Greetings from Dhaka, Bangladesh! This is Author Abroad, a newsletter on reading, writing, and reflections from a life abroad. In this latest edition, I reflect on the extent to which fiction is (and is not) autobiographical; leering men in Bangladesh; and some of the books I read this month. But before I go on, check out this cheeky cat lounging in one of the trees in my local parkš»
Writing
One of the most common questions readers ask novelists is whether their novels are autobiographical. As a reader, Iāve often wondered the same. When youāre knee-deep in a tale of love and intrigue, itās hard not to speculate about the authorās real-life experiences. Reading, we immerse ourselves in a fictional world, living and breathing together with the characters, responding to the events of the novel as if they were happening to us in that moment. It makes sense that weāre curious about the authorās real life, that we want to know whether they actually knew those characters and experienced those events.Ā
Some novels are heavily autobiographical. There were several people in my MFA program, who were writing fictionalized narratives of something they experienced in real life. These writers couldāve gone the memoir route but decided they felt more comfortable with fiction. This could be for any number of reasons: they might not remember enough of the details about what occurred, or they do remember but want to protect the people involved from public scrutiny, or maybe they simply want the freedom to use elements of fiction to make the story as compelling as possible for the reader.
For the rest of us, including myself, the answer is more ambiguous. Something in āreal lifeā sparks my curiosityāan image, a conversation, a characteristicāand my mind takes off with it, building out from that initial impression with all kinds of alternate scenarios,Ā what ifs, and other suppositions. My what ifs will never be exactly the same as another writerās what ifs because theyāre rooted in my experiences; they reflect my values and preoccupations, the questions I think about when I canāt sleep at night. To write fiction is to enter the hearts and minds of your characters, which you can only do by tapping into your own emotional wrestling with the world. Itās a blend of imagination and real lifeāmade-up stories about made-up people, the telling of which is guided by everything Iāve experienced throughout my life.Ā
Iām certainly not any of the characters inĀ The Golden Land, nor did any of the specific plot points happen to me, but the emotional core of the novel draws from my life. I have the same need to put my memories in context as Etta (the narrator), the same craving to understand who I am and where I fit in the world. Like Etta, I know what itās like to be pulled between cultures, to say goodbye to people not knowing if Iāll ever see them again. When I sat down to writeĀ The Golden Land, these were the emotions I tapped into, adapting them as needed to Ettaās unique circumstances. So, yes, I believe fiction is always a little autobiographical, even when the specific events in the plot have nothing to do with the authorās real life.Ā
Life abroad
Speaking of real life, my experience living in Bangladesh continues to be one of contrasts: bright colorful ceremonies, generous invitations, and cheeky cats sleeping in trees, on the one hand; pollution, disregard for the law, and men who leer, on the other.
One minute I like it; the next minute Iām not so sure. Herein lies my dilemma. I want this newsletter to be sincere. I donāt want to present a sugar-coated version of reality like you see so often on social media. (Because I hate that, and you probably do, too.)
By the same token, I want to be careful not to focus too much on the negative aspects of living here. I feel a certain protectiveness toward Bangladesh, like I might toward a close friend or family member, an urge to downplay its shortcomings lest you get the wrong idea. I donāt want you to come away from reading this thinking that no one here cares about the law, for example, or that all the men are sexist.
So, how to talk about those leering men? The first thing to make clear is that there are plenty of kind, intelligent, and respectful Bangladeshi men out there. Iāve met some; theyāre interesting and nice. Itās also worth noting that objectification of women is a global problem. Women around the world, including those in my own country, continue to face sexual harassment and violence on a regular basis.
I suppose whatās so hard here is how blatant the leering is, and how normalized. In my 30 years abroad, Iāve never experienced anything like it. Iām used to being stared at because Iām a foreigner. As uncomfortable as that can be, I always knew that the staring came from a place of curiosity rather than malice. The way men look at women here feels more menacing, like they donāt see us as human beings but as objects for their consumption. Sadly, violence against women is a major problem in Bangladesh. We read about it every day in the news. To make matters worse, nearly 99% of cases go unreported. When women do speak up, they are blamed, stigmatized, and re-victimized.
The good news is that there are some incredibly strong and articulate Bangladeshi women speaking up about this issue. Just the other week, I heard an inspiring young woman give a talk about how she gave up a lucrative career in engineering to focus full-time on promoting womenās issues and combating antiquated attitudes toward women in Bangladeshi society. Women like this give me hope and remind me of the importance of speaking out against prejudice in all its ugly manifestations.
Reading
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (William Heinemann Limited, 1963 / Faber and Faber, 2013)
I have mixed feelings about this 1963 classic. The Bell Jar is a semi-autobiographical novel about a young poetās spiraling depression in the male-dominated society of 1950s America, which relegated women to either housewives or prostitutes. I couldnāt help but appreciate Plathās exposĆ© on the plight of women and their professional ambitions in the 1950s, not all of which have been remedied today. But I found the long passages on how to commit suicide disturbing, especially knowing that Plath took her own life less than a month after publication. Nevertheless, Plath was a gifted writer of both poetry and prose, and the novel explores important, existential questions about life and death.
I Have Some Questions For You: A Novel by Rebecca Makkai (Viking, 2023)
This monthās Dhaka Book Club pick was I Have Some Questions For You by Rebecca Makkai. I loved Makkaiās previous novel, The Great Believers, and enjoyed hearing her speak a few times this past year, both at the AWP Conference in Seattle in March and the Marthaās Vineyard Book Festival in August. I Have Some Questions For You is about a successful professor and podcaster who returns to her old boarding school to teach a class and ends up reigniting the murder case of her high school roommate, who was killed their senior year. A literary whodunnit with a āMe Tooā theme, I Have Some Questions For You is a searing indictment of all the ways American society lets women down. (We seem to have a theme going here.š¤) Makkai is a strong writer, whoās not afraid to experiment with unusual techniques (the entire novel is addressed to a character who is only present in flashbacks). I enjoyed the book but didnāt find it as compelling as The Great Believers.
What Makes You Think You're Supposed to Feel Better: Stories by Jody Hobbs Hesler (Cornerstone Press, 2023)
Iām excited to include my fellow Lesley MFA alum Jody Hobbs Heslerās debut short story collection, What Makes You Think You're Supposed to Feel Better, which just released THIS WEEK.š„³š„³š„³ Hereās the blurb I wrote (!) for the cover several months back: āAn unflinching inquiry into the psyche of small-town America, Jody Hobbs-Heslerās debut story collection,Ā What Makes You Think Youāre Supposed to Feel Better, lays bare the secret fears and yearnings we hold close to our chests, asking how well we can ever know those people closest to us, and how well we can ever know ourselves. Heslerās prose is sharp and precise, her characters fully formed, and her endings so delicately crafted, they leave you with a sense of having grasped something vital about the human condition.ā Go out and get yourself a copy. Sheās a fantastic writer, who has worked hard for this!
Thatās it for this month. Let me know your thoughts on this monthās edition. Iām always happy to hear from you!
Ā šLiz