From: May

i got hold of your book "The blue place" by mistake. it blew me away. in my line of work i get to see the blue place a lot (i wish i didn't). It was very interesting to get inside her head and see our similarity. (i'm sorry for the english, i'm not very good in writing). i'm sure you've heard it all before so i just wanted to say thank you. I have two questions: first - is your book STAY will come out in Isreal? and if so, when? (i am happy to say that even in a small country like mine you have a big fan). second, based on your understanding of Aud maybe you could give me a tip: How do you get out of it? How can you not take work and all the bad things you see home with you, at night? I am a 28 years old police officer who has to remind herself every morning when she wake up why the hell am i doing it for. i hope you'll have some insight. since i don't belive in computers and i dont have an e-mail, i would love it if you answer me at this page. i will be here next week using it again. i thank you.

There are no plans to publish Stay in Israel. I wish there were. So far the only countries planning a translated edition are Italy and France. I'll certainly post something in the What's New section if that changes.

Unlike you and Aud, I've never worked in law enforcement, but I have done work that refused to get out of my head when I went home at night. One job, as a caseworker for a street drugs agency, was particularly hard, because I was dealing with people with drug habits (heroin and speed, mostly) just a few months after my little sister, who was a heroin user, had died. I would start to feel sick with tension in the morning when I woke up. It would get worse as I walked to work. When the receptionist phoned up to my office to say I had the first client of the day, my stomach would literally clench. And then I'd see the woman or girl (sometimes a man, but usually a really young woman) and essentially there was nothing I could do. Oh, I could make sure they were getting the benefits they were entitled to, I could get them clean needles, if they wanted I could get them into a methadone programme, but I couldn't really touch the problem, which was their brokenness, the thing that had led them to want to do this to themselves in the first place. Sometimes they came in just to talk, to know that there was at least someone to hear their story, and it made me feel wretched. They went away feeling better but I knew they'd be back in two days and we'd be right back where we started.

So I kept going to work, and one day I thought, "What am I doing this for?" and the answer was simple: I had to pay my rent and buy food, and this was the job I had found because it was something I knew how to do. And that just wasn't a good enough reason. I've never had a job like that since. Well, more precisely, I've never been employed by anyone on anything but a contractual basis since, in any capacity. The stress of that job is one of the things that trigged my MS, I think, so employment became problematic--even more so when I moved to the US without a proper visa a few months later.

I have no way of knowing why you do you job. I have no way of helping you figure out if, in the end, it's worth it. It seems likely, though, if you identified with The Blue Place, and Aud, that at least part of the reason you became a police officer was to make sure that fair rules are observed, that the weak are protected from predators. It was easy for Aud, because she never really worried about the bad stuff; she could pretend, on some level, that the people, the individual actors in any situation, were not the real point. (It's different for her now, of course.) However, you're not a fictional character. I'm guessing that the people you help do matter, that helping them is the point. If the work is getting so hard that it's damaging you, you'll be in no fit state to help anyone else. Rule number one: caretaking begins at home. How to make it not so hard? Maybe balance is the answer. Do you have moments that make it worthwhile, when you know you've made someone's life better? (Did you save a life? Reunite a mother and child? Find someone's precious stolen photograph that is all they have to remind them of their lost youth? Free a child from the nightmare of sexual abuse and give her a chance to grow up unafraid?) If you take the job home with you at night, take those moments.

From: Lisa (LMKluempke@aol.com)

Wow! After reading many of the letters here, I feel I should light a candle and kneel to worship! Does it still amaze you that your work has such an impact (over and above great fiction) on people or is it "all in a days work" now!?

Slow River is my favorite, if only by a small margin over the others. Having been a licensed water treatment operator (a long time ago), I enjoyed the setting. I haven't seen hydrodynamics in much fiction, so even though that's not the point of the book, it was still a refreshing turn.

I was wondering, while exploring your site, if you had ever heard of Dr. Roy Swank or if you follow his MS diet program? Roy is a dear friend of my dad's and has worked with MS patients since 1948. While his program is not a cure, he feels that it alters the course of the disease in many people, especially women. Anyway, at 96 he doesn't see new clients but here is his website, www.swankmsdiet.com. I mention the program to the few clients of mine who have MS and would be interested in what you think and if it helps you.

Well, the candle's almost out and my knees hurt, so I'll ask that question...um...so, what's your favorite beer? Thanks for the great and very enjoyable site and I look forward to your next book!

It still amazes and delights me that my work has an impact on readers' lives but I try to approach praise cautiously. Believing one's own press is a tricky thing. If I accept all the good things people say about me and my work, then I have to consider the possibility that the bad things might be true, too. And the bad things really suck. So I try to walk a line between "Oh, I'm a talentless hack and I think I'll go stick a fork in my eye" and "I'm too sexy for my shirt..."

My first literary agent was Roy Swank's agent, too, and when I was diagnosed she sent me a copy of his book. So then I went off and researched the diet (for those who can't be bothered to go check out the site, it's basically a low saturate fat diet), and found that no studies (or at least no studies I came across) show any evidence that it works. However, in the last year, I've been thinking he might have been on the right track, or at least partly.

I think of MS as essentially an inflammatory condition. One of the ways to reduce the inflammatory autoimmune response is to balance things like omega-3 -6 and -9 fatty acids, which means eating less saturated fat from grain-fed livestock, and less of some kinds of polyunsaturated fat, and more stuff like cold-pressed olive oil, flax oil, nuts, fish and fish oils, and the meat from grass-fed game. The big problem with this is that it's expensive, in terms of both money and time. Another way to reduce the autoimmune response is to reduced the constant sugar shock of empty carbohydrate consumption: eat more whole fruits and vegetables and fewer grains (and make sure the grains you do eat are whole grains). A third way is to get more sleep. A fourth, really cut down on stress, relax.

Alcohol helps with the relaxation part. According to the so-called expert, it's best in moderation. Personally speaking, my emotional health demands that I just get bombed every now and again; it feels good. I like beer. I used to love the Real Ale, unfiltered stuff, but find now that it's too hard on my system. Every now and again, I long for a good nutty ale in front of a roaring fire. I used to drink Fuller's on draught, but can't find anywhere that sells it now, except in bottles (which is just not the same--I hate drinking bitter from a bottle, ack). My favourite beers in summer are lagers. A cold, frosty half liter of Oranjeboom in a cafe in Amsterdam. A golden Stella Artois as the sun sets in Belgium. Both of these are also good from the can if you can't zip across to Europe for a quick pint . But don't buy Stella Artois brewed in the US under licence. Not nearly as good. (I've heard that the import or tax laws or some damn thing are changing and that soon we'll be able to buy real Stella in cans here in Washington State.) Meanwhile, Kelley and I buy Oranjeboom when we can find it, and failing that always have a supply of Corona and Red Hook in the fridge.

What I really like to drink on a special evening out is wine, and when I feel rich, I go for Chateau Margaux. I'll also take Paulliac (Haut Bataille). Staying with French stuff for a moment, I love champagne, too. Billecart Salmon is bloody good for the price, and vintage Bollinger is tasty. Veuve Clicot, in my opinion, tastes nasty and thin, and Dom Perignon is an agressively mediocre wine that's way, way overpriced. I also get a kick from Italian reds--Barbaresco (if you can find a bottle of 1995 Fontana Bianca, you are a lucky, lucky person; the 1996 is pretty tasty, too), Brunello, Barolo. And moving west a little, Riojos and Priorats are pretty damn good. Oooh, and then we get to cognac and Armagnac . Best middle-of-the-road buy on the former is probably Martell, the latter, Larresingle. But the best alcohol is whatever is served in good company. I'd rather have a bottle of Rolling Rock with a friend than a glass of 1988 Bordeau with a bore. On the other hand, a summer afternoon with shimmering champagne and best friends is pure gold.

From: anonymous

Shallow? Nah. _Nikita_ was strictly about the clothes, as far as I can tell. Never really noticed the music. Set decoration sometimes, though.

Speaking of music -- since reading Blue Place at least a year and a half ago, I've always had kind of a weird feeling about Aud and her listening choices. Perhaps as a composer I'm hyper-aware of this sort of stuff, but it's been my sense that when people have really eclectic collections, there's usually some rhyme or reason to what's in them. (And when you're looking at someone else's music stacks, the challenge is figuring out why any given thing has made the cut.)

But in the course of The Blue Place -- and I don't have the book in front of me now -- you specifically mention Diamanda Galas, Mozart, Ella Fitzgerald singing Cole Porter, and Grieg. (Though to be fair, you never said Aud owned any Grieg, just that she recognized whatever the street-buskers were playing. I'm racking my brain here at my desk for some of the other music refs, but all I can think of offhand is the stuff I would personally associate with some story event or other.)

So I got through the book once without twigging to this oddity (because, you know, I own all the items listed above, myself.) And then when I started returning to read patches, I began to notice that we really don't know why Aud listens to such disparate composers and artists -- and by the way, you'd think the Brahms Requiem would figure in here at some point, but music hardly plays much of a role in Stay one way or another. Moreover, you really *notice* the disparity, and I began to think that this was because there wasn't really anything to tie the music to the character.

Nothing we learn about Aud in _BP_ is anything that would make me think "oh, she'd enjoy this piece." In fact, nothing we learn about Aud is anything that would make me think she'd listen to music AT ALL. (Oh yes. You attributed to Aud the thought that Nina Simone had a "chocolate-and-cream" voice. I heartily agree with that assessment, and I was then surprised to find myself agreeing with any artistic-critical assessment coming from Aud Torvingen. I was a little surprised she had the ability to make one. I wondered if it weren't simply a projection from the author.)

So strictly within The Blue Place, what is your deal with Aud and her music collection? Is this something you consciously used to illustrate kind of a forced shallowness? (I can't think right now of exactly how I would describe the character Aud projected early in that story arc.) The music Aud chooses at any given time seems to function similarly to the clothes she chooses for any given activity or occasion. (Which come to think of it, you give ample attention to, as well.) But when most of us choose an appropriate outfit for gigging, trench-digging, or meeting-sitting, we don't always get to wear whatever would make us feel most comfortable. We usually DO get to spend our money on music we like, though. Why does this woman's record collection look to me like the costume department of a company mounting side-by-side productions of Rent and Iolanthe?

(Apologies for the length. By the way, if you do go shopping for the Brahms Requiem, you can't do any better than the Atlanta Symphony recording under Shaw. There seems to be some symmetry to that, in this context.)

A provocative question, and I've found myself going back and forth about my response. I spent half an hour this morning skimming through the first third of The Blue Place, and found mention of the following composers or performers: Diamanda Galas, Satie, Nine Simone, Mozart, Skunk Anansie, Ella Fitzgerald. It seems perfectly clear to me why Aud would choose (or notice, in the case of Satie) particular music at various points in the narrative. For example, she plays Nina Simone's "Feeling Good," a song about joy and freedom, because that's precisely how she's feeling at that moment; on the drive to the park near her first apartment, she listens to Ella singing "Too Darned Hot" because not only is it a scorching day, but Aud is feeling nostalgic, looking back to the first day she lived in the US, the day before she killed for the first time. I use the music the way I use descriptions of the natural world: what Aud notices and chooses to comment on is an indicator her internal emotional landscape.

At the beginning of The Blue Place, Aud is in a very precarious place. She believes she is smooth, seamless, a finished product, hermetically sealed against the world; able to act upon it while remaining untouched in return. In a sense she believes she is perfect, and that others are simply imperfect copies of herself. This is obviously not true, and as the book unfurls, she begins to understand that she is changing--and the reader begins to understand that Aud has not always been a reliable narrator. I did some of this very consciously, and some of it unconsciously. For example, she notices that in the lobby of an office building downtown they are playing Satie (I imagined one of the Gymnopédies) in an effort to humanise the marble and chrome space. This is a comment on what Aud thinks human is--because I've heard so many versions of these three pieces that sound as though they were written and performed by a robot--but also a genuine piece of ambivalence on my part because I've heard one version (and I don't have it to hand, sorry, so I can't give the performer's name) that tore my heart out. So which one is Aud listening to? I don't know.

Realising that was intriguing enough, but then I realised you were right about the reader not having any clue as to why and how Aud bought this music in the first place--which means that I as the author have no clue where and how Aud first encountered her music, or why she chose to buy it. Which is positively startling. Why don't I know this? So then I started to think about how I've acquired music over the years (because I own all the stuff Aud listens to, too--with the exception of Diamanda Galas; I'll have to remedy that) and found that just about everything except my early choices (like Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon," selected on the basis of hearing "Money" on the radio one hot summer day then seeing the very cool album cover the next) came recommended by other people. For example, I first encountered Satie on a homemade classical compilation tape my ex-lover gave me about twelve years ago. Someone had compiled the tape for her. I'd like to meet the man who put it together, because it is a beautiful compilation; without exception, the cuts are the best performances of those particular pieces I've ever heard (some I was already familiar with, some were new to me). I wish I had that tape as a CD. Skunk Anansie came from watching Strange Days (a Kathryn Bigelow film that was much better than the critics seemed to think) and loving the music, and Kelley going off and buying the sound track album. Would I have done something like buy a sound track? I don't know. But Kelley did, and from that, we bought several CDs, such as Massive Attack, Skunk Anansie, Groove Armada, etc. Nina Simone came from hearing "My Baby Just Cares For Me" at another ex-lover's house, after which I was totally hooked. Ella Fitzgerald...well, I haven't a clue where I first heard her work, but I love what she does with Cole Porter songs. Music is like love: serendipitous and no accounting for taste.

But it seems the common thread is people: for me, most of my music came through listening along with, and then to, others. How did Aud do that? Where? It makes perfect sense that she needs music; it can be a great substitute for human contact. But how did she encounter it to begin with? Perhaps with Cutter, and Helen and Mick, and Dornan; in the hotel rooms and apartments of women she seduces; on the radio as she drives at night; in the locker room of the police gym. I don't know, but thinking about it is going to be fruitful.