalist living in Noordhoek in the Cape, did you decide to write about India, more specifically about the global scourge of child trafficking? What was most appealing about such a large, multicultural space, and what was most daunting about bringing your own perspective to bear on a country that many would love to visit, but few will ever get the opportunity to see and experience?

I’ve wanted to write a novel for years – but have been living/working as a journalist for most of the past four decades. So when five years ago it came to writing a novel (as my thesis for the MA Creative Writing Programme at UCT), I’d already seen a lot of the world, reporting on conflicts in South Africa, the Middle East and the southern USA. Much of my reportage has dealt with human rights, so it was a natural segue to write a novel dealing with same. I wanted to write an issue-orientated novel; Le Carré’s The Constant Gardener, dealing with how the giant pharmaceuticals exploit, even murder, people in Africa, was an inspiration as well.

I became particularly interested in human trafficking – as the third largest international trade, after drug trafficking and gunrunning. Particularly in child trafficking. Roughly 1,2 million children are trafficked globally each year, mainly into the sex trade. My focus narrowed when my husband Hannes(South African, an international mediator and the model for Anton, the father, in the novel) – then based in Kathmandu – started sending me reports on child trafficking in Nepal, mainly into India. And because I am quite obsessed with India – went there for several months in the mid-’80s, and then again for novel research in 2011 – it became the primary setting for the novel. It is definitely a character, or at least an overriding presence, in the book. It’s a hotspot for human trafficking – as a source, destination and transit country – and it’s a magnificent setting for a creative work. It overwhelms your senses, and offers this mind-blowing clash between life and death, the spiritual and the sordid. I urge people to go there if they want to explore who they are – and I don’t mean in a ’60s hippie sense! India pushes you to your limits, makes you feel incredibly alive and while submerging you in chaos, somehow leads you to the essence of things (OK, now I’m sounding a little too New Age!) … I suppose because my life has been “multicultural” – I have lived in the USA, Europe, Egypt and now South Africa – my fiction is too. Also, I minored in anthropology, so “cultures”, different societies and ethnicities, have interested me for aeons. It’s a challenge to write outside of one’s own culture – requiring leaps of imagination and empathy. And especially when so many people write about India … but I took the leap.

Having done extensive research, how does one go about turning the factual into a form of fiction that readers will find interesting and more than just didactic? How did you manage to strike such a fine balance between informing your audience of the very factual background behind child trafficking, affecting more than a million children directly every year, and telling an affecting story in fiction?

I did do extensive research – in person, in India and Nepal, speaking to pimps and prostitutes, and counter-traffickers, and just observing, taking a lot of notes and photos to help conjure up the places, the atmosphere, the people, the music etc when I returned home. I also did a lot of research online and through reading various humanitarian reports, plus watched testimonies from trafficked children on YouTube. So I had vast amounts of material. It was indeed tough to incorporate “the facts” of child trafficking (and child soldiering and child labour, also featured to some degree) into the book; I let Anton, the father/international mediator – who deals with these issues – impart a lot of the information, as it was most natural for him to do so in his position. Police Inspector VJ Gupta, trying to bring down the trafficking rings in Delhi and beyond, also channels a lot of information about trafficking and other aspects of the Delhi “underbelly”, as he calls it. The other characters – Eli, the young protagonist, the villainous madam and child trafficker Auntie Lakshmi, the other children, the goondas, the Maoist rebels, the hijras and even Eii’s mother to some degree, though she “drops out” – are also tasked with delivering information, but also with delivering meaning and emotion, and of course with taking the story forward. The ideal, of course, is that the reader doesn’t notice that they are learning something about trafficking, but that in the end, they feel enriched – hopefully on both the intellectual and the emotional levels. Ideally, this particular set of characters has made the issues real, dramatic, and heartfelt.

Why did you decide that it was an opportune time to broaden your writing horizons to fiction? What about the story of Eli de Villiers, the protagonist of the novel who is kidnapped and lands in a brothel in Delhi, at the mercy of the rather frightening Auntie Lakshmi, demanded to be told?

As I mentioned, I wanted to write a novel since my youth, from about the age of 15. But just didn’t feel sure of doing so until I gave myself permission to take some “time off” (not exactly!) to try to write a long work of fiction. Though I’ve loved being a journalist, especially for all the adventures I’ve had and people I’ve met, places I’ve been and stories I’ve heard, journalistic writing can become restrictive, particularly in today’s world of collapsing print media (hard copies) and ever-shrinking word counts. I committed to writing the novel, finally, because I wanted to write something more personal, and bigger than I’d ever written – not just longer, but telling a story on a vast canvas, with “big” themes – eg, the personal vs the political and the sacrifices we make, how many of us “abuse” our children in one way or another, the tension between loving strangers and loving “one’s own” … Garden of Dreams became both: a highly personal book (the three Anglo characters are loosely modelled on me, my son Rafe – then 13 – and as I say, my husband / his father), and, as you say, a multicultural or maybe cross-cultural book with universal themes. I felt compelled to tell Eli’s coming-of-age story – how through a horrendous but enlightening, expanding experience he learns compassion, empathy and new borders – in the context of how other children, millions of them, suffer to extremes he could never dream of.

Garden of Dreams is a sprawling novel in terms of its reach, stretching from Cape Town to India, from Eli and his parents to Maoist rebels and the arch-nemesis of Lakshmi, Inspector VJ Gupta. What excited you most about telling “big” stories, with larger-than-life characters, exotic settings and different narrative strands?

I think I’ve answered this in part, but to add: although 13-year-old Eli is the protagonist, the novel is told from five different points of view: Eli’s, Anton’s, Eli’s mother Margo’s, Gupta’s and Lakshmi’s. Journalism and trying to report “the facts” – and realising that more often there are versions, rather than “facts” – have led me to look for these different angles, people’s different “takes” on the world and how they intersect, complement or conflict with one another. I like stories where there are many stories within a bigger story, where there are contradictions and a lot of tension. One can create tension through characters who see the world so differently … In a way, and maybe this is a clumsy metaphor, you might say that the novel’s narrative is a tent, and that each of these characters is a peg holding it up – and that they must be physically (and emotionally) widely spaced or the tent would collapse … if that makes any sense?! So the story does indeed “sprawl” … it covers a lot of ground. I am drawn to “the exotic”, although I hope I have not exoticised shamelessly. I tried to be authentic, or as authentic as I possibly could be, writing as an “Anglo”. I also tried to write cinematically, and – though not always – film often takes you to far-flung places, on a vast journey.

Melissa Siebert (photo: www.penguin.co.za)

What grounds the novel in its accessible, fluent and commanding form? Is it only the fact that you are telling a coming-of-age story, working with the classic Bildungsroman template, or did you have to work hard at writing literary prose, somewhat different from short- or longer-form journalism?

I’d written short fiction before, and a lot of long-form journalism, or narrative non-fiction, which uses many of the devices that fiction writers use – eg description, narration, dialogue, plotting/structure, inventive language, building character (though of course real people in the case of non-fiction – hopefully!). I didn’t labour over the writing – the writing just flowed and my editor barely touched the prose on a line-by-line/word-by-word basis; most of her edit entailed cuts, done brilliantly (and fairly painlessly). I wanted the story to move, for the writing not to hold it back but still, hopefully, to have depth and interest. Optimally, be evocative, lyrical, touching, powerful. That’s what I was after.

You’ve spoken about this before, but I do want to ask about the relationship between your own family circumstances and the fictional relationships in the novel between Eli and his parents. Did drawing on your own life make it easier to write about these characters? Are you one of those writers that see all writing as ineluctably autobiographical?

Yes, Eli and his parents are loosely based on me, my husband Hannes (we are separated; he now lives in Beirut), and our son Rafe, now 17. Basically, Rafe and I have lived together and Hannes apart from us since 2002; we see him usually for just two weeks a year, at Christmas. I do think that writing the novel was some sort of catharsis for me – it helped me understand how/why our family fractured, and the individual pain. I wouldn’t say that sourcing oneself and one’s family for characters makes it easier; on the contrary, Margo, the mother in the novel (I am not nearly as crazy as she is), was the hardest character to write. One needs some narrative distance. But I think I could make these characters more “real” because of drawing on my family. Maybe it’s the journalist in me, but nothing can really replace experience as a well to draw from.

I’m not sure all writing is “ineluctably autobiographical”; rather, I see it more like a dream – how a dream reflects your different selves, different incarnations, back to you (you are in some ways the various figures in the dream). I think you could say something similar about your characters – that they somehow reflect your different selves, or different parts of you. If only unconsciously/subconsciously.

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Lakshmi and Gupta are a superb antagonist and a “righteous” crusader for the good, respectively. Who inspired these characters? Where do they come from? How do they contribute to the themes that you wanted to bring to the reader’s attention?

These two – what a pair! I have no idea who inspired them. As opposed to the three Anglo characters, Eli, Margo and Anton, Lakshmi and Gupta were far easier to write and a lot more fun to write, particularly Gupta. I suppose each is an amalgam, created in the recesses of my mind over time … and appearing when I needed them. Even though they are larger than life in many ways, both quite flamboyant, I tried to make them human and sympathetic, even Lakshmi who is undeniably diabolical. Because the subject of child trafficking was/is so grim, I wanted to leaven its weight with the energy of these two characters, who play off of each other and have a sort of entwined “dance” throughout the book, but at the same time respect the seriousness of the situation by having both Lakshmi and Gupta be absolutely dedicated to their respective, antithetical aims – ie, one trafficking/selling/exploiting children, the other trying to stop her. Both were mistreated as children – Lakshmi is a former prostitute, and knows no other life, really, and Gupta had an abusive mother. So they have more in common than they realise, and both support the age-old theme of the “abused child” passing on the abuse, or in Gupta’s case, becoming obsessive about prosecuting abusers.

Did any writers offer particular inspiration for Garden of Dreams, Indian and otherwise?

The Constant Gardener, as mentioned, is one of my favourite novels, and I set out to write a book with its weight (dealing with a critical current issue), and probably I was aiming for a similar prose style – somewhere between commercial and literary fiction, I’d say. Not overwrought, but still strong, often poetical, often ironic, evocative and assured writing delivering a punch. Le Carré’s book is very different – I wish I’d written it! – but it was a starting point for me. Also, the work of Vikas Swarup, particularly his portrayal of children in India’s slums, and filtering in there somewhere the work of Salman Rushdie, as well as the novels The White Tiger and Shantaram. Also probably Forster’s A Passage to India, also one of my all-time beloved books for the way it deals with the clash between cultures and the probable impossibility of bridging that gap to find true mutual acceptance.

Something I really enjoyed about your writing was the balance between action and introspection. As you mentioned, you wrote this novel under the auspices of the Creative Writing Programme at UCT. What was it like to be a student again? Did your writing have that “balance” from the start, or was it the result of extensive drafting?

I wasn’t a very good student – I dropped out of the programme (mainly due to health and financial reasons)! – but my main aim was to finish the novel, which I did, under the auspices of the wonderful Joanne Hichens, a fantastically supportive and helpful advisor. I already have an MA in journalism from Columbia in New York, and at that point it didn’t seem critical to get another MA (although now I’m wondering if I did the right thing). Finishing the book did happen, though. I didn’t do much rewriting – a second draft, but only a partial rewrite, very partial, mainly working on Margo, the mother. My friend and fellow writer, Michele Rowe, in the UCT programme with me, was a huge help as an early reader. And as I say, my editor (Jenefer Shute) – who also made me work on Margo a bit – did mostly cutting – there was very little redrafting at that point. It was a pleasure to work with her – highly recommended if you have a choice.

Were there any clichés that you wanted to avoid? Did you have a clear template of where you wanted the story to go, or did the eventual narrative arc surprise you at any point? Who is your favourite character from your novel?

Yes, to the cliché question. The biggest cliché I wanted to avoid was “white person goes to the rescue and saves the black people”, or the “white knight” othering story presenting people of colour purely as victims. A colonial mentality, you could say – which you can find in Kipling’s novel Kim, also about a young boy going on a journey through India. Red flags! I tried hard to balance Eli as someone motivated to care for the other children, but also a victim himself, needing their help in some instances. As for the plot, storyline, arc: the first chapter was a short story I’d written to get into the writing programme at UCT, so I knew the beginning, and not long after, the end (though I changed it). The middle evolved over months. I love the analogy of driving with your headlights on – you can see only so many metres in front of you, then it’s dark. Same with writing, for me: I could write four chapters at a time, and then could see no further. Till I started the next four chapters. Finally, though, at chapter 17 (out of 40 chapters total), my characters became more directive and somehow I sat down one afternoon and wrote a plot outline for the remaining 24 chapters, a paragraph on each. And it pretty much held – though I shuffled a few chapters around, changed their order. As I said, I changed the ending and, related to that, what became of Margo, the mother, to make the story more dramatic. As for my favourite character – not sure. Gupta, as I said, was the most fun to write. Can I like them all?! I like the way the characters combine, play against one another – even the minor characters, such as the brutal, gum-cracking goonda (Lakshmi’s henchman) Anand, the clairvoyant hijra who’s Gupta’s informant, Ojal, and the one-armed, ideological Maoist rebel Storm, hiding out in Nepal’s jungles.

Buy a copy of Shantaram at Kalahari.com.
Buy a copy of The Constant Gardener at Kalahari.com.

I’ve always thought that good writers are avid readers, too. Who do you read when you have the time? Do you have a preference between fiction and non-fiction as a reader, and who inspires you to write on a daily basis?

No one inspires me to write on a daily basis! I know that’s the prescription: “write a little every day”, but my son is now in matric and about to move continents, so I am not beating myself up about not writing every day, or very much at all at this point, to be honest. Seriously, most of my energy lately is going towards helping him “launch” – apply to college in music and acting programmes, in London, New York and Boston, and then (heart-wrenchingly, for me at least) move. I am such a stage mom, but Rafe is a star and I want to help him shoot high. Writing can wait. I am reading, however, though struggling to find something that really grabs me. The last really wonderful novel I read was Sebastian Barry’s The Secret Scripture; some new Irish friends recommended it, and I fell in love with the voice, the language, the lilt of it … brilliant. Before that, the books on my “recommended” list for this year would be Damon Galgut’s Arctic Summer (he’s a beautiful writer); The Luminaries; The Goldfinch; Lawrence in Arabia (non-fiction). And I love Forster, as mentioned. I’ve dipped into some newer releases, but haven’t finished them. So I often find myself rereading books I love. Such as The Constant Gardener (I’ve read it five times!); Paul Bowles’s The Sheltering Sky; Ondaatje’s The English Patient; Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird; lots of Hemingway, both his stories and novels. And I may try rereading Melville’s Moby Dick again – what a masochist, but I loved that book!

The Garden of Dreams is both a real, physical location and an exquisite metaphor for the way we let our dreams live and soar, or suffocate them out of fear. Which dreams have you realised as a journalist, wife or mother, and which dreams do you hope to realise or keep alive as a fiction author? Having seen so much, have you become somewhat cynical, or do you still believe in the best of humanity amidst seeing the very worst?

Wow, this is the ultimate question! Yes, the Garden of Dreams – a real neo-classical 19th-century garden, an oasis in the crazy chaos of Kathmandu – is indeed a metaphor. For the essential beauty of life, where one must “escape” in order to stay sane and fully live, but where one cannot remain forever – the ugly realities outside the garden take over, until one can “return to the Garden” again. This is life, isn’t it – a constant shuffling between dreams and disappointments, between what is so staggeringly beautiful about life and being human and what is so hideous? In terms of realising my own dreams, I have realised many: become a writer, a mother, a wife – and have maybe “failed” on some counts. The worst is when you long for something your whole life, thinking “if only I could have that, or do that, or am that, I will be happy”, and then, when you get/have/do/are “it”, you are still dissatisfied, and set yourself another bar, and the process repeats. This tells me, us, that “being present to the moment”, as Buddhist Thich Nhat Hanh and others have advocated, is essential – don’t live for the future. For instance, I’ve wanted to write this novel for most of my life, and I’m sure at one stage thought: “If only I could write a novel, life would be grand …” Well, it’s written, published, and being read, and the gremlins are already hard at work whispering: “You can do better, you can do more!” I am going to talk back. Maybe it’s getting older, but I feel much freer now to do what I want – and though I plan to write other novels, and perhaps a crazy memoir, my impulse now is to do something totally different, and I am going to: my pal Donovan Copley (head of the band Hot Water and brother of Sharlto) and I are going to take acting (for film) lessons at ACT in downtown Cape Town, starting in October … and who knows where that will lead me. I’ve found that working in another art form (I am also way into music – play the piano well and the guitar poorly) can give your writing a creative injection … We’ll see.

What’s next for Melissa Siebert?

See above. In terms of writing, I’ve got some ideas, for two novels and a memoir dealing with my wild, adventurous youth in Egypt, Palestine/Israel and South Africa in the ’80s. I also want to write a treatment and screenplay for Garden of Dreams, or work with someone on these. But who knows. Surprise me …

Also read a review of Garden of Dreams by Melissa Siebert.

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