How the Stories Came Together
Question: Your book is a collection of short stories, but the main characters are your ancestors, relatives, your family—so the text doesn’t read like a mosaic, but rather as a continuous, unified narrative. Characters reappear from one story to another quite naturally, as if dropping in to visit each other. When you were writing, did you envision the stories as parts of a whole, or did each one have a life of its own?
I didn’t have any overarching concept for the book at the beginning. The mosaic of these stories gradually, step by step, came together into a single, connected narrative—a collection. When I was working on a particular story, I was fully immersed in it and wasn’t thinking about what might come next. But looking back, I can see that there was a certain logic to the sequence in which the stories were written.
I began with the story My Yiddish, which, in one way or another, touches on five generations of my family. The next stories were about my grandfather. His unusual life—his fantastic fate—had always captured my imagination. That’s how The Clocks, The Execution, and Glimmers of Memory came about, one after another. But of course, writing about my grandfather would have been unthinkable—impossible—without also writing about his Nyamochka, my incomparable grandmother. The story The Brother served as a kind of bridge, connecting the tales about my grandfather to the short novella The Grandmothers, where my other grandmother—my mother’s mother, strict and formidable—appears quite naturally as well.
And of course, what family stories could leave out one’s parents—especially parents as remarkable as my mother and father? The story The Victory served as a kind of transition from the generation of grandparents to that of my parents. Seven Stories About Mom holds a truly special place for me in this family mini-epic. Although the book is dedicated to my grandchildren, I wrote it in large part for my mother. Because this book—and every story in it—means infinitely more to her than to anyone else, simply because they were written by me, her son. Because, as I wrote, I was constantly thinking of her and, as always, silently consulting her in everything I did. Because she, with the endless patience of an old-school teacher, listened to me read the drafts over the phone and, as always, firmly and wisely guided me in the right direction. I’m profoundly grateful that my mother—unlike my late grandmothers, grandfathers, and father—was able to read all of my stories and even gave them her blessing.
For a long time, I couldn’t imagine how to write about my father. His larger-than-life personality simply refused to fit into the Procrustean bed of a short story. I was convinced that any account of his life would require an academic, multi-volume format—but in the end, I pragmatically decided to limit myself to sketches, outlines, and contours. That’s how the story Dad: The Contours of a Biography came to be. Interestingly, it’s the only story in the entire collection that my mother accepted immediately and without a single comment.
As you can see, despite the absence of an initial concept, I’ve just walked you through the chronology of how the stories were written—and I believe there was a certain inner logic to that sequence. But when it came to arranging the stories in the book, I took a more systematic, organized approach: I wrote the titles out on individual index cards and spent quite a while laying out the whole solitaire, trying one sequence and then another, until I finally settled on the order presented in the book. And that, I suppose, is the full extent of any systematic, conceptual approach—if one can even call it that—that went into writing this book.
📖 Read more: Tales of a Grandfather Who Once Upon a Time Was a Grandson Himself 🌐 Publisher’s page
