The Bookstore (50 page)
I wish, though, there was a way within online communities to be more accountable to one another. It is often shocking, what people believe is acceptable to say to someone else on the internet. In a real life meeting, we mingle and have to look at each other face to face, so it is very unlikely that we would say the kind of irate and unmeasured and insensitive things that often get said online.
One of the things Esme really learns at The Owl is how other people should respect her and she them. All of the conflicts in this book arise in situations where people haven’t listened to each other yet, haven’t encountered one another thoughtfully or decently. In some ways this book is a narrative about growing up to an ethical and emotional maturity, coming to peace with others because you’re at peace with yourself. The book isn’t that different from Facebook; it’s a fantasy place where people present images of themselves and encounter versions of others, and yet behind the versions we have of ourselves and each other, we are all real. We have to look beyond the cover.
What inspires you to write?
The inability to sing. Really.
It is so easy to read great books; we can never exhaust the supply of them. And it is such a blessing to know that they are there,
waiting for you on the shelf, but I think in the end, after years of happiness with these books, you don’t want forever to be the recipient of someone else’s gift. You just want to have a go yourself.
You left the ending of
The Bookstore
somewhat open. Do you have plans to include any of the characters or setting in new projects?
I did leave
The Bookstore
somewhat open, but that was more to do with the fact that it seemed absurd to me to put any kind of full stop on Esme’s life at that point. It’s funny, though—after finishing it I felt glum for weeks, as if my friends had gone on holiday without me. I really missed my characters. So, who knows?
This is your debut novel. How did the actual writing experience compare with your expectations?
I didn’t have any expectations, particularly. I felt before I started to write that I hadn’t lived up to my promise, or at least to the promise that other people had seen in me. I was tremendously fortunate to go to Oxford—it was the usual thing of being the first in my family to go to university—and that education was paid for by the state, the tax-payer. I hadn’t done much with it. I was standing back and hoping that my daughters would have rich and fulfilling careers, as my mother had stood back, as her mother had stood back. So when there was a new government scheme to fund some nursery time for children, I put the children in nursery for three hours a day and wrote for two of those hours, each day, every day. While I was writing, I was entirely absorbed and happy. I meant to write something learned and deep, and instead I kept writing things that made me laugh. So I suppose I began writing because I felt I had to, and I kept writing because I loved to.
I resist sitting down to write. I have to sneak up on it unexpectedly. I think that is because I am always worried that the pleasure or the ability will not be there next time. But when I do, I wonder why I delayed—I feel so happy and absorbed when I am doing it. It’s like carving a sculpture—the idea is there before you pick up your tools, as the angel is in the marble, but the idea has no real
being until you form it with words, and then shape it, planing it here, polishing it there. There are few greater pleasures than this one, I think. It is crafting the sentence that I particularly like, making something out of nothing. Also, it’s in the rigorous formulation of words on paper that you can find out about yourself. As E. M. Forster says, “How can I know what I think till I see what I write?”
DEBORAH MEYLER
graduated from Oxford University before moving to New York City, where for six years she worked in a bookshop. She currently lives with her family in Cambridge, England.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Deborah Meyler All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Gallery Books trade paperback edition August 2013
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Designed by Jaime Putorti
Author photo © Phil Meyler
Cover photograph © Laura Blost/Trevillion Images Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-4767-1424-0
ISBN 978-1-4767-1425-7 (ebook)
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