Caroline Doherty de Novoa's Blog
November 21, 2013
My radio interview about life in Colombia and parallels with Ireland.
I was recently interviewed on Overseas Radio about life in Colombia, missing Ireland, and my novel Dancing with Statues.
If you'd like to listen to the interview you can download it from iTunes here:
https://itunes.apple.com/cr/podcast/c...
I come on after about ten minutes.
Caroline x
If you'd like to listen to the interview you can download it from iTunes here:
https://itunes.apple.com/cr/podcast/c...
I come on after about ten minutes.
Caroline x
March 25, 2013
How crawling to the summit of Kilimanjaro got my novel over the finish line – and why everyone should climb it.
In August 2011, I climbed Kilimanjaro. Whenever I say that I proudly add “the highest mountain in Africa”, just in case you didn’t know that little fact and, even if you did, because I like how it sounds.
After 10 hours of crawling up the side of the mountain during the night of our final ascent, I finally reached Uhuru Peak, the summit. And I didn’t know it then, but there, 5,895 meters above sea level, something inside of me changed.
To explain why, I need to back up a little – to the flight from Nairobi to Tanzania a week earlier. Our group consisted of my husband, Juan, and a couple of good friends, Marc and Dana – and throughout the flight we debated why we were doing this.
Dana and I were there for the experience, so we argued it didn’t matter if we reached the summit, we’d always have the memories of the journey – no matter how far we went. For the men, on the other hand, it was all about the destination. Even though the odds were not in their favor (only 40% of people make it to the summit), for them, anything less than the highest point would mean the whole thing was a waste of time. In their view, why start something you didn’t intend to finish?
Fast-forward five days to our arrival, after walking 8 hours in the dark, at Gillman’s Point. The edge of the crater, a respectable 5,681 meters above sea level. The point where you become entitled to a certificate saying: “I climbed Kilimanjaro”.
There was a sense of elation in our group that we’d made it to that point. And as I looked at the smiling faces around me, I burst into tears.
Now you may think it was the sense of achievement that got me all emotional. That’s what Juan thought as he hugged me. But that’s not why I was crying. I was crying because Gillman’s Point is not the finish line.
The finish line is a mere 210 meters higher up. It’s tantalizingly close. Squint and you can see it. But at that altitude it’s another two hours of walking. Another two hours in the freezing cold. Another two hours sucking in air that’s been stripped of oxygen. If I wanted to go all the way with this challenge, I knew that’s what lay ahead, and that prospect reduced me to tears.
I could’ve turned around at that point. Many people do. I could’ve turned around an hour later when we reached Stella Point at 5,685 meters. But I started thinking about our discussion on the plane. I began thinking about all the things I’d started in my life and never finished. I thought about the tango shoes that were gathering dust under my bed after six months of classes and the easel in the spare room, a relic from my misguided attempts at painting.
But the thing I thought most about was the novel in my Documents folder that I hadn’t looked at in months. I always knew I sucked at painting and dancing, but somewhere deep inside I believed in myself as a writer, and I hated myself for abandoning it. I hated myself for quitting.
So suddenly it was no longer just about the journey. Suddenly I became fixated with the destination. And so on I crawled, practically bent over my walking sticks, pausing every four steps, sick with exhaustion.
Finally, somehow, we all made it to Uhuru Peak, to the cracked wooden sign that meant so much to me. And it was there that I was transformed.
Of course I wasn’t thinking that at the time. I was thinking I should look around and take this in as I may never in my life return to this spectacular spot on the roof of Africa. In parallel, I was also thinking, I really need to go down as my head feels like it’s about to explode and I wish I had some Mars bars left.
So, after taking the victory photos, we started our descent. I practically ran down the mountain feeling the pain in my head lift with every step.
At camp, our celebratory breakfast awaited. At the table, Dana handed me a cup of coffee and said with a smile, “we did it!” And I promptly threw up into the cup.
I hadn’t slept in 24 hours, I hadn’t showered in five days, I’d just vomited in my coffee, and I couldn’t have been happier.
Things didn’t change straight away. When we got home I was still a lawyer working crazy hours, with little time for writing. But I stopped using that as an excuse for never finishing the book. It would be another eighteen months before Dancing with Statues was published. But unlike before Kilimanjaro, when completing and publishing the novel seemed like a pipe dream, afterwards I always knew I’d get there, one step and one word at a time.
So the moral of the story? When you climb Kilimanjaro, no matter how far you go, you start to see the world in a new way. And afterwards, what seemed impossible in your life beforehand, might just be achievable.
Caroline Doherty de Novoa
Dancing with Statues
After 10 hours of crawling up the side of the mountain during the night of our final ascent, I finally reached Uhuru Peak, the summit. And I didn’t know it then, but there, 5,895 meters above sea level, something inside of me changed.
To explain why, I need to back up a little – to the flight from Nairobi to Tanzania a week earlier. Our group consisted of my husband, Juan, and a couple of good friends, Marc and Dana – and throughout the flight we debated why we were doing this.
Dana and I were there for the experience, so we argued it didn’t matter if we reached the summit, we’d always have the memories of the journey – no matter how far we went. For the men, on the other hand, it was all about the destination. Even though the odds were not in their favor (only 40% of people make it to the summit), for them, anything less than the highest point would mean the whole thing was a waste of time. In their view, why start something you didn’t intend to finish?
Fast-forward five days to our arrival, after walking 8 hours in the dark, at Gillman’s Point. The edge of the crater, a respectable 5,681 meters above sea level. The point where you become entitled to a certificate saying: “I climbed Kilimanjaro”.
There was a sense of elation in our group that we’d made it to that point. And as I looked at the smiling faces around me, I burst into tears.
Now you may think it was the sense of achievement that got me all emotional. That’s what Juan thought as he hugged me. But that’s not why I was crying. I was crying because Gillman’s Point is not the finish line.
The finish line is a mere 210 meters higher up. It’s tantalizingly close. Squint and you can see it. But at that altitude it’s another two hours of walking. Another two hours in the freezing cold. Another two hours sucking in air that’s been stripped of oxygen. If I wanted to go all the way with this challenge, I knew that’s what lay ahead, and that prospect reduced me to tears.
I could’ve turned around at that point. Many people do. I could’ve turned around an hour later when we reached Stella Point at 5,685 meters. But I started thinking about our discussion on the plane. I began thinking about all the things I’d started in my life and never finished. I thought about the tango shoes that were gathering dust under my bed after six months of classes and the easel in the spare room, a relic from my misguided attempts at painting.
But the thing I thought most about was the novel in my Documents folder that I hadn’t looked at in months. I always knew I sucked at painting and dancing, but somewhere deep inside I believed in myself as a writer, and I hated myself for abandoning it. I hated myself for quitting.
So suddenly it was no longer just about the journey. Suddenly I became fixated with the destination. And so on I crawled, practically bent over my walking sticks, pausing every four steps, sick with exhaustion.
Finally, somehow, we all made it to Uhuru Peak, to the cracked wooden sign that meant so much to me. And it was there that I was transformed.
Of course I wasn’t thinking that at the time. I was thinking I should look around and take this in as I may never in my life return to this spectacular spot on the roof of Africa. In parallel, I was also thinking, I really need to go down as my head feels like it’s about to explode and I wish I had some Mars bars left.
So, after taking the victory photos, we started our descent. I practically ran down the mountain feeling the pain in my head lift with every step.
At camp, our celebratory breakfast awaited. At the table, Dana handed me a cup of coffee and said with a smile, “we did it!” And I promptly threw up into the cup.
I hadn’t slept in 24 hours, I hadn’t showered in five days, I’d just vomited in my coffee, and I couldn’t have been happier.
Things didn’t change straight away. When we got home I was still a lawyer working crazy hours, with little time for writing. But I stopped using that as an excuse for never finishing the book. It would be another eighteen months before Dancing with Statues was published. But unlike before Kilimanjaro, when completing and publishing the novel seemed like a pipe dream, afterwards I always knew I’d get there, one step and one word at a time.
So the moral of the story? When you climb Kilimanjaro, no matter how far you go, you start to see the world in a new way. And afterwards, what seemed impossible in your life beforehand, might just be achievable.
Caroline Doherty de Novoa
Dancing with Statues
March 18, 2013
Dancing with Statues: A few questions answered...
I’m thrilled so many people have already bought and read Dancing with Statues, so I wanted to share with you this Q&A that appears on the Papen Press website.
§
“Will our history always define us?” – Can you tell us why you chose this question for the back cover?
All of the main characters have had key moments in their personal history, such as the death of a parent or their relationship with their first love, that has shaped their personalities and their approach to life.
One of the key themes I wanted to explore in Dancing with Statues was the extent to which these rites of passage shape us. I was also interested in whether we can consciously change the trajectory of our lives, despite the path these events have set us on.
The backdrop to the story is post-conflict Northern Ireland, a place I love, although it’s still not without its problems. In a way, Laura’s struggle to come to terms with her traumatic past and carve out a new identity for herself mirrors the country’s struggle to move forward and leave it’s troubled history behind.
Why “Dancing with Statues”?
There were three reasons I thought this was an appropriate title.
First, as you can probably tell from the cover, there’s a pivotal moment in the book that involves Laura and Miguel dancing next to some huge sculptures. It’s one of the few unabashedly romantic moments in the book. The inspiration for those statues comes from some sculptures in my childhood home town of Strabane called “Let the Dance Begin” by the Northern Irish Artist Maurice Harron. They are very impressive and well worth a visit.
Secondly, statues in public places are often unflinching reminders of the past that form part of our everyday lives, we walk past them on our way to work etc and sometimes barely notice they are there. As we dance through our lives, they are these constants from the past that surround us.
Finally, Laura and Peter seem frozen in time, unable to move forward with their lives. They are also the statues of the title. And Miguel and Chrissie, with their passion for life, are the dancers.
You play with the tenses in the book, why is that?
The flashback scenes in the book describe those defining moments in the characters’ lives that I mentioned earlier. Even though those scenes represent the past, I chose to write them in the present tense to give them a sense of immediacy. I wanted to convey the sense that these moments are still raw, they reverberate through the characters’ lives for many years.
Tell us about the epigraph, “The only truth is music.”
Yes, it’s a Jack Kerouac quote. The main characters lie to each other, or tell each other half-truths throughout. But when I read the final draft, I realized that they often communicate with each other via music. Music bypasses your mind and goes straight to your emotions. So I was attracted to this idea of finding truth in music – hence the quote.
What novels and writers do you admire?
I think Donna Tartt’s “The Secret History” is a masterpiece in story-telling. I love how it’s a mystery in reverse starting with the murder scene and revealing the culprits on the very first page, and then working back so the mystery is not about who did it, but why they did it. Motivation is so much more interesting than the act itself.
Another favorite is Maggie O’ Farrel’s “The Hand That First Held Mine”. For a start it’s just so beautifully written, and the characters are so well drawn. But it’s also the storytelling that I adore – the way she uses half-truths and distorted memories to build the mystery. When the big reveal comes at the end, you realise that was the only possible explanation, but she’s still managed to keep you guessing. It takes a gifted storyteller to do that.
I also like Nick Hornby. His novels are fun, but my favourite book of his is the non-fiction “Fever Pitch” – after reading that I finally started to comprehend why my husband suffered so much week in and out watching Arsenal play.
There are many more I could mention, but I’ll finish with Anne Tyler. I’ve read so many of her books and just been blown away. “Breathing Lessons” and “Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant” are among my favourites. And as far as I’m concerned, “The Accidental Tourist” is the example of the perfect novel.
§Dancing with Statues
§
“Will our history always define us?” – Can you tell us why you chose this question for the back cover?
All of the main characters have had key moments in their personal history, such as the death of a parent or their relationship with their first love, that has shaped their personalities and their approach to life.
One of the key themes I wanted to explore in Dancing with Statues was the extent to which these rites of passage shape us. I was also interested in whether we can consciously change the trajectory of our lives, despite the path these events have set us on.
The backdrop to the story is post-conflict Northern Ireland, a place I love, although it’s still not without its problems. In a way, Laura’s struggle to come to terms with her traumatic past and carve out a new identity for herself mirrors the country’s struggle to move forward and leave it’s troubled history behind.
Why “Dancing with Statues”?
There were three reasons I thought this was an appropriate title.
First, as you can probably tell from the cover, there’s a pivotal moment in the book that involves Laura and Miguel dancing next to some huge sculptures. It’s one of the few unabashedly romantic moments in the book. The inspiration for those statues comes from some sculptures in my childhood home town of Strabane called “Let the Dance Begin” by the Northern Irish Artist Maurice Harron. They are very impressive and well worth a visit.
Secondly, statues in public places are often unflinching reminders of the past that form part of our everyday lives, we walk past them on our way to work etc and sometimes barely notice they are there. As we dance through our lives, they are these constants from the past that surround us.
Finally, Laura and Peter seem frozen in time, unable to move forward with their lives. They are also the statues of the title. And Miguel and Chrissie, with their passion for life, are the dancers.
You play with the tenses in the book, why is that?
The flashback scenes in the book describe those defining moments in the characters’ lives that I mentioned earlier. Even though those scenes represent the past, I chose to write them in the present tense to give them a sense of immediacy. I wanted to convey the sense that these moments are still raw, they reverberate through the characters’ lives for many years.
Tell us about the epigraph, “The only truth is music.”
Yes, it’s a Jack Kerouac quote. The main characters lie to each other, or tell each other half-truths throughout. But when I read the final draft, I realized that they often communicate with each other via music. Music bypasses your mind and goes straight to your emotions. So I was attracted to this idea of finding truth in music – hence the quote.
What novels and writers do you admire?
I think Donna Tartt’s “The Secret History” is a masterpiece in story-telling. I love how it’s a mystery in reverse starting with the murder scene and revealing the culprits on the very first page, and then working back so the mystery is not about who did it, but why they did it. Motivation is so much more interesting than the act itself.
Another favorite is Maggie O’ Farrel’s “The Hand That First Held Mine”. For a start it’s just so beautifully written, and the characters are so well drawn. But it’s also the storytelling that I adore – the way she uses half-truths and distorted memories to build the mystery. When the big reveal comes at the end, you realise that was the only possible explanation, but she’s still managed to keep you guessing. It takes a gifted storyteller to do that.
I also like Nick Hornby. His novels are fun, but my favourite book of his is the non-fiction “Fever Pitch” – after reading that I finally started to comprehend why my husband suffered so much week in and out watching Arsenal play.
There are many more I could mention, but I’ll finish with Anne Tyler. I’ve read so many of her books and just been blown away. “Breathing Lessons” and “Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant” are among my favourites. And as far as I’m concerned, “The Accidental Tourist” is the example of the perfect novel.
§Dancing with Statues
