Around the World in the Company of Women

A few weeks ago, before the pandemic arrived and life had its predictable and even comfortable rhythms, I began a project I’d been thinking about for more than two years—reading a work of fiction written by a woman from every country. That’s 197 books (plus Palestine). I’m not sure I can name even half of the nations now existing, but I recently learned that Massachusetts has welcomed new citizens from almost everyone. As isolated as we may feel right now, during the pandemic, this statistic reminds me of how linked we are to the rest of the world.

My list is limited to fiction, which means novels, short stories, and drama. I doubt I’ll be reading much in the last category but I’m leaving it open just in case something extraordinary comes along.

Once I began to think about the number of books I was going to read, I realized I had to set some parameters. The work has to be written by a woman of the country. This means the author should be someone living primarily in her native or adopted country; I’m not interested in a book about life in Algeria written by someone who has lived most of her life in the United States or Europe. The novel is fertile territory for cross-pollination, but living in a country brings a different perspective that can be gained in no other way. Discovering life lived on the inside through fiction was one of my goals.

                              

Again, the book could be written in any language including English, but since I can only read my native tongue with any fluency, the fiction would have to be available in English. This meant I could be reading a lot of works in translation, and appreciating the quality of a translation was probably going to be one of the side benefits of this.

The books could date from any era, though I suspected most would have been written and published in the last fifty years or so. In the last few decades, even before eBooks, POD books, and self-publishing came to play a near-dominant role, traditional publishing broadened the titles on the shelf to include more work by women, and definitely more work by non-white women. I looked forward to lots of choices, discovering new writers, but I also knew some of the best titles might be difficult to obtain.

Filling in the blanks for some countries seems easy until I realize I have to choose. I have a favorite writer from New Zealand, Ngaio Marsh, who wrote mysteries, and I face a long list of choices for Ireland and England. Some of these slots I’ve left blank while I work my way through other parts of the globe. Right now I’m working on the Middle East.

So far I’ve avoided the big question. Why? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe any reason to read beyond my familiar landscape is a good idea, but you must wonder if there is a good reason to do this beyond curiosity. Curiosity, interest in another culture, is always rewarded in my view, and by itself is a good enough reason.

Take a look at the list below, and if you have any suggestions please let me know. When I sit down with a new book by a woman living in a country I’ve never visited and living in a culture I can only imagine, I feel an excitement, an anticipation that is often lacking when I pick up other books. Perhaps you will too.

x Unread	Country		Author		Title
	Afghanistan
	Albania
	Algeria		Ahlem Mosteghanemi		Chaos of the Senses
	Andorra
	Angola
	Antiguq and Barbuda
	Argentina
	Armenia
	Australia
	Austria
	Azerbaijan
	The Bahamas
	Bahrain
	Bangladesh
	Barbados
	Belarus
	Belgium
	Belize
	Benin
	Bhutan
	Bolivia
	Bosnia & Herzegovina		Asja Bakic		Mars
	Botswana
	Brazil
	Brunei
	Bulgaria
	Burkina Faso
	Burundi
	Cabo Verde
	Cambodia
	Cameroon
	Canada
	The Cayman Islands
	Central African Republic
	Chad
	Chile
	China
	Colombia
	Comoros
	Congo, Dem. Rep. of
	Congo, Rep. of
	Costa Rica
	Cote d'Ivoire
	Croatia
	Cuba
	Cyprus
	Czech Republic
	Denmark
	Djibouti
	Dominica
	Dominican Republic		Julia Alvarez		In the Time of the Butterflies
	Ecuador
x	Egypt		Yasmine El Rashidi		Chronicle of a Last Summer: A Novel of Egypt
	El Salvador
	England
	Equitorial Guinea
	Eritrea
	Estonia
	Eswatini
	Ethiopia
	Germany
	Fiji
	Finland
	France
	Gabon
	Gambia
	Georgia
	Germany
	Ghana
	Greece
	Grenada
	Guatemala
	Guinea
	Guinea-Bissau
	Guyana
	Haiti
	Holy See
	Honduras
	Hungary
	Iceland
	India		Nayantara Sahgal		Mistaken Identity
	Indonesia
	Iran		Rabeah Ghaffari		To Keep the Sun Alive
	Iraq
	Ireland		Elizabeth Bowen		The Last September
	Israel
	Italy
	Jamaica
	Japan		Riku Onda		The Aosawa Murders
	Jordan
	Kazakhstan
	Kenya
	Serbia
	Kiribati
	Korea (north)
	Korea (south)
	Kosovo
	Kuwait		Bothayna Al-Essa		All That I Want to Forget
	Krygyzstan
	Laos
	Latvia
	Lebanon
	Lesotho
	Liberia
	Libya
	Liechtenstein
	Lithuania
	Luxembourg
	Mdagascar
	Malawi
	Malaysia
	Maldives
	Mali
	Malta
	Marshall Islands
	Mauritania
	Mauritius
	Mexico
	Micronesia
	Moldova
	Monaco
	Mongolia
	Montenegro
	Morocco
	Mozambique
	Namibia
	Nauru
	Nepal
	Netherlands
	New Zealand		Ngaio Marsh		Death and the Dancing Footman
	Nicaragua
	Niger
	Nigeria
	Norway
	Oman
	Pakistan
	Palau
x	Palestine		Sahar Khalifeh		Wild Thorns
	Panama
	Papua New Guinea
	Paraguay
	Peru
	Philippines
	Poland
	Portugal
	Qatar
	Republic of Korea
	Romania
	Russia
	Rwanda
	Saint Kitts and Nevis
	Saint Lucia
	Saint Vincent and the Grenadines
	Samoa
	SanMarino
	SaoTome and Principe
	Saudi Arabia		Rajaa Alsanea		Girls of Riyadh
	Scotland
	Senegal
	Serbia
	Seychelles
	Sierra Leone
	Singapore
	Slovakia
	Solomon Islands
	Somalia
	South Africa
	South Sudan
	Spain
	Sri Lanka
	Sudan
	Suriname
	Sweden
	Switzerland
	Syria
	Tajikistan
	Tanzania
	Thailand
	Timor-Leste
	Togo
	Tonga
	Trinidad and Tobago
	Tunisia
x	Turkey		Elif Shafak		The Bastard of Istanbul
	Turkmenistan
	Tuvalu
	Uganda
	Ukraine
	United States
	Uruguay
	Uzbekistan
	Vanuatu
	Venezuela
	Vietnam
	Wales
	Yemen
	Zambia
	Zimbabwe

Story Ideas from Readers

Well before the lockdown, social distancing, and masks (which make it hard to hear conversations at other tables in a restaurant), I listened to two women talk about a circumstance that seemed ordinary until one said, "Can you imagine if . . . " With those simple words, she flipped over the situation and I saw a story.

This is how stories come to me, when I'm listening to someone else talk, or reading an article that holds a twist that isn't meant to be one. The Boston Globe regularly revisits the theft of art at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a stain on our Yankee preserve that shows no sign of being removed. The story included a note on the brief interview some years earlier with one of the guards who lived very modestly in another state. Pressed with the old news that some wondered if he'd been involved, he replied, "Would I be living like this if I had been?" 

Once in a while a reader will ask a question that opens up a possibility I hadn't thought of. At a mystery conference in England a fan of the Mellingham series featuring Chief of Police Joe Silva wanted to know about Joe's family. She asked about what I was holding back from readers. She was convinced there was a secret in Joe's life because I never said much about his family. The details were scant--a Portuguese son in a large family who had fished with his father and brothers during his earlier years. His parents were alive, and he spoke to his mother regularly (as did his landlady). That was about it.

Unlike many other writers, I never did a full backstory on the main character of my series. I knew who I wanted him to be but I didn't flesh out a lot of detail about his life before he became a cop and was hired by the town of Mellingham. But her question startled me. She had read closely, she had questions, she wanted answers. I thought about her for years until an idea came to me. The result was Last Call for Justice, when Joe drives south of Boston for a family reunion that his elderly father has insisted on. The old man is convinced he has one last chance to see all his children before death comes for him, and he draws them all home. It is a story of old fears and grudges, a settling of scores, and a discovery no one wants to make.

My new series features Felicity O'Brien, a farmer who has inherited the ability to heal with her hands, a gift passed down from mother to daughter through several generations. Her gift is on display in the first book, Below the Tree Line, but plays only a small role. One editor wanted more of that part of Felicity's life, and another wanted less. In the second book in the series (now under consideration), the healing plays an important role, but in the third book, which is now taking shape, Felicity's ability to read through her hands a person's state of health plays a pivotal role. 

The difference between an acquaintance offering a story line they just know would make a good novel and a question from a reader is obvious to me. The engagement with the series means the reader is thinking about who these characters are and what they would do, how they would engage the world. They can see what I've left out, and are curious about the missing backstory, or they catch on to an inkling I've had but haven't wanted to develop just yet. I'm grateful for these kinds of reactions from readers, and look forward to them. They always lead to a good idea.

My File of Forgotten Stories

Note: Someone recently asked me how long it took to write a short story. She didn’t like my answer, so here it is, in another form.

Like most of my writing colleagues, I do a lot of editing and revising. Few of my published works have ever had fewer than half a dozen drafts, and then there are the weeks of tinkering, fussing over one particular word or phrase. In general, however, if I put a story aside for any length of time, the odds are good that I’ll never go back to it. 

This morning I opened my short story file thinking it might be time to clear out the deadwood. Some stories were not meant to be revised, salvaged and remade, no matter how much time I spent on them.

The first story I pulled up had several versions, which seemed confusing, so I went to the next one, which I liked and wasn’t sure what to do with. This went on for several stories until I pulled up one that I had enjoyed writing but couldn’t figure out a good ending. I wanted a surprise, but it couldn’t be too complicated because the narrator was an airhead and couldn’t deliver anything complex. As I read it through, I felt the story still had possibilities. I decided to analyze the working (and nonworking) parts to see where I could make improvements.

First, I considered the tone—humorous, light, satirical, just as I prefer. 

Second, I liked the characters. The narrator, Babe, is an airhead and the tone of the story reflects that. She is married to Nick. Her pal Charley, a gay man who was hired as cook and housekeeper, manages her easily, and she adores him. She often finds him trying on her clothes in her walk-in closet, and takes his advice on her wardrobe even if it means giving up a favorite item of clothing. Nick likes Charley because he minds his own business, is a good cook, and keeps Babe occupied.

Third, the plot works up to the last quarter. Babe and Charley discover a dead body, which they then have to get rid of. All of this works, and the two succeed in walking away from the corpse, safe and alive. But the story needs more of an oomph for an ending. Charley needs to be more than a quirky character, and to have more than an accidental role in Babe’s life. Once I trashed the last few pages, I could pare the plot down to something simpler and find the pressure points to build into the story a more complex series of twists. I added a character, altered Charley’s role just a little, and gave a few more hints on Nick’s “occupation.”

The key to being able to rescue this story from the slurping sound of the trash (this is a Mac—my trash basket slurps) was, first, the tone and, second, Babe’s husband’s line of work. As she explained, he spent his time talking “to the boys, whoever they are.”

Not every story will be as easy to rework, and not every story will be worth the effort. This one in particular had more going for it than not—the characters, the tone, the basic setup. With a reworking of the plot, the characters go farther and the story has a nice twist at the end. I’ll give it another polish, work up a better title, and send it out. 

After spending weeks working on a particular history article that turned out to be unnecessary for my graduate research, my professor said, “Nothing is ever wasted.” I’m not sure that’s always true, but in writing fiction, it’s a good principle to keep in mind.

Taking a Second Look

There are times when every day seems the same. When the Massachusetts governor first gave the order to wear a mask, stay six feet apart, and then stay home, I expected my days to be drawn-out copies one after the other. The variety would have to come from reading or grocery shopping. I was wrong. I have come to know my neighborhood in new ways.

I walk three times a day, twice with the dog and once alone for a long walk throughout the neighborhood. I've been doing this for years so I didn't expect to see anything different with the lockdown. But my neighbors have responded to the Covid-19 directives by prodding their imaginations. Now, every day when I walk, I find something new.

It began with the Door to Door project started by a group of parents to engage their home-bound children. Doors sprouted all sorts of decorations to announce spring. I wandered around taking photographs, admiring the quirky creativity of the kids in my area. The doors project was following by another one that took me a while to figure out, which came when I found an explanation a few days ago. 

 

This second project is the Kindness Rocks Project, for which a child or adult decorates a rock or writes an encouraging word and then deposits it somewhere in the city. I've been finding them for several weeks, and I found two boxes of them with little signs inviting me to take or leave one, as I chose.

The third project began outside my city but has been taken up here. On my walk I look for teddy bears sitting in a window, ostensibly waving to a child passing by. I've spotted a number of bears singly and in groups as well as a giant teddy bear sitting on a porch chair. 

The fourth project is one that comes out each spring but I think I'm seeing more of it, perhaps the adults responsible inspired by the other efforts. In almost every garden I see now there is at least one sculpture--a rabbit, squirrel, cat, dog, octopus (yes, an octopus), various kinds of birds especially owls, and more. Spotting these means taking a closer look at what's hidden under the young hostas or daffodils or tulips. 

The last project is ever-changing. These are the signs of thank you to the many men and women who have been caring for patients with Covid-19, delivering the mail, picking up the trash, responding to emergency calls, delivering meals or medications. These hand-drawn or giant-sized cards pop up for a while and then are replaced with new ones.

We may not be able to stop and chat as we did in previous months, but folks in this area have found other ways to stay in touch with each other as well as strangers. This may be the new normal--I certainly hope so--but if nothing else it keeps me alert and attentive on my walk, and grateful I live where I do. 

What's in an Ending?

After writing every day for three months I'm coming up to the final scenes in a new stand-alone. This is usually an exciting time for me because I have an idea of what will happen and I'm eager to see how all the elements play out. But as I approach this section I'm not as decided on the various threads as I usually am, which means I have far greater flexibility on the ending. So, how much choice do I have? What do I want in my ending?

In a cozy or traditional mystery, all the questions should be answered. Based on the form of comedy, the cozy mystery is expected to answer all questions, solve all problems, mete out punishment, and bring the community together again into a coherent whole. We want to see the villain get what he has coming to him or her. We want the virtuous sleuth to be rewarded with praise and new regard. That's exactly what happens in The Widows of Malabar Hillby Sujata Massey. The tidy ending is heartwarming and clear, much tidier than in real life. 

The second type of ending is a variation on the first. In this one the villain is caught, but another criminal in the midst of the community is revealed and departs. It doesn't matter how involved in the instigating crime this second party is; only that he or she walks away. This is the ending I chose in Friends and Enemies: A Mellingham Mystery.

The third type of ending is popular in a series that the reader especially likes. In this type the mystery is solved but then another mystery or problem occurs, and the sleuth doesn't have a moment to rest in glory. One crime is solved, and another is hinted at or committed, which means the sleuth can't walk away and move on. This is the ending chosen by Alexia Gordon in Murder in G Major.

In the fourth type the reader confronts a question of responsibility that transforms the mystery and its crime into a larger question, and no two readers may have the same response. In The Nine Tailorsby Dorothy L. Sayers, a man is found dead from what looks like a tortuous experience. Lord Peter Wimsey searches doggedly for a murderer to no avail. He stumbles on the answer quite by accident, but how the victim came to be where he was, unable to escape and thus unable to protect himself from death, raises questions of the nature of guilt, of responsibility and justice. No villain is arrested, no one is charged. Sayers addresses the underlying questions and offers one possible response.

There is a fifth type that few writers attempt, but it is delicious when tackled successfully. In this form, the crime may or may not be a murder but there is always deception around a death, perhaps a lesser crime, and a question of justice and responsibility. In The New Sonia Wayward(The Case of Sonia Wayward) by Michael Innes, a man goes sailing with his wife, a famous novelist who has been supporting him generously all their married life. When she falls overboard and drowns, he faces a bleak future. He decides to conceal her death, tell everyone she has gone on a trip, and write her romance novels himself. This has been called Innes's most cynical novel, though written with his light, wry touch.

The ending chosen tells us about the story structure, for example, but it also challenges the reader's view of justice and right or wrong. Not everyone will agree with Sayers's conclusion in The Nine Tailors, and not everyone will agree that community is restored in Murder in Mellingham, the first Mellingham mystery. Each ending is an interpretation of what justice means in a particular situation, and forces the reader to think about the choice that has been made. In a few more days I will have to choose one of the five possibilities, and right now I only know that it won't be the first one.

Assessing the Pandemic in My Writing Life

Over the last several days I've thought this would be a good time to pay more attention to my blog and get back to writing every week or at least every month. I've begun a number of posts on various topics--problems related to endings, choosing the right detail to illuminate a character, reworking a first draft. But all of them fell flat. 

As interesting as these problems may be to me and other writers, I felt like I was sitting on a raft whose anchor had been cut and I was drifting out into the middle of a fast-flowing river, ignoring the current, hazards, and struggling boats. My ideas seemed irrelevant to the current circumstances.

We are in the middle of a national crisis not of our own making and certainly not under our control. If you're like me, you're glued to the television news in the evening and scanning the morning paper for anything hopeful, reading posts from other papers and FB postings. And then, after a few days of this, I began to feel the effects--I was ready to snap at people not wearing masks or standing too close as we passed on the sidewalk. I was on high alert in the grocery store and wary of touching anything on a shelf, even while wearing gloves. A simple question asking me how I was could easily trigger a long-winded rant. 

I have no reason to be ill tempered. I'm one of the lucky ones. My husband and I are retired; we haven't lost our livelihood; and our extended families are able to isolate themselves without worrying about how they're going to feed themselves or manage for several months if necessary. It won't be easy, but it won't be catastrophic for them or for us. This is sobering and grounding. We're fortunate. It's a relief to acknowledge this, and step back from the hysteria on social media, from the self-serving lies coming out of the White House, and from any promises of a quick fix from anyone.

This is a time to appreciate what we have but also to be mindful of how others are faring. I can't volunteer to help directly but like many others I can do small things. I donated a half-empty box of facemasks to a nearby home for senior women after they put out a call for protective gear. On my walks I look for something that will offer cheer and a distraction to others, such as the way people decorate their gardens now that spring is here. On the water the ocean breezes slow the blooms but gardeners are out anyway.

Plenty of writers are speculating on how this pandemic will change us. Most are optimistic. I would like to be but not under the current administration, which is angling for both a power and money grab. Nevertheless, I intend to keep close what I have learned about people--both strangers and friends and neighbors--and to move accordingly into the future, making a greater effort where possible to help out and remain ever mindful of those surviving with less. And in the end I'll go back to writing about writing, grateful I can do so and ever appreciative of the opportunities I've been given.

My New Book List

My current project is to read one work of fiction by a woman from each nation: that would mean books by 197 women in countries recognized by the UN and several more by women from Indian nations (Apache, etc.) if I can find them. That's a lot of books.

If I'd begun this project several years ago, I'd have far fewer nations to deal with. Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia would still be intact, but German is now united. I could have done one book for the USSR, which might have pleased Moscow (something that seems to be of great concern among some folks here in the US of A) but would probably have been cheating. Finding books by writers in the many countries now out from under the yoke of the Russians might be challenging, but Latina writers are coming into their own--writing great stories in seductive language. 

As for language, most of the books so far (and there are not that many yet) are in English translations, and that's a key point for me. Unless English is one of the recognized languages of the nation's government, I prefer books written in the language of the nation and then translated into English. I'm not looking for stories written for American or British readers. I'm looking for literature that has emerged from and is directed to the people of the author's country. 

Since I'm a mystery writer, the first question might be, will I read only mysteries? That might be fun, but the answer has to be no. That is likely to be too limiting, since writing crime fiction means adopting a form developed in the West, though it is imitated now throughout the world. I hope to read some, but mostly I'm looking for texts that are popular or well respected in their country of origin.

The other challenge, which I may not be able to overcome, is to find literature in countries that have recently endured great upheaval. A woman writer in Afghanistan may face huge obstacles in getting published. Ex-pat writers living in parts of the Middle East may dominate my list for that region if I can find them. 

I've only begun this project, so I'm eager to receive suggestions for authors and titles. If you've read something that fits my criteria (and they are as loose as I can make them), please send it on. You may introduce me to a new favorite author.