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A:
When I was a child, I dreamed of writing fiction, and I
suppose the idea has always been in the back of my mind. In the
case of The Emperor of Ocean Park, I would have to say
that the characters came to me long before the story did. Most
of the major people in the book sprang into my mind, almost fully
developed, many years ago. In boxes in my bedroom and my study,
I still have dusty, dog-eared drafts of earlier efforts to render
the same set of characters in several very different stories.
Some
of those early stories were lighter than the one I ended up with,
and some were quite a bit more dreary. The characters themselves
were up in arms. I'm not sure just when I hit upon the story in
its final form. I can say, however, that the characters themselves
continued to pester me until I came up with a way for them to
present their various tales.
Q:
What kinds of research — into the Senate confirmation
process, the workings of the FBI, the Federal and Supreme Courts,
the political lobbying behind judgeships — inform this novel?
A:
Although I wouldn't say I planned it this way, many of the subjects
in the novel that require expertise are matters about which I
have written non-fiction books and essays. For example, a few
years ago, I published a book about the confirmation process for
Supreme Court justices, and much of what I learned in the course
of that project informed this one. Similarly I have written a
lot about being black and middle class in America.
But
some of what might look real in the book is fiction. And some
of what looks like fiction is real.
Q:
You have been careful to remind readers that this is a work
of fiction — that Talcott Garland, law professor, is not an alter-ego
for Stephen Carter, law professor. That said, do you identify
with Talcott in any special way?
A:
I have had a lot of trouble persuading people that Talcott's story
isn't autobiographical, or that the Garland family is not my own,
but there is really very little overlap in the life experiences
of me and my family, versus Talcott and his.
I'm
flattered that people find my characters so realistic that they
assume they must be based on real people. But they're not. Like
most writers, I hope that readers will find something familiar
in all the major characters. Still, the characters are all inventions,
and, often, I myself did not know them very well until the book
was complete.
I
should add that there is absolutely no similarity (other than
the facts that both are black and very accomplished) between Talcott's
difficult wife, Kimmer, and the wonderful woman I have been blessed
to be married to for more than twenty years.
Q:
Chess plays a role in this novel. Are you a big chess player?
How much research into this topic — specifically "chess problems"
— did you do? How does the novel parallel an actual game of chess?
A:
I love chess, absolutely love it. I am a life member of the United
States Chess Federation. I play less chess now than I did when
I was younger, except online at the Internet Chess Club, where
I try to visit several times a week. Although I have never been
anything more than an amateur in playing strength, I remain a
great fan of the game, its players, its history, and its endless
possibilities.
The
integration of chess into the novel required me to learn about
a part of the chess world less familiar to me, the world of the
chess problemist, where composers work for months or years to
set up challenging positions for others to solve. Fortunately,
I had some help from a columnist for a leading chess magazine
in making sure that I made as few errors as possible in the way
I described this world in the book.
(Incidentally,
the fact the number of chapters in the book is the same as the
number of squares on a chessboard is a coincidence.)
Q:
This is an amazingly intricate plot — full of well developed
characters, locations, and multi-leveled conspiracies. How do
you craft a novel like this? What is your writing process?
A:
Lots of late nights and long walks! Lots and lots of talks with
my wife, who read endless drafts and helped me avoid some really
bad ideas. And lots of online chess to relax and clear the mind.
I
should add that I have come to agree with the many writers who
insist that once you get the characters right, the story writes
itself. Even in this era when so much fiction tends to be plot-driven,
I think believable characters must come first. But they tend to
take on lives of their own. I was occasionally surprised by the
messes my characters got themselves into, and the indignant, presumptuous
way that they demanded that I write a way for them to escape!
Q:
In addition to being a novel of suspense and intrigue, The
Emperor of Ocean Park is also a novel about families — the
things that bring them together and tear them apart; the secrets
they keep from one another and the rest of the world; the legacies
they pass from one generation to the next. What made you want
to explore the idea of family and how did you begin to imagine
this fascinating Garland family?
A:
Families, nuclear and extended, have always fascinated me. But
I cannot begin to explain where the Garlands came from. I think
I had the name first, then the Judge, and then it seemed right
that he should have children, and that their relationships should
be complex and stormy. (In another story that I attempted, the
Judge was a White House aide; I also tried him out as a professor;
but, in the end, only the judicial role really fit.)
The
tale of the family's origin came to me before I quite knew which
of several possible stories of the Garland family to tell. I experimented
with several possible narrative voices, and several different
ages for the characters, before settling into a voice that was
a comfortable one, even if it was so unlike my own.
Indeed,
that was probably the hardest part of the project: sustaining
the narrative voice of Talcott Garland, who sees the world so
differently than I do. Imagining the family that whirls around
him helped me to visualize life as he understands it.
Q:
Did you intentionally set out to explore the issue of race
in this novel?
A:
I don't think it is possible to write a realistic story about
the black experience in America without race — and racism, real
or suspected — being a part of that story. There was no need to
invent situations in which to explore the problem; once the characters
and settings were developed, the tensions that would inevitably
arise seemed to me to be obvious.
At
the same time, I do not think Emperor is a novel that is
mostly about race, and I do not for a moment want any reader to
think I see race as a constraint on either the freedom of the
characters or my own freedom to create a world for them to live
in. I am less interested in how racism influences their lives
than how their own strengths and weaknesses do.
Q:
This novel has many relationships—familial, marital, and professional—that
are destroyed by ambition. Is this novel in some ways a cautionary
tale?
A:
Definitely. Ambition lies near the heart of the individualism
that can be so destructive to the solid values of family and community
that make a nation great. All of us have seen people and families
sacrificed for the sake of someone else's career.
Yet
I am also interested in the virtues that might enable us to withstand
the tug of constant advancement. The one who dies with the most
toys doesn't really win, and neither does the one who dies with
the best resume. The one who has the strongest relationships with
family and friends probably doesn't win, either (because life
shouldn't be about winning), but, as I hope the novel makes clear,
he or she does have a more successful life. And the virtue of
faith — of following God, of recognizing our obligations to a
source higher than our own will — seems to me the most powerful
antidote to the pressure to build resume points.
So
I have peopled the novel with characters, like Talcott and his
friend Dana Worth, who struggle to find their faith, as well as
others, like Rob Saltpeter and Morris Young, for whom faith is
already a solid, implacable fact. And then there are the many
more, like Kimmer Madison (Talcott's wife) and Marc Hadley (his
colleague), for whom the careerist drive dominates.
Q:
Religion plays a role in The Emperor of Ocean Park—especially
the idea of letting forgiveness come before revenge. As someone
who has always been interested in religion in the modern age,
was this an idea you set out to explore or something that arose
over the course of the story?
A:
I myself am a believing Christian, so it would be surprising if
Emperor were uninformed by my faith, just as it would be
surprising if it were uninformed by my race. And, certainly, much
of my non-fiction work has dealt with the application of religion
to everyday life. But I did not set out to write about religion.
Again, the characters came to me first. The details of their different
religious understandings, their different visions of obligation
to God, slowly arose and found their way into the story.
I
included both an aggressive atheist and an aggressive Christian
evangelical, for instance, not because I was engaged in some search
for balance, but because the characters suggested themselves and
I found a fit.
Q:
Talcott remembers distinctly his father's advice to draw a
line between the present and the past and then choose the side
you want to live on. Good advice?
A:
I think it's good advice up to a point, but, like most good advice,
should be taken in moderation. I meant for the father's "wisdom,"
which Talcott recalls at various points in the book to be ironic,
even platitudinous, although always containing a grain of truth.
Talcott
tells us several times that his father urged the children to draw
a line and put the past on one side and the present on the other,
which is probably excellent advice if, for example, one is trying
to forget a painful love affair. But it is not a rule that should
be applied to all situations. Surely the great lesson of the century
just behind us is that we should immerse ourselves in the past
— not because people in the past were wiser or greater than we,
but because there are vital lessons, of what to do and what to
avoid, hidden away in history.
So,
for example, the difficult moment in which we are now living has
historical antecedents. By studying that past, we can learn about
our troubling present.
Q:
Did you find it difficult to make the transition from writing
non-fiction to writing a novel?
A:
The process is so very different. The long walks are the same,
and so is the need to craft every sentence with care. But I was
accustomed to resting my arguments on a rock in my other writing
that was missing when I sat down to write a novel: footnotes.
With non-fiction, the author, challenged about the plausibility
of a particular event, can say, "Well, that's just the way it
happened!" Many a novelist will say the same thing, but I am a
little uneasy, because what I really mean is, "That's just the
way I invented it!"
At
first I found this change unsettling, but I have come to appreciate
the particular freedom it grants, and the limits of that freedom.
Art, I have finally remembered, is as important a human virtue
as science.
Q:
So what is next? Will we see another novel? More of the Garlands?
A:
The next novel is well underway. All I am prepared to say about
it, however, is that some of the characters from Emperor reappear.
And that I'll probably be taking more long walks!
I
also have a number of non-fiction projects in the works. I still
see myself first and foremost as a law professor and legal scholar.
But if I have written a story that people enjoy reading, if they
are satisfied when they are done, yet sorry that it ended, if
it diverts them for a while from present tragedies, I will be
happy and grateful.
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