Fireflies in the labyrinth

The Girl in the Castle

I’m often teased that the books I love most could be set anywhere. Get a few angsty characters together in a room, give them a moral dilemma to debate and have the protagonist make some profound discoveries about him/herself because of said debate and I’m as happy as a clam.

Ostensibly, this is correct. The Secret History (which I’ve poured over for the last four years) largely comprises tense, claustrophobic discussions. But I would argue that setting is integral, not incidental in these novels. Continuing the same example, Richard Papen is wholly a product of his hometown, Plano. It is the enchanting nature of the Hampden campus and the thrilling contrast of the wild, untamed woods to the safe, storybook classrooms and dormitories that temps the Greek class to murder as much as anything else. And it is the jolting clash between the picturesque and idealised Hampden College and the highways and strip malls of the wider world that highlight Richard’s longing for a better life and his increasing delusions about that life. In short, when I think of the Secret History I don’t see precocious undergrads in English suits and tennis whites earnestly negotiating the ethics of murder. I think of the passage that put me under the book’s spell, Richard’s first, romantic impression of Hampden: ‘Radiant meadows, mountains vaporous in the trembling distance; leaves ankle-deep on a gusty autumn road; bonfires and fog in the valleys; cellos, dark windowpanes, snow’ (p10) More than anything, I longed to read a story set in that fantasy world.

Place is always the starting point in my own work. I like to build my plot and characters out of a landscape, even if they end up overwhelming that landscape in later drafts. My current manuscript is about Adelaide. It doesn’t contain many descriptions of the city itself, but I hope it captures some of it’s ambiance, or at least its ambiance as I experienced it as a self-conscious, precocious undergrad. It’s claustrophobic and cliqueish with repressed traumas threatening to break the surface. There are class pretensions, adult characters unable to move beyond their school days and, of course, a murder. There are also (I Hope) hints of beauty and flights of romantic fancy because, pretensions aside, Adelaide is a beautiful, graceful city.

After place comes a title. I usually have a title before I write a word of the story itself, and it rarely changes. For me, it should be a word, or a phrase that captures the mood of the narrative and hints at key themes. My Adelaide story is titled In the Company of Saints. It’s a phrase that, for me, neatly sums up my whole undergraduate experience. It contains more than a touch of irony, obviously. I’ve never met any undergrads remotely worthy of sainthood. But with our long, boozy discussions about morality, our struggle to discover what we really believed in and our heads bursting with new knowledge, it did feel like we were undergoing a sacred pilgrimage. It’s about longing too, the desire to be included, particularly to be included in an elite circle. I used this title to direct the narrative. I came up with my principal characters: Lucie (from Lucifer: the outcast) and Peter (from St Peter: the guardian at the gate) and that gave me a premise. An outcast who wants in on an exclusive club and a member determined to deny her entry. From there I constructed a narrative incorporating all the things I associate with my student days in Adelaide and all the things I associate with the city itself.

Now I’m beginning to make notes for a new book.  No, I haven’t finished my PhD, or finished the editing process for In the Company of Saints, so technically it’s procrastination, though I’m telling myself it’s forward planning. I want to write an Elwood novel. The suburb has such a distinct aesthetic and I’m drunk and in love with it. There’s nothing I like better than meandering down Mitford Street and seeing the sun dapple through the plane trees. The salt smell of the sea is sweetened with weed being smoked in the courtyard gardens of art deco apartments and music drifts from open windows. Elwood is an idealised, romantic place for me. I stayed with a friend here years ago and was absolutely green that she lived in such an idyllic place. Then I moved here to follow both my heart (to be with Alex) and my dreams (better job prospects). So it’s also a place full of wonderful possibilities and has marked a huge turning point in my life.

My new book has a title, too: The Girl in the Castle. A lot of the apartment buildings in Elwood have quirky architectural features, including fake turrets, and I’d love to use one as a setting. It’s a dreamy title and has connotations with fairytales, specifically those where a handsome prince tries to rescue a princess from a castle or tower, and I’d like to explore that mythology. It also implies that the story won’t be narrated by the girl in the castle, but by someone looking on, colouring her story with their bias.

Now I’m beginning that wonderful process of taking all these ingredients and cooking up a narrative. It’s a great motivation. I can’t wait to be done with my thesis so I can throw myself into The girl in the Castle without feeling guilty. That said, I’d better get back to In the Company of Saints.