Vaddey Ratner, photo by Kristina Sherk |
Q: How similar was your own family's experience in Cambodia
to that of the family in your book, and why did you decide to write a novel
rather than a memoir?
A: From beginning to end, the narrative follows my experience
and that of my family, from the forced exodus to the many relocations,
separations, and losses. Of course I was
a very young child when the revolution arrived, so there was so much I couldn’t
begin to comprehend. There are things I
remember vividly, and gaps I had to fill by probing others’ recollections. Yet, beyond the limitations of memory, there
is a more fundamental reason I chose fiction.
I didn’t want the focus to be on my own experience, the fact of my
survival. In writing, I found I was
seeking something that went beyond a chronicling of facts and events. I wanted to invite readers into that lost
world, to see it through the eyes of a child, and to discover with her the
power of storytelling as a means of survival, of continuation.
Q: How difficult was it for you to revisit such terrible
experiences?
A: It was extremely difficult. Every loss I experienced anew,
and there were days when I didn’t know whether I would be able to emerge. I would labor and linger over a sentence or
paragraph for days, sometimes weeks, seeking the words to describe that
emotional landscape—its horror as well as its moments of beauty.
Q: Did your family agree with your decision to write the
book?
A: Writing is a very solitary endeavor, and I’m not sure my
mother or others quite understood what I was doing when I was in the midst of
it. Yet they encouraged me, knowing that
I so needed to write this story. It felt
essential, like breath. Once the book
was complete and I shared it with my mother, she told me it’s the story she
would have written if she’d had the words.
Q: Could you discuss the book's title, and why you chose it?
A: The title is my rendering of a phrase from a Cambodian
Buddhist proverb, which speaks of a time of bloodshed and darkness. My interpretation of the proverb is that our
history, our past, is like the banyan tree, with its wide-reaching branches. It can cast a shadow over us as well as offer
shade when we need sheltering.
Q: Are you working on another book now?
A: I have the filament of a story, a second novel that I’m
working on. It’s still taking shape, and
as I begin to write I’m discovering that story, exploring its
possibilities. The working title is
Music of the Ghosts.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: I’m deeply touched by the messages I receive from readers
who write to describe their encounter with In the Shadow of the Banyan and the
connections they find to their own lives.
I never expected that it would find a place in the hearts of people with
such diverse histories, and in so many places.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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