David A. Ross
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"For me, traveling has always generated new ideas. I like questions much more than answers, and traveling always generates plenty of questions. Not to mention meeting new people, whose ideas are often different than mine. I much prefer people who think differently than me, as opposed to those with similar ideas. The truth is that I’m perfectly capable of self-reinforcement. I need others to move me away from my own narcissism."
American Novelist Calls Corfu Home
David A. Ross was born January 6, 1953 in Chicago, Illinois. In addition to his career as a novelist (Sacrifice and the Sweet Life, 2003, Escape Media; A Winter Garden, 2003, Escape Media; Stones, 2001, Escape Media; Xenos, 1998, Escape Media; The Trouble with Paradise; 1997, Escape Media), he is a former columnist and contributing editor for Southwest Art Magazine (1984-1985). His first novel, The Trouble with Paradise, was awarded third prize in the 1997 National Writer's Association Novel Competition. Presently, he lives on the Island of Corfu, Greece.
Author David A. Ross
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HHC: The most obvious question that comes to mind is: How does an American novelist end up living on Corfu?
DAR: How does anyone from another country end up living on Corfu? I first came to Corfu as a tourist in 1992. Actually, I arrived here by accident, or by a twist of fate. I’d been traveling all night long on a train from Bologna, Italy to Brindisi, meaning to take a ferry boat from there to Patras, then a bus to Athens, and finally to Paros Island in the Cyclades, but when I arrived in Brindisi I was dog tired, so I took a ferry bound for Corfu instead, to break up my journey and to rest a few days before moving onward. On Corfu, I discovered a few unexpected pleasures, and I ended up staying two weeks. The next summer I returned to Corfu, and the next, and the next. Finally, while living in the United States, I decided to save the plane fare I was spending each summer coming to Europe, and I chose Corfu as my new home―for me, as so many others, an obvious choice.
HHC: You’ve published four novels and one collection of short stories to date. Can you tell us a little about the focus of your work?
DAR: The true focus of my work is that there is no particular focus. By that statement I mean that I don’t set out to write in a particular genre, like mysteries, or thrillers, or romances. I truly love the novel as a literary form, and I particularly love what is termed the ‘literary novel.’ I suppose that designation refers to novels dealing with one aspect or another of the human condition―that is to say, the real conflicts and challenges that face us all as human beings in this century and every century. I embrace universal themes, and I create characters to expose my particular point of view concerning life’s most basic questions and concerns.
HHC: Which questions and concerns interest you most?
DAR: Personal freedom. Individualism.
HHC: Not love and death?
DAR: No. If one has love in his life, he is incredibly lucky. Death is inevitable, and there’s no way to know what it really means until…
HHC: Your novels Xenos and A Winter Garden are both set on Corfu. Aside from it being a great place to live, how did you come to select it as a setting for the two books?
DAR: Well, to clarify an issue here, both the novels to which you refer are really one story, the story of Doran Seeger, and American expatriate in search of redemption and personal integrity.
HHC: Sounds a bit autobiographical.
DAR: Every novel is autobiographical in one sense or another. But, to answer your question, I simply found a great story to tell here on Corfu.
HHC: A story that goes beyond the biographical aspect of the books…
DAR: Yes. During my very first visit to Corfu, I met an extraordinary man who showed me friendship and great kindness. During the course of several visits to the island, I learned a few details of his personal history. The character Modestos Thromos is largely based on him. Of course I made up a good many of the details of his life and situation. Concessions are always made when modeling a character after a real person.
HHC: And does your protagonist, Doran Seeger, eventually find a renewed sense of redemption and personal integrity?
DAR: Only after 700 pages. Which include a few adventures, as well as a few misadventures.
HHC: In fact, all your novels are set away from America. Any particular reason?
DAR: Well, that’s not exactly true. My newest book, which is not yet published, departs from my tradition of foreign settings. Nevertheless, it has been my preference to choose settings away from my native country. I suppose the predominant reason is that during my thirties and my forties I did quite a lot of traveling. Mostly throughout Europe and the South Pacific. For me, traveling has always generated new ideas. I like questions much more than answers, and traveling always generated plenty of questions in my mind. Not to mention meeting new people, whose ideas were often different than mine. I much prefer people who think differently than me, as opposed to those with similar ideas. The truth is that I’m perfectly capable of self-reinforcement. I need others to move my mind off my own narcissism.
HHC: Your books sell throughout the United States. What about other countries?
DAR: I know they are available in the UK from Amazon. They are also available in Canada. As for other countries, I simply don’t know. But I have personally encountered copies in places I would never have imagined.
HHC: In Sacrifice and the Sweet Life, which is mostly a collection of short stories, you have included several poems. Are you also a poet?
DAR: It would seem so.
HHC: Is poetry also a great passion for you?
DAR: No, it’s more of a pastime. I actually write very few poems. I write them on the spur of the moment, mostly for my own enjoyment. I’d actually like to write more poetry in the future.
HHC: Your novel, Stones, is about a young Parisian sculptor who is attempting to sculpt his so-called masterwork. The novel seems quite a bit darker, if you will, than your other books. Is there any particular reason the book turned out that way?
DAR: Now we’re into difficult territory. Why does one work take on a particularly different character than that of another? I doubt there is a writer alive who could honestly or accurately answer that question. The art, or craft, of writing a serious piece of fiction develops on many levels. Of course there is planning involved concerning structure and plot and characterization; however, there is a significant part of the process―the best part, I’m convinced―that is wholly subconscious. Remember, it takes a reader only a short time to read a novel―perhaps a few days, or a week―but it involves the author’s concentration and contemplation for a year or more. Each novel is a process. The ideas feed upon themselves during the writing. Often the best parts of the book turn out to be the parts I never planned or envisioned at its original conception. I really like the serendipity involved in the rather long process of writing a full-length novel. The act of discovery―and that’s exactly what it is really―feeds the creative process. That’s no less true during the writing than between projects.
Now, as for Stones, and its so-called ‘darker aspects’… Well, let’s just say that the novel was written during a rather tumultuous time in my life. We all have them, I suppose. Times when one’s situation changes… Or times when one’s values are called into question… These times are often difficult times, but I don’t shrink from them. They are a natural point of passage. To write about them in symbolic terms tends to elucidate the real life situation, I believe.
HHC: In Stones you seem to confront the possibility―or even the inevitability―of failure. Are you personally afraid of failure?
DAR: No. The failure I address in the novel is the failure of art itself. It is simply portrayed through one artist’s experience. The very idea of trying to create art, which is by definition a symbolic representation of our life situation, or of our feelings toward our situation, is an approximation at best. Art is an exercise of trying to capture that which is impossible to capture―like trying to freeze a moment in time, or holding a feeling inside a closed bottle. Art is an attempt that by nature must not fully succeed. The closer one gets, I think, to freezing that moment or holding that feeling, the better the art. In Stones, Cornelius attempts a sculpture that every learned sculptor might deem impossible. But isn’t that the true condition of each life? Aren’t we all attempting the impossible? If we could achieve perfection―in the creation of art or in any other endeavor―then we would not be mortal, we would be divine!
HHC: In contrast, your book The Trouble With Paradise is extremely whimsical. It is set on a remote atoll in the South Pacific, time has little if any meaning, and you even use talking animals. Care to comment on its rather opposite nature from Stones?
DAR: Different time, different place. I conceived of the book during a month long visit to Hawaii. For me, there is not a more physically beautiful place, and yet it is the most remote place on earth. Everything that exists in Hawaii (or at least this was once true) exists no place else. Therefore, I reasoned, no rules really applied there. What might be utterly impossible in, say, California, might also be the rule of thumb on Maui; hence, a parrot that talks philosophy, a siren who seems to be the reincarnation of Amelia Earhart, a fountain of youth, dragonflies that turn into 1930’s airplanes, a deceased American president that governs from the grave, and a rather absurd approach to the science of mechanics. I must confess that Trouble is one of my favorite books. And it is my best selling book, too!
HHC: What are your goals for the future concerning your writing?
DAR: They are quite simple, really: to make it through my next project and show some measure of growth in skill and insight, and to continue publishing.
HHC: So we can assume that money is not a motivation?
DAR: Hardly so. Only writers whose publishers invest huge sums in promotion actually make a living from their books. I’m not one of those writers.
HHC: And how do you see the future of the novel as a literary form?
DAR: Unfortunately, it’s fighting for its life. The novel, as a literary form, is not really that old―only a couple of hundred years―but it is already showing its age. There are many reasons for its decline. Commercialism is one of the biggest reasons. Other media, too, are taking a toll. Humans will always need stories, or myths. They are the true foundation of culture―not money, or science and technology. Whether we convey those myths through novels or by some other means remains to be seen. The novel offers the opportunity for deeper insight than many other forms of storytelling, so I hope it survives. Presently, it’s gasping for breath, I believe. I truly hope that there is something in the future to resuscitate it. We need good novels.
HHC: How do you hope to be remembered when you’re gone?
DAR: As a good man, nothing more. Or, perhaps, not at all. As for my work, that is for readers to decide, and the worth of a writer’s work is seldom understood in his lifetime. That’s fine with me. I write and publish. Others must assess.
HHC: Thank you, David. And good luck!
DAR: Thank you.
