Q: How did you come up with the idea for your new novel, and for your character Juan de Granada?
A:
The idea came from listening to music: an album called Music for Joan the Mad by
the contemporary Canadian ensemble La Nef.
The
musicians were inspired by the story of “Joan the Mad” (or Juana I of Castile)—a
queen of Spain who spent most of her life in forced seclusion in a small palace
in Northern Castile, and their CD includes both 16th century court music and haunting
Sephardic ballads: songs that travelled with the expelled Jews of Spain, and
are still with us today.
In
their liner notes, the musicians imagined that in Granada, in 1492, the princess
Joan (the third child of Fernando and Isabel) might have heard the music of the
departing Jews.
Gradually
a character began to shape itself in my mind. Not a princess or an imprisoned
queen, but an old man curled protectively over an unidentifiable stringed instrument
in an abandoned castle.
What
if he’d been a boy in Granada, in 1492—a boy raised in the now forbidden faith
of Judaism? What if he hadn’t left Spain, but stayed, living and playing music inside
the very power structure that made the smallest whisper of his family’s
cultural and religious traditions a crime?
Q:
What role do you see music playing in a society like that of the Spanish
Inquisition?
A:
Music played an astonishing range of roles in that time and place. It served
the monarchs and court in every context, from the great hall to the conjugal
bedchamber. Folk songs mirrored the mood of the populace—prejudices included.
At
its most hidden, a forbidden music was kept alive in the walled courtyards of the
Albaicín (the Moorish quarter of Granada), and even more secretly, in the
kitchens, cellars, and caves where a handful of New Christians (converted Jews
and Muslims) might have gathered—at incredible risk—to practice their now
forbidden faiths, and hold “zambras” or parties rich with music and dance.
A:
I began reading—and interviewing scholars—on everything from life at court and
16th century Spanish music to the Inquisition. This led me, in time, to documentary
material: Inquisition trial transcripts, palace inventories, recipes,
account-books, and journey-diaries.
The
trial records of the Inquisition are harrowingly detailed: the defendants’
answers are heartbreaking, and include the smallest possible details of
domestic life. It seems that no gesture or bit of clothing was too small to
scrutinize and record.
I
was surprised to learn that it was often women who were accused of “Judaizing” (practicing
Judaism in secret). The simplest rituals of private daily life—from
housecleaning to food preparation could send a person—and her whole family—to
prison or the stake.
Consider
the motivations of an envious neighbor, a disgruntled servant, a spurned
lover—or an imprisoned cousin “confessing” under torture.
Q:
What do you see as the legacy of the time period depicted in the book, and what
do you hope readers take away from it?
A:
It’s difficult not to feel the Inquisition’s goals and machinery today, in our
own nation, as minority populations fall under increasing scrutiny and
restriction. In the last few years, as I neared the last third of the novel, that
legacy became clear.
On
the other hand, the experience of writing this book taught me that art can save
traditions—and possibly even lives, and this is something I hope my readers
will feel, too.
There’s
a stunning array of well-researched and reimagined music from the 16th century,
from court music to compilations of Sephardic ballads out in the world now. There
are books and websites devoted to the recovery of these traditions.
It’s
exhilarating and comforting to think about this legacy: the way people kept a beloved
tradition alive in the face of utterly daunting opposition. It seems both a
miracle, and a hopeful sign.
Q:
What are you working on now?
A:
I have two manuscripts in progress: one is a story collection called The
Singing Bones of Braehouse: the stories are all, in one way or another,
improvisations on very old folktales and ballads of various traditions.
The
second manuscript is an essay collection focused on the relationship between
music and literature. Some of the pieces are personal essays about my life-long
love affair with music, while others were more researched essays and profiles
commissioned by Opera News over a decade.
Q:
Anything else we should know?
A:
Because The Secret Music at Tordesillas is so heavily “musicked” I am actively
working to involve local musicians and singers to join me in creating
musical/literary events rather than typical readings.
A
couple such events are already scheduled, and I’m so looking forward to listening,
with the audience, to someone sing the heartbreaking Sephardic lullaby “Nani,
Nani.”
I
want music to be at the center of these events.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
