Kirsten Imani Kasai, photo by Alanna Airitam Photography |
Kirsten Imani Kasai is the author of the new novel The House of Erzulie. Her other books include Ice Song and Tattoo, and she is the publisher of Body Parts Magazine. She lives in California.
Q: How did you come up with the idea for The House of
Erzulie?
A: I know that it started with the house, that degenerate, three-story townhouse that Lydia describes on pg. 96. That’s a scene from my own dream—the green door, the séance attendees tucked away within a shadowy, unknowable room, calling out to a ghost.
A: I know that it started with the house, that degenerate, three-story townhouse that Lydia describes on pg. 96. That’s a scene from my own dream—the green door, the séance attendees tucked away within a shadowy, unknowable room, calling out to a ghost.
That house has been an evolving and recurrent motif in my
dreams for years—it’s in much better shape, now. It even has a rooftop jazz bar
and a docent.
The first little section that I wrote was Isidore as he
floundered around the crossroads of science, Vodou and Spiritualism, trying to
ascertain what was “real.”
Initially, I knew that there was something, a curse perhaps,
connected to a bowl of blood and that both blood and curse tied together two
disparate, yet similar storylines—the “red thread” between Isidore and Lydia.
I also knew that I wanted to examine the distressing history
of the hierarchical race and caste systems of the American South during
Antebellum times and how they influenced our conceptions of privilege,
belonging and identity today.
Thomas De Quincey’s Confessions of an English Opium-Eater
informed this work, as well as the mythology of the succubus and its villainizing
of female sexuality.
I think of writing, or pre-writing, as being similar to
making soup. All of these seemingly unrelated ideas (ingredients) go into a
single pot to stew over time and become something else that is the sum of all
that goes into it.
Finding answers to these questions was akin to stumbling
through the dark, trying to understand that which is sensed, or felt, but
unseen. I’m glad it came together so well in the end!
Fun fact—Isidore got his name from Isador Oglesby, a tenor
soloist. I used to have his LP “Isador Sings Negro Spirituals By Contemporary
Afro Americans” and the sound of his voice just stuck with me over the years,
even though the album vanished somewhere along my travels.
Q: The novel includes sections set in the present and others
set in the 19th century. Did you write the book in the order in which it
appears, or did you focus first on one time period and then switch to the other
one?
A: I started with Isidore, and then fleshed out the others.
The hardest thing was organizing the story in a way that made sense to readers
but also suited my purposes and those of the narrative. I conceived of the
three sections as a triptych, which worked very well within the Gothic framing
of “story-within-a-story” while honoring the genre’s reliance on mirroring.
Q: How did you research the novel, and what did you learn
that particularly intrigued you?
A: Whatever I was working on would prompt questions. Writing
about a dining scene led me to research what would have been served at a
Southern plantation table or an upscale New York hotel in the 1850s, for
example. I was delighted to find that others are equally curious about historical cuisine.
I wanted the 19th century segments to be as accurate as
possible, so I read archived articles, menus, cookbooks and more. I was
astounded by the depth of cruelty and barbarism that the past holds, and
despite the heartening news that things are getting better overall, there are
more people enslaved today than at any other point in history.
As a species, I feel that we are very sluggishly dragging
ourselves toward a more just and equitable existence, but it’s a slow and
painful process.
Q: The novel includes the theme of mental health. Why did
you choose to include that as part of the story?
A: I’m very interested in mental health and psychology in
general, but I had become quite fascinated by the idea of epigenetic roots of
transgenerational trauma and adverse childhood experiences (ACE) as a
contributor to mental illness and as an indicator of later-in-life health
problems.
This was spurred by my own personal research into finding
the roots of my own health issues, and examining how anxiety and depression
have manifested in myself and some of my family members.
Also, as I said in the author’s note at the end of the book,
I had been going through a tumultuous and painful time in my own life,
including a divorce and my father’s death from cancer.
I felt very raw and porous for a long time, yet also keenly
aware that I could not surrender to my various griefs because I have children
and had to ensure that we all came through those periods of transition
emotionally and spiritually intact. Lydia allowed me to give voice to that part
of myself without having to actually experience it.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: I’m tinkering with several projects, as I always do, a
couple of novel ideas. Likely returning to speculative fiction, although I’ve
enjoyed working in the Gothic genre so much, I’d like to write another.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: If you’re in the New York or Washington, D.C., area, come
see me! Upcoming events: Bluestockings Bookstore, May 12, and Duende District Bookstore Pop-Up at Torpedo Factory Art Center, June 9.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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