Today Flashlight Commentary is pleased to welcome author Rayne Golay to discuss her latest release, The Wooden Chair.

Welcome to Flashlight Commentary, Rayne. To start things off, please tell us a bit about The Wooden Chair.
Thank you, Erin, for having me. It’s difficult to summarize THE WOODEN CHAIR in a few words, but I’ll try. The story opens Helsinki in 1942 against the backdrop of the Finno-Russian war. This is Leini’s story:

As a child, Leini stands ready to do anything to win her mother Mira’s love. This includes undergoing a risky surgery to straighten a lazy eye. If the eye is straightened, Leini will be beautiful and deserving of Mother’s love. Post-surgery, something goes terribly wrong—Leini loses sight in one eye.

Leini suffers bullying from kids her own age because of her wayward eye.

In her late teens, Leini struggles to break free of the emotional and psychological abuse Mira heaps on her. Leini leaves her doting father, loving grand-parents, and native Helsinki to study psychology at the Geneva University. In her early twenties, she meets Bill, a wonderful man. Inexperienced and innocent, she falls in love with all the fervor of somebody who’s never loved before. Ten years her senior, intuitively sensing Leini’s fragility, Bill is very protective of her. When he fails to phone her as promised, Leini rushes to conclude she cannot trust him. How could she? Her own mother, the person she has every right to expect to be able to trust, betrays her in a thousand and one ways. Leini reacts to Bill’s perceived betrayal in the only way she know, the one learned at her mother’s knee; she gets drunk. Leini’s dear no-nonsense friend Vickie helps them mend the right Together Leini and Bill go to Helsinki, where they are married.

Bill’s unconditional love and total acceptance of her sustains Leini. It gives her the strength to break the chain of abuse. Herself about to become a mother, she’s determined she will not repeat Mira’s behavior with her own children. With the help of a psychiatrist, she revisits the harrowing experiences of Mira’s maltreatment. She becomes a successful professional, a nurturing and loving mother and wife. Leini’s triumph over her past is complete when she grows from victim to victor over the trauma resulting from Mira’s emotional and psychological abuse.

Who or what inspired you to write this story? What made you feel this story needed to be told?
As a psychotherapist I worked with rape, incest and child abuse victims. Long after our professional work was over, their stories lived on with me, their unimaginable suffering haunted me. From what these people told me, I knew there were at least four persons in their lives who knew about the abuse and neglect, but didn’t say anything.

Leini prompted me to tell about her. She isn’t by far the worst of the cases I came across as a therapist, but the juxtaposition of her abusive mother with her very loving and caring father, paternal grandparents and uncle, is as commonplace as it is compelling. Leini’s doting family members are the silent witnesses. In fact, “Silent Witnesses” was the title I toyed with, but when Leini climbs on Mother’s lap to cuddle, she reflects that Mother’s lap is as hard and unwelcoming as the wooden chair in their kitchen. So there was the title, right there, in Mother’s lap.
The silent witnesses observe the abuse. Although they know the goings-on, they refrain from confronting Mira, lest by doing so they would leave Leini more exposed to Mira’s cruelty.

As a practicing alcoholic and anorexic, Mira is powerless to change her behavior. She’s as much a victim of her disease as Leini is of Mira’s maltreatment.

What research went into writing The Wooden Chair?
I didn’t need to spend too much time researching. I checked some facts about The Soviet Union’s invasion of Finland in 1939, which led to USSR being expulsed from what was then The League of Nations, now the United Nations. Fortunately, I have saved notes from my clinical work with abuse victims. They were great to fall back on to refresh my memory.

As I wrote THE WOODEN CHAIR, I hadn’t lived in Finland for many years, so I traveled to Helsinki to refresh my memory. It came as a bit of a surprise and shock that things were no longer the way I remembered them. I had to rely on old photos for local color, and my own recollections. I spent some time interviewing family members about the evacuation from the USSR bombardments of Helsinki to the north. Nobody in my family was very forthcoming to share memories from the war. Those who lived through the war years in Europe don’t want to remember the dark past.

THE WOODEN CHAIR is, of course, fiction based on a few actual events. To a great extent I’ve used my imagination and creativity to paint the pictures of Leini’s life.

Your book deals with some heavily emotional subject matter. Were you at all intimidated by weight of your material?
Yes and no. The material as such was the use of my clinical notes. As a therapist, I’d been trained to remain emotionally distant, to avoid identification with the sufferer. That part was easy.

And then Leini became a person. She became a part of me. For the time it took to write THE WOODEN CHAIR, I lived my life through Leini or Leini through me, I’m not sure which. Leini spoke to me, directed me, was by my side, a constant in my life. There were episodes in her life that were emotionally excruciating. When Mira takes away Leini’s key to the only home she’s ever known, I cried with her. When Leini’s daughter Hannele was born, I rejoiced with her, proud of her, proud to know her.

Yes, writing THE WOODEN CHAIR was difficult. It was also wonderful.

How have you enjoyed the response you've received for the book thus far?
Rayne: Any writer who receives 5-star reviews is delighted, and so am I. Soon after THE WOODEN CHAIR was published, I received a letter from Stockholm from a gentleman to thank me for having written such a beautiful story. I hadn’t expected men to read and like THE WOODEN CHAIR. So far, all reviews and comments have been very positive, which is great.

What is your favorite scene in the novel?
Oh, Erin, this is like asking which of my children I prefer
In fact, there are two scenes I like very much. The first is in the very beginning of the story, in the first chapter. The second is in Leini’s hospital room with Mira after Hannele is born. Instead of doing a poor job of summarizing these two scenes, I’ll put them up here.

Chapter 1
Helsinki, May 1942
The policewoman stood on the corner of the crowded marketplace, staring at a little girl with long legs and curly toffee blond hair. The child sang a popular German refrain with high-pitched fervor. “Wie einst, Lili Marlene, wie einst, Lili Marlene.” (My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marlene).Suppressing a smile, the policewoman observed the little girl standing with feet slightly apart, hand outstretched to receive what coins the shoppers could afford. An orange cardigan accentuated her long neck and the high cheekbones of her pale face. She kept adjusting black-rimmed glasses that slipped down her nose.
This was a mere child, at the most five years old. Is there no adult accompanying her? The policewoman studied the crowd.
The officer approached the little singer. “Are you here alone?”
A shy smile came and went on the child’s face. Her eyes, dark like bitter chocolate, were wary behind thick glasses that detracted from her prettiness. She nodded, causing her glasses to slide again.
“Where’s your mother?”
She waved in the general direction of the street. “My Mamma’s there.”
The policewoman creased her brow. “Why aren’t you with your mother?”
“Mamma doesn’t want me to be with her.”
That’s odd. “How old are you?”
“I’m … this old” She held up four fingers.
“You’re four years old?”
“Uh-huh. Almost five.”
“Why are you singing in the street? Does your Mamma know you’re begging?”
The girl shook her head vigorously, shoulder length curls dancing. “I don’t beg.” She stamped her foot. “My Mamma says it’s bad to beg. I’m not bad. I sing so I get money to take the yellow tram home.”
She speaks Finnish with a slight accent, the vowels not so open. Her mother tongue is probably Swedish. She looked into the girl’s palm. It contained two one-penny copper coins. Poor kid, she’s not going far on so little money.
“Where do you live, little girl?”
“There.” Again she waived a tiny hand toward the city center. “At the end of the yellow tram line.”
“Can you show me where you live if I take you?”
The child raised her shoulders and made a movement with her head, which might have been “yes” or “no.”
“What’s your name?”
“Mamma says not to tell strangers.”
“Your Mamma is right.” She tugged at the lapel of her uniform jacket. “I’m a policewoman, so you can tell me.”
“I’m Leini.”
“Leini? That’s a pretty name.” The policewoman looked around at the small group of people drawn close by the interaction. “What’s your family name…? Your second name?” she added, in case Leini didn’t understand “family name.”
The girl looked at her from under her brow, mistrust in those dark eyes. She shook her head while she played with a strand of hair, twirling it between forefinger and middle finger.
The policewoman smiled. “My name is Tuula Heinonen.” Perhaps this will help. “Now you know mine.” She cocked her head to the side. “Please tell me yours.”
A fleeting smile crossed the child’s lips, and she held out her hand to shake. “I’m Leini Ruth Bauman.”
Tuula took the slim hand and held it in her own. She looked into the crowd, hoping to spot the mother.
“I have an idea,” Tuula said, pointing at a phone booth across the market square. “Let’s have a look in the phone book to see if I can find your address, so I can take you home.”
Leini gazed at her with eyes too serious for a small child. Making up her mind, she stuck her hand in Tuula’s. “Let’s.”
Adjusting her pace to Leini’s, Tuula pushed through the throng of people. Her ears caught snippets of conversations from the cacophony of Swedish, Finnish and the occasional word in Russian, mingled in with an organ grinder’s tune. She glanced at the crowd, mainly women and children, here and there an elderly man or a very young boy among them. Every able-bodied man was now defending Finland against the Russian army.
Holding the door for Leini, Tuula followed her inside the booth. “Here’s the book.” She glanced at the girl’s upturned face. “Now, let’s see. Bal, Bar, Bas. Ah, here.” She kept talking to reassure Leini. “Hmm. There are several Baumans.” Tuula caressed Leini’s head, the hair silky under her hand. “What’s your father’s name?”
“Papi.”
Tuula laughed low in her throat. Have to try something else. “Well, there’s no ‘Papi’ listed. Does he have another name?”
“No, just Papi.”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“Mamma Mira.”
“Good girl.” She ran her finger down the column of Baumans …. Herman, Markus, Oskar, Pertti. “There! I found it—Robert and Mira.” She gazed at Leini. “Does it sound right?”
“Uh-huh, Papi Robert and Mamma Mira.”

My heart goes out to this little girl alone on the vast market place with Russian bombardment imminent, doesn’t know how to find her way home.

This is the second scene:

Leini had finished nursing Hannele when Mira came to visit, a whiff of cloying perfume accompanying her. Handing Leini a bouquet of long stemmed roses, she gave her a peck, which landed on the pillow.
“Congratulations.” Without a glance at the bassinet, she dropped her handbag on the foot of the bed and sat. “You look fine. Not like me when you were born. After the ordeal you put me through I was half-dead.” Pivoting on the chair, she scanned the room. “So many flowers! Who sent them?”
“They’re from Bill’s and my colleagues and our friends.” To her surprise and delight, even Dr. Morgenthaler had sent an arrangement of spring flowers.
“Bill says the baby is wonderful.”
Trying in vain to catch her eye, Leini smiled. “So she is, but we may be biased.” Pointing at the bassinet. “Look for yourself.”
Mira nodded, rose and leaned over the baby. With her back turned, Leini couldn’t see her expression, wondering why she watched for so long, why she didn’t say anything. After several minutes Mira turned, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Moved by Mira’s display of emotion, Leini held a hand to her.
“She’s precious, isn’t she? Your first grandchild.”
Without taking Leini’s hand, Mira returned to the chair. She blew her nose, eyes downcast.
“Yes, she’s a dear. Don’t worry too much about her hawk-like nose. If she won’t outgrow it, which she probably won’t, she can have plastic surgery when she’s older.”
Speechless, Leini caught her breath. She stared at Mira, who fixed on a point above Leini’s head.
“What nose? There’s nothing wrong with her nose. You’re imagining things.”
Mira breast heaved from a sigh. “I know mothers are blind to their children’s faults. Your daughter’s pretty. The nose is a detail that can be fixed.”
Pulling on her dressing gown, Leini left the bed. With a couple of strides she was by Hannele’s side. Taking the baby in her arms, she turned her so the light from the window fell on her face. Staring at the tiny features, she couldn’t see anything wrong. Hannele’s small nose was straight with tiny nostrils. Leini thought it was a pretty nose.
She fixed Mira with a stare. “Show me where you see anything wrong.” Her voice was shrill, her legs wobbly.
Mira bent closer and peered at Hannele. “Oh,” she said. “It must have been the light. A shadow or something.”
Leini returned to bed, lying on the covers. Afraid to let her go, she kept Hannele in the crook of her arm. She was still trembling from the fright Mira caused. Won’t she ever let up?
“Let’s not talk about it. Just so you remember, Mira, our daughter is perfect.”
Mira shifted on the chair. “Have you decided on a name yet?”
“Sure. When we knew I was pregnant we decided to call her Hannele. We both like the name.”
Mira kept staring past Leini’s head. “After all, she is your child. Of course you give her the name you want. I’m disappointed you didn’t ask my opinion, though.”
Dizzy from disbelief, Leini shook her head. “As you say, she’s our child. We name her. I haven’t consulted with Papi either. The idea didn’t cross my mind.”
Mira’s mouth kept working as if masticating on something unsavory, the corners pulled down. “That’s the problem with you. You never think. I hoped you would name your first daughter after my mother, Rebecca.”
I can’t believe I’m hearing this! “You’re being unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable? Me? After everything I’ve done for you!” Mira’s raucous voice was cut off by a fit of coughing. “My mother, may she rest in peace, was an angel. I’d think it would be an honor to name your child after her.”
“I’m sure your mother was a fine woman. But she died when I was a small child. I don’t even remember her.”
“Well, maybe you’d consider calling her Rebecca as a second name. Hannele Rebecca. Doesn’t it sound nice?”
“Mira, Bill and I agreed to call her Hannele and Yvette after his mother.”
“Bill’s mother? What about my mother?”
Leini closed her eyes for an instant, nails digging into her palms in her effort to stay calm.
“Let me spell it out. Bill is Hannele’s father. His mother, had she lived, would be Hannele’s grandmother. Our daughter will be named Hannele Yvette.” Her gaze bore into Mira’s. “That’s final!”
Mira leaned closer to Leini, her face white, eyes staring, but not at Leini.
“How can you?” She spat the words. “I’ve tried to do everything in my power for you. Is this the way to treat a mother? I only ask—” Her voice rose until she was almost shouting.
Hannele started crying. Glancing at Mira, Leini spoke in a low, distinct voice. “Don’t raise your voice, Mira. This is a hospital. I’d rather you left. Hannele’s agitated. I’m upset and… Please leave.”
I’m not going to cry, not cry, not cry …
Snatching her handbag off the bed, without another word, Mira marched to the door and slammed it shut behind her.

I want to stand up and cheer for Leini. Now herself a mother, protective of her child, she finally finds the courage to stand up to Mira. I’m proud of her.

What scene posed the greatest challenges for you as an author?
Shortly after Leini returns with her grandfather from Vienna where she undergoes cosmetic surgery, Grandpa passes away. Leini’s grief after his passing was a challenge. To write a scene like this, it’s important to strike the right balance between what moves the reader and what can easily become a cheap trick to a tearjerker.

If you could sit down and talk with one of your characters, who would you choose and why?
When I finished writing THE WOODEN CHAIR, I had a period of mourning. I missed these persons who became an intimate part of my life, but with the book done I had to let go of them. I also had to allow myself a time of mourning because I missed them all. It was hard to detach myself from them, particularly Leini, of course.

The character with whom I would like to talk is without a doubt Grandma Britta. To Leini, she is the mother she doesn’t have. Grandma Britta is so warm, so feminine. I would like so ask her to tell me about Papi, what he was like before he met Mira. I would like to know what made her so wise and strong?.

What do you hope readers come away with after reading your work?
THE WOODEN CHAIR isn’t about a message to the world. I hope the readers learn that no matter how difficult the situation is, there is always a solution. Suffering and misery are optional. Anybody with the willingness to change their trajectory can do so at any time. Anybody can turn his or her life around when they are brought to the realization that they alone have to do it, but that they cannot do it alone. When they reach this point, there are lots of help resources.

I hope that Leini serves as an example of a downtrodden, visually handicapped little girl who as she grows up, becomes determined to be a different person from Mira. To do so, she learns to help herself by asking for help. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

Finally, what is next for you? Any new projects waiting in the wings?
Together with my critique partner, I’m editing my third novel, The Surviving Sister. It’s about a woman suffering from anxiety disorder with panic attacks. I’m excited about this story, but I’d rather not say more. It’s in the future, THE WOODEN CHAIR is now.

To learn more about Rayne E. Golay and her work, please visit her website, www.raynegolay.com

The Wooden Chair is available on Amazon and at Untreed Reads Publishing.