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Hello Book Smugglers!

I had the chance this week to interview the author of The Chair Man, and Sleeping with the Blackbirds, Alex Pearl. Keep reading to see what advice Pearl has for his fellow authors and what he enjoys most about writing.

Alex Pearl, what inspired you to write a book?

As an advertising copywriter, I have always loved playing with words. And I suppose the idea of writing a story in book form was something I always quite fancied having a go at. But I guess the impetus really took hold when I had children and would read them stories. My first attempt was an experiment to see what happened if I just sat down and started writing. But I’m not one of those kind of writers that can write by the seat of my pants. After 15,000 words I just didn’t know where to take the thing and I dried up. My daughter read my unfinished manuscript and nagged me to finish it since she had enjoyed reading what I had penned. I did try several times to revisit the story I had begun but could never resolve it to my satisfaction, so put it to one side and resorted to thinking of another completely different story for my daughter. And the idea for my first book came to me gradually while the advertising agency I was working for was going through a bizarre worldwide merger that would take the best part of a year to come to fruition. During this time work dried up and I had time to think of a story, and this time I would write a very detailed synopsis. The idea of a young boy’s affinity with birds was quite probably triggered by my son’s remarkable ability to brilliantly mimic seagulls, and from this random trigger, I created a storyline for my first book, Sleeping with the Blackbirds.

Was there a book or author that you admired that played a role when developing your book?

The first book I ever read as a child was Stig of the Dump by Clive King, and it’s a book that I have always admired for several reasons. Firstly, it was the book that introduced me to the power of storytelling and got me hooked. So in that respect alone, it was a fantastically important book. But that aside, it is also so deftly and charmingly written. And I certainly have a soft spot for writing that is a tad whimsical. And at work at that time there was a tendency for some clients to insist that their copy was written in a very ‘up-to-date idiom’ and refrained from using any words that sounded ‘old-fashioned.’ It’s a ludicrous notion, since most words in the English language hark back to Shakespear. So looking back, I may have been rebelling against this irritating and mindless diktat by writing my first book in a style redolent of authors like Clive King and Richmal Crompton who had written the wonderful Just William books that I had also enjoyed as a child.

It is often said that in order to write something, you must believe in what you are writing. Do you agree with that?

If by that you mean: should I believe that my story is one that people will want to read, well then yes, of course, I have to believe that. Otherwise, why spend an eternity working on it and writing the thing? But if you mean: should I believe in the premise of the story, that’s a very different question. And that suggests that the moral and political thrust of a book reflects the writer’s own beliefs. And I don’t think a book has to do that at all. A book’s protagonist and narrative can be thoroughly unpleasant and stand for values the author himself rejects. When Johnny Speight created Alf Garnett for television all those years ago, this wasn’t a character whose racist, sexist and misogynistic views reflected Speight’s. But by creating a monster like Garnett and putting these unpleasant views into a comical context Speight was able to send up these prejudices for what they really were by making them look totally ludicrous and literally laughable. Literature is no different.

Do you have a set schedule for writing, or are you one of those who write only when they feel inspired?

No. I am pretty shambolic and disorganized. But then, I can afford to be as I don’t rely on my writing for an income. I have retired and my writing is purely for pleasure. So in this respect, I am very fortunate. I take my hat off to authors who write for a living and are constantly up against deadlines. It was the late, great Douglas Adams who said; “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”

Tell us about your writing style, how is it different from other writers?

I don’t have a style as such. I’m a chameleon in that I write in a style that suits the story. My first book was an urban fantasy written for children and my second, a tense thriller. The style of writing was very different for each of these books

What, according to you, is the hardest thing about writing? What would you say is the easiest aspect of writing?

The hardest thing for me is the plotting of a story. I’m old-fashioned in that I believe that all great stories have to have a beginning, middle, and end. And the ending has to be a surprise and it has to be credible. Once I have the story worked out in detail, writing it is the easy part.

Have you ever experienced “Writer’s Block”? How long do they usually last? Any tips you would like to share to overcome it?

Since I write at my leisure I haven’t experienced Writer’s Block. But if I had to write to deadlines and meet schedules, I’m sure this would be an occupational hazard. As a copywriter, there’d be times when you couldn’t think of any decent ideas in the office and had to get out of the office environment. Sometimes you’d get an idea when you weren’t trying to think of one.

Any advice you would like to give to aspiring writers?

Enjoy your writing and don’t be put off by rejection letters from literary agents. We have all received them. Even the likes of J.K. Rowling has a large pile of them.

Are you working on something new at the moment?

To my shame, I’m not. But watch this space…

Is there anything else you would like to share with our readers?

There are no rules. There are no rights and wrongs. There’s more than one way to tell a story. What will yours look like?

About Alex Pearl

You can learn more information about Pearl’s books by visiting his website. Here,  you will find reviews of his books, interviews, trailers, and readings. It also carries book reviews and interviews with other authors. Alex’s claim to fame is that he is quite possibly the only person on this planet to have been inadvertently locked in a record shop on Christmas Eve.

 

 

 

Want to be featured in an author interview or promote your work here in the Den? Please visit our author interview page to find all the ways you can get your work in the hands of readers everywhere.

In 1933, Dr. Hugo Mendel, a successful Jewish lawyer, escaped Germany along with his family and moved to Tel Aviv. They were some of “the lucky ones” who made it out alive. Two decades later, he and his wife Lucie returned to Germany to take stock of all that was stolen from them: Hugo’s career and reputation, their country, their sense of belonging. A few months later, after returning to Israel, Hugo jumped to his death.

Now, Hugo’s grandson Emanuel Rosen retraces his grandparents’ fateful European trip and its aftermath in his memoir If Anyone Calls, Tell Them I Died (Amsterdam Publishers; March 22, 2021). With warmth, insight, humor, and compassion, Rosen tells his family’s story—their life in pre-war Germany, the new bitter-sweet life they established in Israel, their return visit to Europe, and Emanuel’s mother Mirjam’s legal fight to get the German government to accept responsibility for her father’s suicide even though it happened years after the war ended. The book offers a window into a family who fled Europe just in time, the diaspora they were part of (with all the evocative specificity of its culture and language and sensibility) and how they longed for the place that did nothing to save them and everything to destroy them.

Rosen’s book is at once a vignette-filled tribute to the strong, loving women who raised him, a personal and timely testament to the trauma of displacement, and a melancholy psychological detective story, as Rosen travels the world to attempt to understand how Hugo Mendel came to kill himself one afternoon in Tel Aviv almost 65 years ago. Learn more about what Emanuel Rosen has to say about his book in this special Let’s Chat! interview.

You spent a good chunk of your life not knowing the circumstances of your grandfather’s death or about your mother’s legal battle to hold Germany accountable for it. How did you find out? And how did you decide to retrace your grandparents’ steps and write about it?

Growing up, all I knew was that in 1956 my grandparents went back to Germany and that not long after they returned to Tel Aviv my grandfather died. Only in my late thirties, when I asked my mom about hereditary diseases in our family, I found out that my grandfather took his own life. She told me that five months after returning from that trip, my grandfather jumped from a building in Tel Aviv. Then, after my mother died in 1992, I found a box with letters that my grandparents had sent my mom from that trip, and I was hoping that these letters would explain why my grandfather did it, so I had the letters translated, and went to Germany to retrace their journey. On a visit to the city of Hamm (in Westphalia), where my grandfather had his law office until 1933, I was handed a thick folder that opened my eyes to the legal battle my mom initiated to prove that those who had forced her father out of his profession as a lawyer were responsible for his death.

Each generation in your family dealt with the Holocaust in their own way, from your grandparents who fled Germany before it began, to your mom who straddled the worlds of both Europe and Israel, to you who was a bit removed from its immediacy. Do you think your family is a representative example of how Jews of different generations relate to the Holocaust?

I think that it is true, at least for Israel. When I grew up in Israel, there was very little discussion of the Holocaust. Israel was a young state trying to construct the identity of the strong Israeli, unlike the survivors who were (wrongly) perceived as weak. Survivors had their own reasons not to talk. They wanted to integrate into mainstream Israeli society, and they focused on rebuilding their lives. The limited discussion of the topic was also true for my mom’s generation: Interestingly, both my mom and her brother dealt with the Holocaust professionally. My mom’s brother headed one of the Mossad’s units to hunt down Nazi criminals. My mom worked at a law office that dealt with restitution from Germany, so she certainly heard a lot of stories from survivors, but she didn’t talk about it either. I think that now, it is somewhat easier for my generation to research and talk about the Holocaust because we are somewhat removed from the trauma; we want to understand what our parents and grandparents went through, and we want to make sure their stories are told.

In many ways, this is a story about uprooting and displacement, and about the heavy, generations-long impact of finding oneself in a new country with a new language. Do you feel like your family’s experience has similarities to the experiences of refugees around the world?

Very much so. It is estimated that worldwide, over 65 million people are displaced by war, armed conflict, or persecution. Imagine that tomorrow morning you are forced to leave this country because of your religion or race and you find yourself in China. How will you manage if you don’t speak Chinese? If you do not understand the culture? If people there do not understand yours? Many immigrants, even people who left the country of their own will, face such situations, and everything is more difficult when people are forced to leave their homes. And the challenge isn’t only about language. Adjusting to the mentality in the new country is difficult too. Think about a woman who was brought to the United States without papers as a child and may face deportation. She’s an American and suddenly has to live in a foreign country. Uprooting can have devastating consequences as it did in my grandfather’s case.

Many books rightfully focus on first-hand accounts of survivors of the Nazi camps, whereas your book recounts a multi-generational trauma brought on by the Nazis without personally experiencing the camps. What do you think can be learned about the holocaust when you look at it through the lives of people who escaped the worst of it?

My family’s story illustrates that even survivors who managed to leave early suffered from uprooting, feelings of guilt, and shattered dreams. In my grandfather’s case the consequences were deadly: uprooting him from his profession and cultural environment eventually led to his suicide. My grandmother of course was affected by his suicide and felt guilty about it. She also blamed herself for letting her mother return from Tel Aviv to Germany in 1936. (Her mother was later deported to Riga, Latvia, and died there). My mother too felt guilty about her father’s suicide and possibly about her grandmother’s return to Germany. And then there are the shattered dreams. Growing up, my mother’s dreamt of becoming a lawyer just like her father, and this never happened because of the deportation and the family’s economic downfall. In a way, her legal battle to prove that the Nazis were responsible for his death was her way to close that circle.

Through the story of your grandfather, what broader truths about trauma and suicide were you able to access?

My grandfather’s story made me think a lot about two issues: friendship and a sense of belonging. I’m not a psychologist, but I know that there is evidence that social isolation can lead to suicide and I wish my grandfather reached out to people to build friendships. This is something that I’ve been applying myself: writing is an isolating profession and now I make a point of better maintaining my friendships. I’m talking about small daily choices like calling someone on the phone or having a cup of coffee with a friend. The second issue is a sense of belonging, and here too, we have choices. As immigrants (or newcomers to any group), we can try to integrate, or we can stay outsiders. I don’t mean to suggest that a newcomer should forget his or her old identity. One can belong to more than one world (and it’s becoming easier with technology). I feel that the danger is in not belonging at all, which is what happened to my grandfather. He didn’t feel he belonged in Israel and the trip to Germany made him realize that he didn’t belong in Germany either. He was left in midair.

Your grandfather Hugo was never able to adapt to his new circumstances after fleeing Germany and thus losing his career and the prestige that accompanied it, but your grandmother Lucie adapted to life in Israel. Why?

One clear difference between them was that my grandfather was less sociable than my grandmother who loved people, was very curious about them, and had many friends. She also had several cousins in the new country (her father had 10 siblings). It’s easier to adapt to a new environment when you have friends and a support system. Another difference is flexibility: My grandfather Hugo grew up with one schema of how things were supposed to be, and when he faced a new reality, he had a hard time adjusting. There is a saying. “The wind does not break a tree that bends.” Lucie knew how to bend. Hugo had a harder time doing it. They both had to deal with losing their social status and maybe it was more painful for Hugo who, as a man, was expected back then to be the main breadwinner. Lucie accepted new situations and tried to make the best out of them. She focused on us, her grandchildren, helping my mom raise us, and she did a good job: I had the most wonderful childhood.

Praise for If Anyone Calls, Tell Them I Died

“With sensitivity, love, and humor, Emanuel Rosen tells the story of his Yekke grandparents, their immigration and difficulties in the homeland of the Jewish people, and their journey in search of their roots and identity in Germany. An important and fascinating book that awakened in me deep feelings and a longing for a generation that is no more.”—Gabriela Shalev, former Israel’s Ambassador to the U.N.; Professor (Emeritus) the Hebrew University of Jerusalem

“I thought I’d take a quick look at this book, but then I kept reading all of it in a day and a half.”—W. Michael Blumenthal, Former U.S. Secretary of the Treasury and director of the Jewish Museum Berlin (1997-2014)

“From generation to generation, it becomes more difficult to write about the persecution of Jews before and during WWII as one’s personal past. Too much has been lost, and precisely because of that one wants to write about what can still be found. I respect what Emanuel Rosen did in this book, patiently and carefully exploring the past and guiding us through his findings about the story of his family.”—Bernhard Schlink, author of The Reader

“This is a gripping and engaging exploration of a family whose lives were indelibly changed by Nazi restrictions, by immigrant life in Israel, and by a grandson’s search for missing parts of the stories.”—Martha Mino, Harvard Law School

“The mystery of why Emanuel Rosen’s grandfather killed himself haunts this book and keeps the reader gripped until the secrets of the past are ultimately uncovered and revealed. Suicide leaves a legacy of silence for those of us who are left behind and works such as this allows us to begin to understand how we are affected and start to heal. This book will greatly help survivors of suicide loss on their own personal journeys of discovery and hope.”—Carla Fine, author of No Time to Say Goodbye: Surviving the Suicide of a Loved One

About the  author

Emanuel (Manu) Rosen is a bestselling author whose books have been translated into thirteen languages. He was born in Israel where he went to school, served in the army, and was an award-winning copywriter. After his graduate school education in the United States and a successful career as an executive in Silicon Valley, Emanuel turned to write. He is married to Daria Mochly-Rosen, a professor at Stanford. They live in Menlo Park, California, and have four adult children. If Anyone Calls, Tell Them I Died is his fourth book.

I’ve always been into ‘fast-paced, don’t bore ’em, keep it moving along, stick with the story.’ You know: tell a story the way I want to hear a story. – James Patterson

It takes a creative mind to tell a story. It takes an even more creative mind to tell a story in 500-words or less. As James Patterson points out, sometimes getting right to it, makes the reader want to read the entire piece. As I’ve learned with freelancing and blogging, people have a short attention span. You can blame it on social media. You have 280 characters to express an opinion or tell a story in a Tweet. Other social media outlets like Facebook and Instagram are much more forgiving, but the issue becomes the dreaded “See More…” People are less inclined to “see more” if you don’t get to the point right away.

The other issue we as writers run into today is creating an interesting title that will peak a reader’s interest enough to click or buy. Additionally, it has to be something unique. How many times do you see, “The Top # ___ of 2020.” Fill in the blank with whatever you choose; books, movies, outfits, apps, etc. That’s tough too!

That’s why flash fiction is so much fun to read and write! Writing a title for a short piece without giving away the story is difficult. This makes flash fiction all the more challenging. A good challenge, but enjoyable nonetheless. Always keep your eyes peeled. There are a lot of flash fiction contests to submit to. We were recently contacted by the creators of the Annual Barren Flash Fiction Prize. They are currently not accepting submissions, but the Book Smuggler’s Den keeps in contact with the contests listed at the end of this publication to keep our readers and writers up to date on where to submit their work.

We received a lot of submissions for this month’s magazine and are so grateful to see interest in submitting to us! There were so many that we weren’t able to get to them in time to publish. We will continue to read through the submissions and will contact you if we decide to include you in our August issue.

You’ll breeze through this publication in no time. Enjoy!
Dani & The Book Smuggler’s Den Community

Fiction

The Supporter, Reayah Lundquist
Blacky Jean, Brittany Oppenheimer
Sara, Jacob Rivard
Purple Dreams, Rubin A Rubina
You’re a Savant, Son, Scott Stimler
Brain Waves, Audrey Wick

Book Reviews

Repentance by Andrew Lam, Reviewed by C.E LaVigne
Parisian Lives, by Deirdre Bair, Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, Reviewed by Martha Patterson
Jakarta by Reviewed by Desiree Willis

Writing Prompts

Writing Contests

 

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by Reayah Lundquist

I always want to be supportive, I do.

Sometimes it’s hard—you know, sometimes the person isn’t deserving of your support. Whether they just had a bad day—which I can understand, being who I am, whether they’re always like that is difficult to tell. Still, I always try. To be supportive.

It’s not my fault they may get uncomfortable, or stay too long and rise, complaining about stiff limbs and lost time. It’s not my fault they had something gastronomically deprecating for lunch—and they’re not the only ones who suffer the consequences. Still, I try to be supportive. I mean, I have bad days, too.

I have days when I wish I had any other job—any other job. In fact, there are days when I’ve just heard one complaint too many—smelled one digestive problem too many, that I just want to explode, and take them down with me. But that’s a very rocky road to travel.

I could get fired, and have to spend the rest of my days sitting alone, with no one to support, no
one to talk to me, and relax and take a minute.

Because there are good days, too. Great days, when I’ve felt I do my job well.

A pat, a good-natured complaint of having to leave instead of staying with me, a feeling that they truly relaxed and got comfortable. Then, it’s easy to be supportive.

###

I’ve lived with the same person my whole life and supported him and whomever he asked me to.

I always support, them, too—even if they’re not as kindly as he is. That isn’t to say he’s always genial—like me, he has his good days and bad days, too. On his bad days, I can always tell. He rants and raves, worked up before he finally comes home. It’s hard for him to relax, then. But when he does, finally, it’s nice for both of us. He has a saying that he always says when he is at ease with me. He says, “Man, I love this chair.”

About Reayah Lundquist

Reayah Lundquist has been working on novels and writing short stories for years, one of which was featured on the podcast ‘Story Pirates’ in the summer of 2019, and another published in the Penultimate Peanut magazine in April of this year. You can follow her on Twitter @bookscrutiny, and Instagram @lundartee.

by Brittany Oppenheimer

My Dad is a racist.

He hates my best friend Blacky Jean. Blacky Jean never likes to give attention. It’s only when BJ is given something important that she shows her affection for other people. Dad hates how Blacky Jean steals other people’s stuff without any common courtesy. Dad also hates how BJ constantly has sex with other random boys.

Blacky Jean likes to sleep.
Blacky Jean likes to fight.
Blacky Jean likes to cause mischief.

Blacky Jean really likes catnip.
And most of all, Blacky Jean is no fool.
Were you fooled into reading this differently?

About Brittany Oppenheimer

Brittany Ann Oppenheimer is a writing studies major at Bridgewater State University. She loves animals, music, rusty basement smells, and writing for fun. Brittany hopes to graduate with her bachelor’s degree in the spring of 2021. She cannot wait to return home to see her dog Kassie and two cats Loki and Binx after the end of each semester. So far, Brittany Ann Oppenheimer has published a piece called “Where The Light Takes Me” in Holyoke Community College’s Pulp City Journal. She has also written for The Y Syndrome Magazine and the Bridgewater State University newspaper called “The Comment” from spring 2019 to fall 2019. You can follow her on Twitter @OppenheimerAnn

by Jacob Rivard

Do you remember the time we shared a cigarette at the gas station? I don’t even like smoking, but I loved the way it tasted when it passed from your hand to mine. It was like inhaling your way of the world: baking, bars, and boundless curiosity. You weren’t much of a talker, you told me. I begged to differ. The smoke, passing from your lips, brought with it secrets and stories you shared with no one, of childhood toys you missed and times you felt sorry for kicking a can down a road. Every word swelled with conviction, filling the air with a strange sense of purpose. I never wanted that cigarette to go out.

~ The only thing I can vividly recall from the drive to the Bridge were your shoes.

You were in flip flops. You planned to step out of your house for just a moment. Neither of us expected it. One kiss and $20 in our pockets saw us embarking on a six-hour journey to see the sunrise. We threw caution to the wind that night, using your dimly lit phone as our guide to a new dawn. As buildings gave way to forests, and forests bowed to the beaches, I realized it could never be. We were the only ones to set foot on the sand that morning. Pioneers of passion, I called us. Our first order saw us conquer a bench, throwing rocks absentmindedly into the water. Neither of us wanted to face the reality. Once the sun rose, we had to return to our old worlds. And I would carry our kiss to the grave.

~ When we sat on the roof of my home, I knew something had changed.

This time, our hands seemed to blur as we shared our cigarette. We interlocked fingers, forming complex patterns to complicate a simple act, as if doing so would ensure a greater sense of unity between us. When we slept that night, we melted into one another. I never wanted to let you go. I wasn’t sure if it was hubris or some heroic sense of purpose, but I thought I could protect you. Maybe I was different. Maybe I could break the cycle. Something within my soul urged me to keep you safe. I never realized that I was the birdcage.

~ When it ended, I lost myself.

I blamed you. You, I told myself, were the reason I couldn’t stop smoking. You made me this way. Now, I had a reason to act out. For the first few months, you were my catch-all. In a sense, I felt vindicated knowing I had a source of blame. As I sunk deeper and deeper, I found a familiar light within the mire. Was this where you found it, too?

~ It always amazed me that, even through the haze of the highs and the sobering clarity of the lows, you were always able to see me for who I was — who I am. I wish I could write this with more clarity. You would always giggle when I couldn’t find the proper words. I guess this is your way of getting the last laugh, isn’t it? Maybe some endings are better left wordless. In a way, it almost makes it all the more powerful. Whether it’s good or bad, all you can do is feel.

About Jacob Rivard

Jake Rivard an award-winning writer based in Detroit, Michigan with published works in satire, hockey journalism, and activist journals. You can find my work anywhere from the world’s largest hip hop satire site to grocery stores throughout the Midwest.

by Rubin A Rubina

He meets me every night; in my purple dreams. Purple dreams you know, the dreams you have just before you fall asleep and start to dream. The dreams that feel more real… Purple Dreams. The darkness of night starts changing its colour as the prince of my dreams descends from the fairyland above. He slowly nears me, so much so that I even hear his breath, the perfect rhythm of it. He says nothing but says it all by just moving a bit more close to me. He swiftly turns to my back lending the breeze of his scented breath to my hair, and they get intoxicated. He touches me nowhere but a current flows deep down merely by his presence. To me it feels like the perfect romance. And I begin to frown at all those faces I meet everyday who think ‘who can romance this unattractive face?’, which they have at times mentioned to me as well, quite rudely I must say. But they are unaware of the perfect romance I have in my purple dreams. If I’m dreaming of it then it must be happening somewhere in real. In some other dimension. Who knows what reality is?

Therefore, I smile. For, I have what I need; my Purple Dreams.

About Rubin A Rubina

Rubin A Rubina is an actor and writer who believes in one creator and one huge creativity cloud. That’s the reason behind art transcending all barriers. Writing is the connection to that vortex of the limitless.

by Scott Stimler

“Happy birthday, son!”

“Thank you, mother! I do love these splendid decorations. Today is a momentous occasion, and I’ve always wanted to try lemon meringue cake.”

“Why, son, your father and I have got a marvelous gift for you. One that we should’ve given you long ago.”

“Well, what is it, mother?”

“It’s some news.”

“Some news? Well, what is it?”

“You, my son, are – ”

“ – Adopted?”

“No – ”

“ – Being financially and socially cut off from here on now?”

“No, no. You are – ”

“ – Really Uncle Burt’s love child from a fling you two had in Cancun?”

“No, that’s preposterous! Don’t be silly.”

“Well then, what is it?”

“You, my son, are a savant!”

“A savant?”

“Yes, a savant! You have a magnificent gift that comes naturally to you, unbeknownst to you, of course.”

“Really, mother?”

“Yes, really!”

“Oh, wow! So, I’m an incredibly skilled footballer?”

“No…”

You’re a Savant, Son.

“Wait, no, I’m super quick at cleaning the floors?”

“No…”

“Oooh, oooh, I know! I am an exceptional singer!”

“Far from it, son – You are the biggest and bestest idiot your father and I have ever seen! And no one could ever take that away from you…”

About Scott Stimler

Scott Stimler a 21-year-old British undergraduate student studying psychology in New York and an avid writer in the making. The playful banter that exists between my parents and myself on a daily basis inspired this piece of writing. You can follow Scott on Goodreads at “Scott S.”