Kim Wilkins's Blog
December 25, 2015
Not that explanations are necessary but…
I have been quiet before, but this time my inability to post was a result of me really actually truly being incapable.
As many of you may know, I am usually quite fit and active (cycling, boxing, lifting weights, pilates) but I was increasingly finding it hard to recover after workouts and some days even hard to get out of bed or wash my hair… you know, the stuff that makes one socially acceptable. My doctor sent me for blood tests and discovered I had Hashimoto’s thyroiditis, an autoimmune disorder that results in extreme fatigue. She told me to wait six weeks and test again, and in that six weeks I crashed. Badly.
It has been a very busy year. I travelled and wrote and did all the things I usually do, but in the last six weeks I have been incapable of almost everything I usually do. I’ve been on my bike maybe once. I stopped going to gym. I had heavy brain fog so have been unable to read or think or write. The only thing I’ve been good at is sleeping. I could sleep for Australia (except on those nights where my thyroid would surge hellishly back to life and leave me with palpitations and constricted lungs and so wired my brain wouldn’t shut down).
Accurate representation of me
My doctor tells me it’s just bad luck, but there are other who think such auto-immune disorders bear a relationship to overwork and adrenal fatigue. Indeed, I don’t seem to know how to stop working but as workaholism is fairly socially acceptable nobody has cautioned me very harshly. I feel my exhaustion now, all the way to my marrow.
But the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t always the front of an oncoming train. My second blood test showed, predictably, that my condition had worsened and now I am taking medication. I was told that it might take up to a month to work, but after a week the fog has lifted and I don’t feel so flat. I’ve still got a long way to go to regain my pre-Hashimoto’s self, but with a little bit of self-care and kindness, I should have a terrific 2016. You’ll have to expect less of me, as I expect less of myself.
I wish you all happiness and joy for the new year. Take care of yourselves.
November 15, 2015
In 1982, December the 18th to be precise, I went to my first ever rock concert: Joan Jett and the Blackhearts at Festival Hall in Brisbane. I worshipped Joan Jett; she was unconventional and tough and impossibly cool. Joan Jett made my teen years bearable, when my lack of conformity constantly drew out the worst in people. Like Joan, I didn’t give a damn about my bad reputation, and had the middle finger up to the world.
Yesterday, the 15th November to be precise, or almost 33 years later, I heard that song blasted in a huge arena for the second time. This time, though, it was to accompany Ronda Rousey’s walk to the Octagon where she was due to fight Holly Holm in the UFC bantamweight championship. If you’ve had your head under a rock, Rousey is a marvel. An astonishing athlete who’s also articulate, likeable (or hateable if you’re that way inclined), and an outspoken feminist. She is, like Jett, unconventional and tough and impossibly cool. While I wouldn’t say I worship her (I’m a little old for that), I took an avid interest in her; avid enough to book a trip to Melbourne and drop a ton of dosh on great seats to see her fight.
Photo: Jayne Kamin-Oncea
It’s a matter of record now that Rousey lost the fight. Her opponent, sure-footed and precise world boxing and world kick-boxing champion Holly Holm dominated her from the outset. I quite like Holm (in fact, if you read my books, she’s the spitting image of Bluebell). But to say that Rousey has been knocked off her perch is to misread the situation. Rousey isn’t famous simply because she rose to the top very quickly, looking invincible, in a sport that is so brutal and bloody that I covered my eyes a lot of the time. Her perch is bigger than the UFC. She is at the top of the world as a woman who gives us a new narrative, just as Joan Jett did in the 1980s. I feel so incredibly lucky to have seen both these stars when they were shining their brightest.
Today, give the middle finger to the world in their honour.
November 7, 2015
My kids are still a long way off HSC, but the pressure about “good grades” now pervades every level of school, and prompted me to write this letter to my kids about what life might look like if they don’t believe what the system tells them to believe.
Dear child of mine,
Don’t listen when the school system tells you that you have to get good grades.
Good grades say nothing about you, about your value, about your trajectory. They will have you believe that you need to study hard so you don’t get left behind, so you can get into a good course at uni, then get a good job when you leave uni and, presumably, do that job until you retire or become dead inside, whichever comes first (probably the latter).
That is not a life.
I don’t want you to get straight A’s and study medicine.
I want you to leave school and maybe get a job at K-mart, save enough money for a plane fare for Europe. Maybe you’ll travel around working in bars and fall in love over there and settle in London for a few years and work in a bookshop where the heating’s dodgy and your Australian fingers always freeze. Then maybe you’ll have your heart spectacularly broken and come home to lie on my couch and cry for a few months. Maybe you’ll pick yourself up and teach guitar lessons for a while until you find a job you can do and move out again. Maybe you’ll have a great flatmate who makes you laugh so hard that you snort coffee out your nose. Maybe you’ll drink too much some nights and listen to Led Zeppelin so loud the neighbours complain. Then maybe you’ll take a posy of wildflowers to the neighbour and say sorry and they’ll invite you in for tea and tell you about when they were in the army or when they nursed dying people or played in the symphony.
Maybe you’ll decide you definitely don’t want to be a soldier or a nurse or a violinist and you should do a TAFE course to top up your school grades. Maybe you’ll apply to study economics in Melbourne but get there and decide you’ll do arts in Adelaide instead. Maybe you’ll read so much Shakespeare that you start to think in iambic pentameter. Maybe you’ll become obsessed with the Spartans. Maybe you’ll take agin the existentialists. Maybe you’ll jump to science and find music in the elements. Maybe you’ll learn that the greatest gift of education is not a job, but a spirit of curiosity.
Maybe you’ll work in your part-time job too many hours to get great grades but you’ll pull through and take an internship somewhere interesting that leads you to a solid job you can work your way up in, with great people you like and one guy who pisses you off all the time. Maybe you’ll cautiously fall in love again (not with that one guy). Maybe you’ll have an unplanned baby on the way. Maybe you’ll get married in a hurry.
Maybe you’ll spend New Years Eves looking at a dozen different vistas: rivers, valleys, the ocean, the city, your lover’s eyes. Maybe you won’t always get home for Christmas. Maybe you’ll love too hard and not always people: songs, dogs, books, sports teams, ideas, smells in springtime.
Maybe you’ll have an adventure. Maybe you’ll sometimes find it hard to make ends meet. Maybe that’s okay. Over time, it will work out. It will all work out. Just live.
Your loving mother.
November 4, 2015
I have binge-watched the rest of the first season over the last few days, which hasn’t left an awful lot of time for blogging.
Ep 10 was a mythology one that, I am ashamed to admit, I fell asleep during. It was the first appearance, however, of Max Fenig, who I’d forgotten all about. Looking forward to seeing him again. Ep 11 was the cool evil twins story “Eve”, that had the woman who played Bebe in Frasier in it. I couldn’t help but hear all her dialogue said in the voice she used in Frasier, but apart from that it was pretty cool. Ep 12 “Fire” was a great story but made too much of Mulder’s ex Phoebe, who was an all-round pain in the arse, not believable as a woman he’d have liked (not while Scully was standing right there… sigh).
I used to be in the X Files. That makes me kind of a big deal, Gandalf.
But Ep 13, “Beyond the Sea” was pure genius, arguably the best of the entire season. Scully’s dad dies, then makes a ghostly reappearance, and a death row inmate seems to know something about it. The death row inmate was played by Brad Dourif, aka Wormtongue from the Lord of the Rings films. He was AMAZING and I think working with another great actor really brought out Gillian Anderson’s chops, which, let’s be honest here, don’t often get challenged by Duchovny.
“Gender Bender”, “Lazarus”, and “Young at Heart” are all solid monster-of-the-week eps, without the emotional character involvement of “Beyond the Sea”. Ep 17, “E.B.E” is a great mythology ep that sees the first appearance of the Lone Gunmen. Yay! Love those guys. I fell asleep in “Miracle Man”, kind of dug the werewolf thread in “Shapes”, but utterly loved “Darkness Falls”, the one where the lumberjacks get swarmed by an ancient parasite they TOTALLY DESERVED because they were logging where they oughtn’t be (at least I think that was the message). Classic characters-in-a-can episode, where the bad thing can only happen if there’s no light.
“Tooms” is notable for the reappearance of Eugene but for the first appearance of Principal Skinner, I mean Walter Skinner (I always got them confused). Great little reincarnation story in Ep 22 “Born Again” and another intriguing twin story in Ep 23 “Roland” (which was, incidentally, going to be my daughter’s name if she was a boy). Then Ep 24, the last of the season, was an epic mythology where something something government conspiracy: you guessed it, I fell asleep in this one too. I don’t want to blame Chris Carter for all my falling asleep as I have recently been diagnosed with a thyroid condition, so perhaps that was to blame. But government conspiracies make me….zzzzzzz.
Onwards into season 2!
October 14, 2015
Ploughing through them, sometimes amazed, sometimes can’t believe how dated they look.
Whyyyyyy, Cos? Whyyyyyyyyyy?
Ep 6, “Shadows” is pretty good. A young woman’s boss dies (spoiler: is MURTHERED) and he hangs around defending her from rough creeps and trying to enact his revenge. This was a classic monster-of-the-week ep, and it reminded me just how many floral dresses we all wore in the 90s. And flat shoes (usually Docs). And frizzy fringes. Ep 7, “Ghost in the Machine” is sooooo dated, with its artificial-intelligence-gone-wrong theme and the super computer looking kind of like a giant fridge that talks. Bonus cheese points for the “whyyyyyyy, josh, whyyyyy?” the computer says at the end after being vanquished. The next episode, “Ice”, is the polar opposite (see what I did there?), set in the Arctic (or Artic as the Americans all say) and featuring real tension and fear and cool alien gruesome stuff; not to mention a few lols (e.g. Mulder reminding everyone how cold it was in the “Artic” before stripping down). I loved it! Not so ep 9, “Space”, which failed to even make coherent sense (if the “face” was on Mars, then how did it possess Lt. Col. Marcus Aurelius Belt while he was near the moon? and while we’re on believability, why did Mrs Belt call her son Marcus Aurelius?). Carter phoned that episode in, but can be forgiven because the show was still finding its feet, Scully was still finding her style, and Mulder was still finding a non-deadpan delivery style (spoiler: he never found it).
There are so many episodes to go I feel overwhelmed. 24 in season 1 alone! I’d better get cracking.
October 8, 2015
Is that you, Clarice?
Well, I’ve made a good start by binge-watching the first five eps. To be honest, I had in the back of my mind that I’d just have to “push through” the first season; memories of how AWESOME it got in series 3 and 4 had made me think the first episodes were uneven or clumsy. NOT SO! Right out of the gate, this show is brilliant. First comes the pilot, titled (unsurprisingly) “Pilot”. Teenagers from the same graduating class turning up dead in the forest, a conspiracy, a strange grey ape-like thing in a coffin where a human should be: it asked enough questions and did it with fabulous unsettling atmosphere. Scully’s hair and look was very Clarice Starling. The next few episodes featured UFO’s near a secret airbase (“Deep Throat”), a guy who’d been murdering people for their livers for a hundred years (“Squeeze”), a kid who heard binary code in TV static (“Conduit”), and a lady bigfoot (“Jersey Devil”). In my mind, I’ve often sorted X-Files eps into “Myth” episodes, which deal with Mulder and UFOs and conspiracies and alien abductions, and the “Monster” episodes, which are one-offs, usually more entertaining, when Mulder and Scully solve supernatural crimes. This first season mixes the myth and the monster a few times already (“Pilot” and “Conduit”) and I have much higher tolerance for it than I thought I’d have (having always been a “Monster” fan). At one point in “Conduit”, I actually turned to my husband and said, “I am in love with Scully.” He took it well.
The thing that strikes me the most: they both look so young! Scully is a pouty little dolly, even in her ill-fitting brown suits. Also: it’s stood the test of time. Sure the tech is different (pagers, clunky computer keys, big angular cars), but nothing seems too old fashioned. Perhaps it’s just cos I lived through the nineties.
I’m pumped for more!
October 3, 2015
So in case you didn’t already know, Fox is releasing an X-Files miniseries in January 2016 featuring the original Mulder and Scully looking gorgeously rumpled by age and experience.
In readiness for this Glorious Event, I am going to rewatch the entire box set (except for those couple of not-so-great last seasons) and blog it right here. Stand by.
October 2, 2015
Kim: Historical fiction is usually defined as fiction that takes place before the author’s birth. Usually you write about pre-20th century history, but this book is very much within our parents’ lifetimes. Were there extra challenges in writing “modern history”?
Kate: Although THE BEAST’S GARDEN was a very challenging book to write, it was not because it was set in the ‘modern history’ period of the 20th century. Apart, of course, from having to write about Hitler and the Gestapo and concentration camps!
All historical fiction – regardless of the time period – has a certain set of challenges. I feel that my job as an author is to bring the world of my story vividly to life upon the page, allowing the reader to experience that world with all of their senses and all of their understanding. To do so, I have to slip inside the skins of all my characters, trying to understand at a deep cellular level how a person of that time thought and felt and perceived the world. To achieve this level of understanding, I spend a long time reading and researching and thinking and imagining. I don’t start writing my story until I feel I understand the inner and outer worlds of my characters.
Much of the challenge of writing historical fiction, therefore, has to do with the reading and research involved, and the absorbing and internalising of all that I read.
So – in a way – the life of a young woman in Berlin during World War II was much easier than other places and times I’ve worked with, simply because life at that time has been so widely recorded and scrutinised.
However, each book throws up new problems and new challenges, each unique to that story. I think the great challenge for me was trying my best to do justice to the amazing true stories of courage, strength of spirit, and compassion that I discovered. And – I must say – not allowing my own spirit to be darkened by all the horror and cruelty of the times.
Kim: You’ve made a name as a fantasy writer, the book relies very heavily on fairytale structure and ideas, and there is a strong element of romance in it. Given the way that all these things are often seen as trivial or “light”, did you have misgivings about writing about a topic that is so relentlessly associated with the serious and weighty?
Kate: Well, I was constantly plagued by misgivings and doubts and fears. I always am. It’s the cost of creativity.
However, I never doubted my story, or the importance of writing it, or the rightness of creating a story of love and steadfast courage and salvation in the midst of such darkness and terror. What I doubted was my own ability to tell the story as well as I wished to tell it. But I simply trusted in my story, trusted that it was a story that needed to be told, and trusted that I would find the way to do it. It was not easy. THE BEAST’S GARDEN was by far the most difficult book I have ever written. It took me a while to find the right form and structure for the story, and I am someone who needs to see the narrative shape clearly in my mind’s eye. I also struggled with the research that I had to do. Spending months and months reading about Hitler and the horror of the Holocaust was just soul-harrowing, and I needed to be careful not to allow that to overwhelm me, or my novel.
I was aware, at all times, that THE BEAST’S GARDEN was a love story, and a story of courage and resistance and redemption, and so – rather than being a source of anxiety and misgivings – knowing what my story was actually gave me a light to steer by. I never forgot what I was truly doing in my heart, and that helped me overcome any apprehensions.
Kim: There are many beasts in this story. There were people in it that I simply and absolutely despised. Who do you think was the beastliest beast (and let’s remove Hilter from the pool so you don’t have to consider him)?
Kate: Adolf Hitler is, of course, the most obvious manifestation of beastliness in the book, and I found it fascinating that he identified so strongly with wolves, one of the traditional beasts of terror in fairy tales (he liked to be called Herr Wolf, for example, and many of his headquarters were given names such as the Wolf’s Lair).
Then, of course, we have Heydrich Reinhard, who was head of the Gestapo for a good many years. He was nicknamed The Butcher of Prague and The Blond Beast. Of all the Nazi monsters, he was the one I always found the most chilling, perhaps because he was known to play the violin exquisitely. The violin is the instrument that plays my soul’s music. I find it almost unbearable that a man could, without hesitation, order the death of millions of people and then pick up a violin and play music of heartbreaking beauty. It seems so wrong, in a way that I find difficult to articulate. I think perhaps its because I think music and poetry and art and stories are so often expressions of beauty and love and healing, and a man like that should not be able to create it, or appreciate it. I know this is foolish and untrue. An appreciation of beauty and cruelty of heart have gone hand-in-hand for centuries. I just want it to be true.
But Reinhard is like Hitler and the rest of the cogs in the Nazi death machine – they are obvious villains, almost cartoonish in their virulence. And I was concerned, in the main, with more subtle kinds of beastliness – the ordinary people who betrayed their friends or families, or who looked the other way and so allowed evil to happen.
I think the character in THE BEAST’S GARDEN who disturbed me the most was Stella Goldschlag, a real-life woman in 1940s Berlin. She was a beautiful young Jewish woman who became one of the infamous ‘catchers’ for the Gestapo. This meant that she was paid to find and point out other Jews to the Nazi police, so that they could be shipped off to their deaths in Auschwitz. Stella Goldschlag betrayed many of her old school-friends and neighbours, and was so hated the Gestapo gave her a revolver to protect herself against assassination attempts. She later said she had become a ‘catcher’ to save her parents from the concentration camps, but the truth is her activities only intensified after both were sent to Theresienstadt. Nicknamed ‘Blonde Poison’ for her pretty Aryan looks, Stella Goldschlag was paid 300 reichsmarks for each Jew she ‘caught’, and it is estimated she was responsible for the deaths of up to 3,000 people. Her own husband ended up in Auschwitz, and yet she continued to work for the Gestapo right up until the fall of Berlin. Of course she was motivated by fear (she had been tortured by the Gestapo before she agreed to work for them), but also I think by greed and a desire for a soft and easy life. It is the fact that she knew her victims, and knew what was going to happen to them, that make her actions so horrifying to me.
Kim: I loved the way you wove in the stories of real people among the fictional. I was amazed to find out that people such as Libertas, the Admiral, and Heydrich were real; and that Ava, Jutta, Rupert, and Leo stood alongside them just as three dimensional. Were there challenges in weaving the real and the fictional?
Kate: Absolutely! It would have been much easier to have had everyone in the book (except Hitler and Heydrich, of course) being made-up characters whose speech and actions and motivations I could control.
However, a key concern for me in my most recent books has been this idea of giving a voice to forgotten women. In BITTER GREENS, I tell the story of Charlotte-Rose de la Force, the 17th century French noblewoman who wrote the best-known version of ‘Rapunzel’. In THE WILD GIRL, my heroine was Dortchen Wild, the young woman who was the original oral source for many of the Grimm brothers’ most beloved fairy tales. THE BEAST’S GARDEN differs from the previous two books by not being inspired by the true lives of forgotten fairy-tale tellers. However, it is galvanized by the true lives of people who risked everything to stand up to Hitler, and whose stories are now largely unknown. Libertas Schulze-Boysen, Mildred Harnack and their friends were ordinary women, with hopes and dreams and talents that the world will now never see fulfilled. I find this very sad, and so I felt a strong desire to honour the truth of their actions, and to celebrate their courage and strength of spirit. Their true stories were so astonishing, so powerful, so heartbreaking, and so inspiring, I did not want to take their actions and give them to fictional characters with made-up names and backgrounds.
There was one character who began as a fictional creation of mine, only for me to find that she really – in one sense, at least – existed. The thought of it still raises all the hairs on my arms.
In the original fairy tale of ‘The Singing, Springing Lark’, there is an evil enchantress who curses the hero so he is trapped in the shape of a beast. When I was planning my novel, I called this character ‘the Gestapo woman’ and decided that she would be a young woman who admired and worked for the Nazis, and is in some way responsible for the arrest and imprisonment of my hero, Leo.
I chose to call this character ‘Gertrud’, because I don’t like that name, and because it means ‘spear-maiden’, thus tying her back to the Valkyries of Norse and Wagnerian myth.
Many months later, I am working on the chapters in which the Gestapo arrests Ava’s friends, Libertas and Mildred. I read Libertas’ heart-rending letter she wrote to her mother on the eve of her execution (a letter which I reproduce in the book), and realise – with an electric shock of nerves – that Libertas was tricked into betraying her fellow resisters by a young woman working for the Gestapo … and that young woman’s name was Gertrud.
Kim: Let’s talk about some of your characters. Ava is described in the book as somebody who “would not keep her head down and her mouth shut”.How important was that for the story?
Ava needed to be headstrong, courageous and far too outspoken for the plot to work. The story begins with her rushing through the darkness on Kristallnacht in order to try and save her best friend and his family, who are Jewish. She runs into a stranger, and in the intensity of the moment, speaks from her heart about her fear and hatred of the Nazi regime. She does not realize that the stranger she has met is an officer in the Abwehr, the German secret service. She risks her life, and that of her family, by speaking out so frankly, and her impulsiveness could have ended very badly for her. Instead she changes her life and that of the Nazi officer.
Later in the book, she joins the underground resistance movement, something that no sensible German hausfrau would do, and she speaks out through anti-Nazi graffiti and leaflets. Her outspoken character drives the whole plot of the book, right up to her unwitting betrayal of her husband towards the end.
Ava is also a singer, and her musical voice plays a very strong part in the whole narrative too.
Kim and Kate at a ruined abbey somewhere deliciously English and pagan
I have a lot of bird symbolism throughout the book, inspired by the key motif of ‘The Singing, Springing Lark’, the Grimm fairy tale that first sparked this book. Symbolically, the lark is seen as a messenger from God, the carrier of news, the herald of light and joy and the new day. So Ava is my messenger of light, my lark. Her name even means ‘bird’ and ‘life’ – I chose it very carefully. (Do you remember? We were in Oxford together when I found it.) (Kim: no I don’t remember! i have a terrible memory; but I’ve included a pic of us together in Dorset anyway!)
Kim: Ava is also described as almost synaesthetic. She sees music and colours in everything. Is that something taken from your own life or someone you know?
Kate: Yes, that’s me. I have always had the ability to see images, or stories, in sounds. When I listen to music, if its something that moves me or excites me, I will get a series of little moving coloured images in my mind, like a snippet of a film. Every time this happens to Ava in the book, I describe something that I have seen myself, in response to the same piece of music or the same word or name. I have been told it’s a form of synaesthesia but I don’t believe it is, simply because it does not happen to me all the time. Not all names spark an image in my mind’s eye, and not all music tells me a story. Sometimes, if I concentrate hard, I can conjure an image. Synaesthesia, however, is said to be both involuntary and constant i.e. the same colour is always seen at the sound of a particular note of music.
Perhaps it is simply because I have such an over-active imagination!
Kim: Rupert (Ava’s “almost-twin”) was my favourite character. His poetry was sublime. I wondered if you wrote it or if it was actually poetry found secreted around the Jewish prison camps?
Kate: I’m glad you loved the poetry. I wrote it all. Most of it was written at fever-pitch, late at night when I was exhausted, and appears in the book virtually word-for-word as I first wrote it down. I did, however, read quite a lot of poetry when I wrote THE BEAST’S GARDEN. Mainly Rainer Maria Rilke, who I quote extensively through the narrative, but also Holocaust-driven poetry by writers such as Primo Levi, Elie Wiesel, Czeslaw Milosz, Lotte Kramer, and Chaia L. Heller, unbearably sad and moving poems.
Kim: Let’s turn to research now: Berlin, which is a city I love, is always changing. After the allies had taken it, it was described as “a pile of rubble next to Potsdam”. How did you go about reconstructing the brilliant, beautiful pre-war Berlin?
It was important to me to bring Berlin of the late 1930s as vividly to life as I could, to deepen the sense of waste and desolation following the city’s fall in April 1945.
So I had to do a lot of research. Pre-war travel guides were useful to me, especially one in which I found a map! History books, memoirs, old photographs and news-reels, descriptions in pre-war German literature – these were all useful to me. I travelled to Berlin, and went to all the places that still existed or had been rebuilt. I particularly loved the Tiergarten, and walked in it every day. In my mind’s eye I carried all the old photographs I had studied, in which nothing was left of the Tiergarten but a few burnt sticks and acres of ash.
And because I found Berlin so inutterably moving, this crucible of 20th century history, I think I managed to pour all that empathy and connection into my descriptions of how the city once was (or, at least, how I imagined it once was).
Kim: Some of the details of your research were captivating. I need to know: was there really a woman who ate the gravel Hitler had stepped upon?
Kate: Yes, there was. Not just one. Many.
At least according to Friedrich Reck-Malleczewen, a German novelist of the time who kept a secret diary between 1936 and 1944. He hated Hitler with an absolute passion, and most of the diary is a record of that hate. He wrote:
‘My life in this pit will soon enter its fifth year. For more than forty-two months, I have thought hate, have lain down with hate in my heart, have dreamed hate and awakened with hate. I suffocate in the knowledge that I am the prisoner of a horde of vicious apes, and I rack my brains over the perpetual riddle of how this same people which so jealously watched over its rights a few years ago can have sunk into this stupor …’ His diary is a reminder that not all Germans adored Hitler to the extent of literally eating the ground he trod on!
David Pryce-Jones, one of Unity Mitford’s biographers, repeated the anecdote about the swallowed gravel while discussing Hitler’s extraordinary charismatic pull over young women such as Unity and her sister Diana, and that is where I first read it.
Kim: You wrote about Unity Mitford and her obsession with Hitler. Why do you think women felt that way about him?
Kate: I think it has to do with the giddy dangerous allure of power, especially absolute power, and also with Hitler’s own personal charisma. He had a way of fixing his eyes on someone with unswerving intensity that made many people – both men and women – feel a strong physiological reaction. Their temperature rose, sweat broke out on their hands, their collars felt too tight, they would feel light-headed and unsteady. Many did faint in his presence, in much the same way that people swoon over pop stars. Films of the time show women rushing the barricades, arms held up to touch him, trying to kiss him, and being dragged away by his bodyguards. It was more than his personal charisma, however. Unity was in love with him before she even met him. She moved to Munich in the hope that she might meet him, and spent days hanging round his favourite restaurant until at last he noticed her. In some way, Hitler’s words – both his promises and his threats – filled some hunger or need in the hearts of Unity Mitford and other young women like her. Freud would have called it a death impulse.
Kim: The fear of the oppressive fascist regime pervades everything in this story. It adds so much pressure to the characters that you’re sure they can’t survive. You show a side of Germany during the war that isn’t often shown: that of the German people. Did you ever reflect, while writing this, on whether you would be like Ava, or if you would keep your head down and your mouth shut under such circumstances?
Kate: Oh yes! All the time. I kept thinking: what would I have done? Would I have had the courage to try and resist?
It was very important to me to show that Ava was just an ordinary young woman, led step-by-step into extraordinary acts of bravery and kindness (and so too, by extension, Libertas and Mildred and the other real-life women of the story). They were not spies, trained to kill a man with their hat-pins. They did not have guns, or shoe-phones, or skeleton keys. They had to work and queue for food and try and find warm clothes for their children and spend their nights in air-raid shelters, struggling simply to survive. And yet somehow they found the courage to surreptitiously pass food to starving prisoners, to hide Jews and try to help them escape, to keep records of the atrocities they saw … all at the risk not only of their own lives but – under the Nazis’ sippenhaft law – of their whole families as well.
I like to think that I would have been so brave. Yet I find it hard sometimes simply to stand up for what I believe in.
And would I risk my children’s lives, my parents’ lives, the lives of all my dear beloved ones, to do so? I don’t know. I hope so. For one thing I have realized acutely since writing this book is that each one of us must stand up for what is right. Some things really are worth fighting for, and dying for.
Kim: How implicated are those who do just keep their heads down when such awful things are happening?
Kate: In a way, this was one of the questions that tormented me the most while researching and writing THE BEAST’S GARDEN.
It is very easy to become absorbed in your own busy life, hardly aware of what is happening outside our own small circle of influence. Wars and famines and atrocities can happen in the world, and barely make a dent in our consciousness. Sometimes, we are dreadfully sorry for what is happening. We wish there was something we could do. Other times, we know, but experience a kind of compassion fatigue, and a diffusion of responsibility. Someone else will help, we think. I’ve got a lot on right now.
I can understand such thoughts and feelings because I have been guilty of them all.
We can look back in time and be horrified that a Jewish refugee ship was shot at when it tried to land in Florida in 1939. The 900-odd refugees on that ship were forced to return to Europe, where many later died in concentration camps. It seems a shameful failure of compassion. Yet similar scenes of pragmatic cold-heartedness are happening on our own shores now.
In future years, will we be trying to excuse our leaders’ actions by saying ‘I’m sorry, we didn’t know’?
And, at this point in time at least, we do not have to fear our doors being smashed down by the Gestapo, and our loved ones being dragged off to concentration camps. We do not have to fear torture, slavery and a slow cruel death.
If we do not like the way our country is run, we can vote to change our government and make our displeasure felt in protests, strikes, and by raising our voices.
I would do almost anything to save my children from harm. I can understand how so many people turned their faces away, and pretended not to see. I can understand how tongues would be turned to stone, and hearts would be padlocked shut.
Yet to understand such behavior is not to condone it.
I’ve been telling people – only half joking – that writing THE BEAST’S GARDEN triggered an existential crisis in me. I have always thought deeply about the big ontological questions, and explored them in my fiction (its one reason why I love fantasy, a narrative form that embraces Big Thinking.)
But the tragic story of the German underground resistance has made me think a lot about the nature of good and evil, and what it means to be one or the other. And that old adage that the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing is true.
So I want to make sure I do something.
Since writing THE BEAST’S GARDEN I have tried hard to be braver and more outspoken, and to stand up for what I believe to be right. I am trying to do more to help others who are in need and suffering. I am trying even harder to be a good person.
Because I know now that evil does exist – and that we must always fight against it.
You can find out more about Kate and her books at http://www.kateforsyth.com.au
September 15, 2015
Sunrise on the Exmoor coast.
About a year ago, I had a dream that I found an old notebook with outlines and ideas for a story I was writing when I was eight. On the cover was a yellow-and-gold-toned photograph of the sea at sunset, and inside was lots of my loopy, girlish writing. Finding this notebook filled me with impossible bliss. I’d found it! That thing that made me happier beyond all other happinesses! When I woke in the grey dawn, I almost wept. That pleasure of putting stories together as a child was what had driven me to write for most of my life. But becoming a published author (or, in my case, two published authors) and having deadlines to manage, not to mention a job to hold down and children to raise, had more recently made writing a task to be scheduled into a busy life. Often, I would sit down feeling distracted and despondent, and take a good half hour to get any momentum. I was still writing, still enjoying my stories, but it wasn’t like in the dream, where it was the most perfect joy of them all.
That dream made me revisit my priorities. It’s taken some time and some tough calls, but right now I am writing the sequel to Daughters of the Storm (tentatively called “A Sea of Wings” and yes, it is mostly set by the seaside, just like the photograph on the cover of my dream-notebook), and the feeling is back! I wake up itching to write. The story is playing in my head like a movie the whole time. The solution all along was to make time and space in my mind all throughout the day, rather than forcing myself only to think about the story in the small windows of time I had to write. I’m writing reams and reams and it’s massaging my soul; I’m so happy. I’m even getting great ideas for the next book (a Kimberley Freeman) so I’m hoping to continue riding this wave for a long time to come.
Remember, kids: know the difference between what is urgent and what is important. Writing is the most important thing that I do. Everything else can wait a little while.
August 26, 2015
Okay, I admit it. I haven’t even looked at this blog in a long time. I have no good excuses, so I thought up a few. Choose your favourite and believe it with all your heart:
A dog ate my blog (I like this one because it rhymes)
I was abducted by aliens (I like this one because, y’know, X-Files)
The demands of being two writers and a fulltime academic got to me (I don’t like this one because it’s sooo boring)
I have had much to blog about, too. Book deals and research trips and awards and achievements. I will catch you up on all of those over the coming weeks. In the meantime, thanks for being there still, wherever you are.