Home » Authors Interviewing Characters: Marina Antropow Cramer

Authors Interviewing Characters: Marina Antropow Cramer

May 8, 2023 | By Women Writers Women Books | Reply More

ABOUT THE BOOK

MARFA’S RIVER

Marfa, a Ukrainian woman living in Brussels in the 1950s, is haunted by the catastrophic death of her child ten years before, at the end of World War II. Torn from her home in her teens, she struggles with dark memories and profound loneliness, exacerbated by her introspective nature. Her story unfolds in alternating narrative and reflective chapters. Steeped in guilt, sadness, and grief, she begins to open, through the fulfilling qualities of work and the ordinary kindness of others, to friendship, hope of redemption, and the possibility of love.

Character Interview

I board the train while they are all still on the platform, the better to observe the final scene. Is that relief I read in Odette’s face, now that Marfa is on her way to keep the promise she herself cannot fulfill? And Meti, awkward, unhappy at Odette’s intrusion into the moment that should be private and intimate. The farewell, on a train platform that has witnessed an endless progression of partings, is strained: Marfa not without tenderness but also characteristically detached. I watch her run to board the wagon behind mine, her expression unreadable.

I am not looking for her on the train. I intend to settle in with my notebook and review what I have written. Is the scene satisfactory? Is it true? Does it weave the threads of the story together and also leave room for growth?

The train leaves Brussels, heading south to Charleroi. I try to imagine what waits for Marfa there. How will her life change? Will she change? Will she come back?

It proves impossible to work, or even to think. I rise and leave the car in search of a quiet spot away from the escalating marital argument brewing a few seats away. The car in front of mine is full of schoolchildren on a class outing. I turn and move toward the back of the train, and find myself face-to-face with Marfa.

The spark of recognition in her eyes is unmistakable. Do characters know their authors? The car is quiet. The seat facing hers is vacant.

MAC: May I sit here?

MARFA: (with a noncommittal wave of the hand) If you like.

Her suitcase is on the overhead luggage rack, the hat box and satchel on the empty seat next to her.

MAC: How far is it to Charleroi?

M: One hour and twenty-five minutes. Don’t you know?

MAC: I don’t know everything you know. Writing is discovery, full of surprises.

M: Then you don’t know what happens next.

MAC: There’s more than one path to the future. We choose, or get pushed by circumstances. Things develop. Obstacles appear. As in life.

(She raises a hand to fix a stray curl along her cheek. Her fingers find the hat feather, stroke it. Her expression is absent, thoughtful.)

MAC: Talk to me about the hat. What does it mean to you?

M: (Laughs.) It’s frivolous and also strangely essential. It makes me whole. Or no, that’s not possible. (She hesitates.) It adds a piece I didn’t know was missing. Like one of those paths you mentioned – it reveals a new direction, maybe one that was always there, concealed by doubts.

MAC: Like seeing a different version of yourself in a dress shop mirror?

M: (Pensive. She unpins the hat and lays it carefully into the hatbox.) Um. But now that I own it there’s no way back, is there. I can take it off, but I know it’s there, in the box. Waiting.

MAC: Why did you take it off?

M: Now? Because I don’t know Odette’s people. If I show up adorned like this, they may think I’m flighty, irresponsible. Vain. They need to trust me if I’m to help them. (She looks down at her hands.) Talking about it with you makes me self-conscious. Why did you put it in the story?

MAC: You’re so introspective. I needed something external, a concrete metaphor that suggests the possibility of a more positive outlook for you. Of hope.

M: Hope.

MAC: Yes. (Pause.) Tell me how you feel. This task you’re taking on, going to care for sick old strangers, does it sit right with you? How does this sacrifice relate to your own troubles, your painful memories?

M: I don’t know if it does. As if a mere train ride could ever erase my guilt. It’s a way to be useful. Do you believe the universe seeks balance? That by doing this I can atone for not being there to care for Auntie Safronia?

MAC: I’m the author. My job is to interpret you, the character, from all angles. It doesn’t matter what I believe.

M: (She is silent for many minutes.) You said sacrifice. Whose sacrifice?

MAC: Yours, and Meti’s. Did you not see his agitation? All at loose ends, not knowing what to say or do.

M: I saw.

MAC: Why did you eat the dirty orange at the Mardi Gras parade?

M: It was only a little dirty. I wanted my own, even if it was bruised. (Her eyes flash defiance.) I may be damaged, but I’m not fragile. I don’t need Meti’s protection.

MAC: What do you need?

M: Peace.

MAC: You left an opening for him when you refused to take the shawl. Hope. Again. You said, Bring it when you come. Do you think he understood?

M: Is it my fault if he doesn’t? Yes, I suppose it is; there’s so much he doesn’t know. (She lays a hand on the hatbox.) Will I ever tell him what happened? Must I live in the past forever?

MAC: Do you love Meti?

M: (She fingers the moon and stars pendant around her neck.) He is kind.

MAC: So you said. Do you love him, Marfa?

(Marfa shifts her gaze to the window. The passing landscape has changed from factories to dairy farms and cottages, from city scenes to wheat fields and country roads.)

BUY HERE

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About the author:

Marina Antropow Cramer is the child of post-WWII Russian refugees from the Soviet Union. Her work has appeared in Blackbird, Istanbul Literary Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, Bloom Literary Magazine, and the other side of hope literary journal. She has read her work at the Hobart Festival of Women Writers (2022), where she served as a workshop instructor. She is the author of the novels Roads (ChicagoReview Press), and Anna Eva Mimi Adam (RunAmok Books). She lives in New York’s Hudson Valley.