Padma Venkatraman Interview--Part 2

As promised, here is the rest of Padma's interview:

From Vikki, Book Slam Moderator:

Q) Do you have a (good, bad or ugly) library memory from your teen years?

A) This isn’t a library memory, because we didn’t have public libraries in India. That said, the library in CLIMBING THE STAIRS is based on a real library that a neighbor and family friend had at their home – it was marvelous.

Here, anyway, is my book memory – of something I think is maybe the most important discovery I ever made in my life.

I wasn’t a teen. I must have been about seven. I lived in India then.

I remember that the orange-red flowers the gulmohur tree in my grandparents’ front garden was bursting with orange-red flowers, so it must have been the month of May. Nearly everyone in my extended family – eight uncles, eight aunts and twenty cousins – had gathered together in my grandparents’ home in Chennai to greet my youngest aunt, Sundari, who was visiting from Kolkatta. My aunt Sundari had brought every one of us a gift. She gave them to us in order of our age, youngest first. I watched my cousin Ramya, who was just four months younger than I, open her gift – a large, colorful board game. My turn was next. I waited, sure that I would get something similar, but instead, my aunt handed me a very small package. “Padma,” she said, “You mother said you’d started reading on your own already. So I thought you’d enjoy this.” I tore off the wrapping paper. She’d brought me a book – and not even a brightly colored picture book, at that. Just a small, fat one that was full of words. I tried thank her and as soon as I could, I slipped away to sit alone on the verandah. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t – afraid that one of my cousins would see me and call me a baby.

I perched on the small stone bench on the verandah and opened the book again. What was the point of a book that didn’t even have any black and white drawings? I must be her least favorite niece I decided as I stared at the endless rows of print that stretched across the front page. But before I knew it, those little marks on paper started speaking to me. I heard the voice of a naughty British school girl. And pictures danced before my eyes – sharper and more real than any illustration I had ever seen. Like magic spells, the book had transported me to another country, miles away from India.

But on the way home, that evening, I saw a child scrabbling through a rubbish heap to find food and I realized that he – or she – would never probably hold a book.

All my life, the thrill of discovering the magic of books – and the tragedy that not all children will experience this thrill – have stayed with me. I guess they’ve shaped my life.

Q) What kinds of books did you love most as a teen?

A) We didn’t have YA books in India, so, as a teen, I went straight from the few puffin books that made it to India, to reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Lawrence and Maughm… When I came to the states, though, on a long visit as a  tween and then to stay in my late teens, I remember reading and re-reading MY SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN …. I enjoyed Tolkein, too.

Q)What’s the best movie you’ve seen in 2015?

 A) We don’t have a TV or get net flicks or get much time to see movies; so the ONLY movie I did manage to see, which is probably old by now, but which I did thing was wonderful, was THE IMITATION GAME.

Q) When did you know you wanted to be a writer?

A) My mom says I used to dictate poems to her before I could write. I’d tell her where the line breaks were, which she thought was incredible. As a child, I saw myself full of joy and as a successful writer; but as I grew older and realized that I needed to support myself, I decided I needed to study science. So I ended up spending decades studying and working as an oceanographer.

Q) What do you say to teens who want to be published writers?

A) Writing must be a reward in itself. Even if (and I hope not) Penguin decided never to publish another word I wrote, I’d still write novels. What makes me a writer is not publication or the awards, though both publication and awards undeniably mean an immense amount to me – more than I can express. Despite how important those two aspects are and how grateful I am for publication and awards, and how fortunate and blessed they make me feel, ultimately, it’s my love of the writing process that makes me a writer. If you don’t love – absolutely love – the act of writing, then it’s in your interest to have another career. Writing can be devastating. It’s a fickle field and not at all easy. Few writers are lucky enough to be able to support themselves. If you crave publication, you may end up destroyed – remember that lots of rubbish gets published and wins awards, while lots of good books may never be published. So if you want to be a writer, you need to be really, really strong – you can’t allow yourself to be swayed by what others, the outside world thinks. If you do, you may end up depressed or at least discontented. If you want to be published, remember that publishers/agents should pay you, you shouldn’t pay them. Don’t let the desire to be in print dictate your moods. Rejoice if it happens along the way, but don't let this yearning rule your life. Learn yoga. Meditate. Write.  Publication and awards are incredibly important, but just as marriage is a celebration of love, not love itself, publication and awards are celebrations, but they are not and shouldn't be central to your writing. Your books, your characters, your writing, should be central to you, if you’re a writer.

Q) What prompted you to write A Time to Dance?  What kind of research did you do for it?

A) When I was 19 years old, I was bitten by a Russell’s Viper – one of the four most poisonous Indian snakes - on a trip back to India. I almost died, and it’s a miracle that I survived without having to have my leg amputated (it had turned all the colors of the rainbow and looked rather like something Renoir might have painted for a while). That experience – of nearly losing my leg, not to mention my life, and of being so close to death – solidified within me a sense of spirituality (without necessarily any religiosity per say). I didn’t realize this until recently, but Veda’s story was born of that experience.

 As for research, I read a lot, and I interviewed several people (dancers and people with amputations), but most important, I sort of “went method” the way that actors do. I spent hours on crutches pretending I was one-legged. I sent my leg to sleep purposely over and over, and forced some patient friends of mine to endure strange experiments, so that I could simulate the feeling of having a phantom limb. I had at least two dozen people read drafts of the novel and provide feedback; about a half of these readers had had amputations. I knew I was okay when one of these readers (who happened to be an amputee) thought I was also an amputee – she was amazed when she discovered I wasn’t, because, she felt sure I must have experienced phantom pain and all the rest of it, because I guess I’d captured the feeling accurately and managed to make it come alive in a way that resonated and was true.

Q) Why did you choose to write A Time to Dance in verse?

A) The easy answer: because when Veda’s character possessed me, I heard verse. Of course, nothing’s as simple as that, is it?

I fought against writing A TIME TO DANCE in the verse form because although I love and read poetry, I’ve never studied it. Luckily for me, Richard Blanco (who later read at President Obama’s inauguration) let me sit in on a poetry workshop he was doing at the University of Rhode Island’s Ocean State Summer Writing Conference, and his friendship and faith in my ability helped me overcome my fear of experimenting with this form. Other wonderful poets: Scott Hightower, Peter Covino, and Peter Johnson also encouraged me, as did my marvelous agent, Rob Weisbach and my star editor, Nancy Paulsen. Along the way, another editor whom I deeply trust, Stephen Roxburgh, provided insights that were vital. His confidence in me felt like permission to try lean, spare prose.

Finally, on my 101th draft or so, I had an epiphany. Stories that feature a character’s spiritual growth are rare. It was the core of Veda’s story. As was her love of dance. A character’s spiritual growth is incredibly hard to write in verse. It’s virtually impossible to capture in straight out prose – or was, for me, for Veda. Spiritual growth – and the power of art – especially of dance - two key themes in A TIME TO DANCE – go beautifully with verse.

 In this story, rather than form affecting content, it was the other way around: Veda’s voice (content) dictated form. And I’m glad she spoke in verse, and I’m grateful to all those who trusted that I could listen to her properly. It was really a tremendous relief that A TIME TO DANCE was released to starred reviews in 5 journals (Kirkus, Booklist, VOYA, SLJ and BCCB) and that it’s been so glowingly reviewed by so very many other sources and has won awards and honors, including, for instance, the ALA Notable and ALA BBYA. I’m glad not just for my own sake but for the sake of the many differently abled (disabled) people I interviewed during the process of writing the novel. It’s their story, not mine.

Q) Do you think enough attention is being paid to diversity of ability within the current conversations about diversity in books for young people?  What about books by South Asian writers or about South Asian characters?

A) Not really. Often, race seems to trump other aspects of diversity; right after race come gender issues.

 I feel like way too often, A TIME TO DANCE is seen as  a South Asian book and that really deeply upsets me when it happens. I’m American, but hardly ever seen or treated as a “real” American. At times, people just see the color of my protagonist and that’s overrides everything else, becomes the main “issue” – when, really, in all of my books, the core is NOT race, at all!

Some other South Asian writers who are writing excellent books for young people today: Uma Krishnaswami, Kashmira Sheth, Mitali Perkins, Sheela Chari, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Shoban Bantwal, Sarwat Chadda. I’m sure I’ve forgotten a few, but that, at least, is a place to start if you want to read more by South Asian writers.