1. What inspired you to write The Luster of Lost Things?
In 2014, while camping on a volcano in Maui, I came across a “Lost” flyer for a camera that contained meaningful family photos. I began wondering whether that camera, with its silicon memory of lost moments, had been returned to its owner. I wondered who responded to flyers like that one. What if there were people out there who made it their mission to look for what others had lost? Why were they doing it? Was there something else people were looking for when they looked for a missing camera? That was when I had my first inkling of who Walter might be.
Aside from that, I knew I wanted my first book to be a celebration of childhood. My memories from then are some of my most vivid: humid summers that went on for ages, imaginary adventures in sandbox castles, PB&Js cut into triangles, bedtime stories that took me to magical places. Those days are lost now, but sometimes, when we start to feel suffocated by darkness, we could use a return to that time when the world was still bright and miraculous, and we could so clearly see the goodness that lived around us and in us.
Walter reminds us to see beyond the surface – the “skin of the world,” as he calls it. The tale he tells is simple and uplifting, and at the same time layered with observations on what it means to live and be human. As you’re experiencing his journey, I hope you’re also savoring the search for the layers underneath, both inside and outside the pages; I hope that what you find will fill you with wonder.
2. The title of the book is very beautiful. How did you come up with it? What does it represent to you?
In one sense, the title refers to Walter’s ability to perceive the light emitted by lost things. It also refers to the idea that there is value in being lost—in the quest to find—although we tend to think of losing as a bad thing, and of good things eventually losing their luster.
3. Do you have a dog? Is Milton based on a real golden retriever?
My family had a golden retriever named Thor, after the Norse god of thunder and lightning. (As it turned out, he was terrified of storms.) Like Milton, he was constantly tripping us, whipping us with his tail, and snapping up unsavory things. But at the right moments, he would adopt this look of Zen-like calm and wisdom, like a huggable Buddha. When I practiced the piano, he’d seize on the passionate parts, howling along with the crashing chords. Some dog!
4. What was it like to write Walter’s voice? Was it difficult to see the world through his eyes? Is his disorder based on a real disorder?
Walter’s voice came pretty naturally. You could say that he found me, while I had to find his disorder in the course of my research; I spoke with parents, speech pathologists, professors, and doctors, who kindly shared with me their knowledge, experiences, hopes, and concerns. Walter’s condition is based on a type of motor speech disorder called childhood apraxia of speech, although the particulars of his case would be unusual. Childhood apraxia of speech is often misdiagnosed as autism, cerebral palsy, ADD or ADHD, an intellectual disability, or a developmental language disorder, among others. It’s actually a separate diagnosis—a neurological disorder where the brain has trouble coordinating the muscle movements required to produce the intended speech. The mind is a vast, complex and largely mysterious landscape, and in the case of apraxia, some wires have gotten crossed or short-circuited and signals sent by the brain aren’t getting through properly to, say, the lips or the tongue or the face.
5. The novel celebrates the many different kinds of people who live in New York City. Why did you decide to set the story in Manhattan? What draws you to this city?
I moved to New York City at a formative time in life, right after college, and I tend to write about places I understand and connect with on an instinctual level. I haven’t been to any other place where it’s quite so obvious how different people can be, and how similar, too. You’re reminded every day, in the curious combinations of smells and the unfiltered emotions spilling out onto the sidewalk. And you just might discover The Lavenders around the next corner. In my mind, the West Village especially takes on a shade of happy wonder, because that’s where my now husband lived—on a certain street named Carmine—when we first met.
6. Do you have a favorite character in the novel, besides Walter?
Lucy. Without her, there wouldn’t be an enchanted dessert shop to write about! This is Walter’s story, but what we know of Lucy’s speaks, I think, straight to the heart.
7. The Lavenders is an unforgettable place. Why did you decide to set the novel in a bakery? Do you have a favorite bakery? Is The Lavenders based on a real bakery?
Mostly because I like eating and watching shows about food; I figured I would also like writing about food. The novel is about connecting and belonging, and food is something we associate with coming together, or with being transported home, wherever and whenever that might be.
I like discovering new places and trying different desserts, so The Lavenders is an amalgamation of various shops: the whimsical tiles from a chocolate shop in California, the classic brass finishes from a patisserie in France, the sugary sense of brightness from a bakery in downtown Manhattan, the dash of hominess from a Bäckerei in Germany, and any kind of edible treat you could imagine from everywhere—and there you are.
8. Walter has an amazing ability to find missing things. Have you ever lost something that Walter could have helped with? Why did you decide to write about lost items?
When I was eight or so, my mom gave me my first real piece of jewelry, a silver ring with a ruby flower, after my rather insistent pleading that I could be trusted—I promise!—to take care of it. She bought the ring in the morning; I lost it that afternoon. I was upset enough about breaking my promise that I still remember that lost ring today, although what my mom remembers instead is how happy I was when she gave it to me.
The idea of searching intrigues me. That feeling of incompleteness, of looking for something that we believe will make us whole, preserve our idea of self, bring us peace or joy or purpose or whatever it is, strikes me as poignant and vital to who we are and the lives we lead.
9. What do you do when you’re not writing?
I read. I travel. I dwell on things. Sometimes, when there’s a piano nearby, I play it.
10. What’s next for you?
I’m working on a second novel, and that’s about all I’ll say. Since I usually figure out things as I go, I have trouble talking about what I’m writing until it’s been written.
