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Can you speak about how you met Esther and Judas? Tanith Lee : The first way Esther made herself known to be was by showing me a grave. Friendships have foundered on less—but then, of course, I wouldn’t presume to call Esther a friend. Nor indeed have I ever met her—or her brother Judas—physically. They are both, I must guess, creatures of my imagination, along with thousands of others. Yet, though my characters always seem entirely real to me, the Garbers (even the evasive, mostly off-stage Anna) have a reality and a communicative presence unique to them. The grave, by the way, appeared in a dream. It was nice clean marble, engraved with only the number “34”—and it triggered Esther’s initial novel via me. From line one of which, Esther was there. Again, not unusual. But somehow she, and he, when they are, are there in a mostly indescribable but insistent, nearly omnipresent way. Judas arrived later than Esther, in fact. He simply made himself known, rather as if standing behind me and to one side of my brain, elegant, laid-back, and demanding of immediate attention. Which naturally he received. It’s always an event to get a Judas transmission. And equally galvanizing with Esther, who so far is also apparently more prolific. (I still await her other known-of novel, Cleopatra at the Blue Hotel). How is this channeled fiction different from your other fiction? Tanith Lee : Essentially, and self-evidently, Esther and Judas both know a lot more than I about some very different things—and I don’t necessarily mean sexual matters; obviously, I’ve written gay fiction elsewhere that is incorporated in my general work. They seem to know, for example, a lot about Egypt, France, even Russia, etc., which, given (where accurate) personal histories, is not odd. It is always however, we find, especially in Esther’s case, a peculiar, time-floating, anachronistic and idiosyncratic take on wherever, and whenever they choose to set their stories—which are, I at least assume, both largely and unsparingly autobiographical, and at the same moment capable of great camouflages and downright lies. Given this, and the particular ease with which I seem able to access their narration, I can progress as a rule very fast and with few halts or internal questionings. I mean, I’m not making it up, am I? And if they are half the time, I really enjoy the exoticness of their falsehoods. Writing a Garber piece from either she or he, although they have, for me, a distinct unlikeness to each other, is a fast ride, all caution thrown to the winds. I trust them (I sense Judas, at least, laughing)—I’ll say then I trust them artistically and creatively—all the way. And here is the biggest difference, then. Elsewhere I have struggled with a few books/stories in which I could not get “The Truth” out of my characters. When I felt them solidly withhold, prevaricate, it blocked the work, until we had it all sorted out. As for outright, let alone Garberesque lying—elsewhere that has sometimes killed a book entire. So, it seems I can’t handle characters who lie—not to others or themselves—but to me. After all, I’m supposed to be the reporter, their scribe. Yet in the case of the definitely dishonest Garber, it seems their flights of fantasy enhance for me their performance. Curious. |