The Language of Wine, a guest post by Sage Behan

Posted on July 29, 2016 by Ed Battistella
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Sage Behan is a 2016 graduate of SOU with a degree in English and Creative Writing.

Fran Lebowitz, an author and social critic, once said, “great people talk about ideas, average people talk about things, and small people talk about wine.” While I’d rather not address the implications of her quote on this paper, Ms. Leibowitz has perfectly captured the over all sentiment of wine drinkers–specifically novice wine drinkers–towards the culture of wine, especially in America, where people simultaneously ridicule the snobby, elitist class of wine-consumers and also toss around the phrase “wine mom” and make jokes like “they say a glass of wine a day is good for you…the bottle is glass, right?” while picking up a box of Verdange at their local 7/11. For the average person–specifically, the average American–the world of wine is a world of exclusion, made so mostly by the language used by so-called “experts”. In fact, many novices feel that because they “cannot speak about its taste in a professional manner, [they] usually consider themselves as ‘not knowing anything about wine’” (Brochet & Dubourdieu 187). However, “wine language” is not some sacred, special patois that has been used across generations and around the world. Rather, the current way people talk about wine is a fairly recent phenomenon, and it may not be as exclusive as it first appears. Instead, it appears that “wine language” is just a tool for experiencing wine in a different way, and not actually necessary for appreciation of it.

Wine Vocabulary

Currently, the vocabulary of wine is as rich and full as any other jargon or parlance, with different groups of words for describing the over all taste of the wine, as well as various other traits, such as the volume, mouthfeel, weight, length, temperature, the region the wine originated from, the way it was made, the length of time it has aged or oxygenated, and so on. The most critical parts of the wine glossary are taste and smell descriptors, for which there seem to be a never-ending collection of ever-more creative terms including normal, useful words and phrases like “tannic”, “fruity” and “acidic”, as well as bizarre descriptors such as “dumb”, “crunchy”, “forthcoming”, and “foxy”. For the most part, however, the words used to describe the taste of wine can sufficiently describe a taste in a way that is not so bizarre it leaves drinkers wondering how in the world someone knew what foxes taste like. Many descriptors are also reflections of each other, in either a positive or negative way: “‘crisp’ is hedonic positive and is used instead of ‘acidic,’ even though the meanings of these words are very similar” (Brochet & Dubourdieu 193).

Adrienne Lehrer, author of Wine and Conversation asserts, “although we talk about the taste of wine, in fact what we perceive is a fusion of taste, smell, and texture” (Lehrer 6). As a result, many of the words used to describe wine do not fall under “flavor” type words (which tend to be types of foods, rather than tastes such as sweet or sour), but abstract ideas. Wine may be subtle, elegant, silky, or have a bite or a short finish.

While there exist a countless amount of words to describe wine, there are only a handful that tend to get tossed around most often, and of those, the words tend to get re-used between similar wines. Brochet and Dubourdieu explain, “when the taster speaks of a specific wine describing flavors, he or she mainly uses a series of words he or she has used previously for this category of wine and is not describing the specific wine” (Brochet & Dubourdieu 192). On top of that, many wine words fall under the same umbrella categories, according to Adrienne Lehrer, who writes “[wine vocabulary] is not just a list but rather a set of expressions that can be analyzed in terms of several dimensions. Many dimensions are interrelated, such as balance with acidity and sweetness” (Lehrer 18). While this means the descriptions of wines are less unique to the wine, it may, in fact, be a good thing: “if specific wines were described independently there would be many more word groups…” (Brochet & Dubourdieu 192). Instead, the vocabulary of wine is one of organization and specificity, and created to make the experience of wine drinking a little more inclusive.

Language Use

For the most part, the advent of a language specifically for wine is useful between wine experts, but also to bridge the gap between wine producers and the average consumer: “winemakers, professional critics, enologists, and amateurs have built a…vocabulary that they use to describe sensory properties of wine [which they use to] exchange sensory data among themselves and to analyze their information for other uses” (Brochet & Dubourdieu 187). Although there is a common misconception that the way experts talk about wine exists to make wine more inaccessible to the general public–especially in older variations of wine language, which involved referencing previous vintages a la “the 1978 Cheval Blanc is most like the ’72, though it has some characteristics of the ’68” (Gray) which don’t actually describe the wine at all–the fact is that “tasting notes also often accompany advertising documents or price lists… [and] are destined for the general public and should have a sense of the professional meaning of the wine vocabulary which should help individuals to appreciate the quality and the sensory values of a given wine” (Brochet & Dubourdieu 187). And while there may be some level of superiority in groups of wine experts, “experience has been shown to influence the use of wine tasting language which in turn affects the communicative value of the description” (Gawel 269). Because of this, it seems that as long as it’s done well, the language used to describe wines–especially with taste words that the average wine-drinker can identify, such as blackberry and chocolate–is meant to make the world of wine easier to navigate.

International Wine Linguistics

Despite the fact that wine vocabulary is extensive and intricate, the way wine is described–and thus, the taste of wine–is not necessarily an international experience. In old-world wine countries, wine is not described by taste or feeling of the wine, but by region or the experience of drinking the wine. While consuming a glass in France, “…the French drinker is thinking about the regions of Burgundy or Bordeaux” (Gray). One the other hand, French wine shares similarly metaphor-driven descriptions of wine with America, but in places like Italy, many people “may be bewildered by the adjective ‘big,’ which pops up in every American wine publication” (Gray). Italian wine drinkers are also more inclined to use what Americans would consider “negative” words like acidic or sour as a positive, or at least neutral description of a wine. Still in other countries, like China, where wine may not be a part of the traditional cuisine, wine isn’t described by taste, but by the mouth feel and the experience: “…it is important to talk about mouth feel, because Chinese people take that very seriously in food—so much so that they can describe mouth feel in ways that Americans have never even considered… you would want to use very specific words about how [wine] feels in the mouth” (Gray).

This means, writes W. Blake Gray, that “not only are we not speaking the same language; we may not even be having the same experience” (Gray). For those wine drinkers who see authentic and specific description of a wine as a sign of knowledge, this is bad news. However, for the rest of us, it certainly breaks down the barrier of exclusivity in the wine world.

The Wine Metaphor

Part of the reason American wine language is so difficult for novice wine drinkers to use is because of the metaphor included in the description of wines. According to Ernesto Suarez-Toste, author of Metaphor Inside the Wine Cellar: On the Ubiquity of Personification Schemas in Winespeak, “the incredibly wide range of aromas in wine is probably what attracts most neophytes to this beverage, but because the identification and naming of aromas in a wine is mainly a matter of experience and memory, the use of metaphors is particularly important in the description of a wine’s texture” (Suarez-Toste 54). Although there are a great many different individual flavor and texture words to describe the taste of wine–not to mention a whole wheel of adjectives classified in different ways to make the whole process easier– “if there is one inescapable schema in this context, that is surely anthropomorphic metaphor” (Suarez-Toste 54). Wine is often described metaphorically as a living organism, in the way metaphors of time are associated with money: “…we find that the combination… of alcohol, acids and tannin in a red wine is commonly labeled as its body and the tannins… supporting it as its backbone or spine” (Suarez-Toste 58). Further, “it is far from surprising to find different wine components referred to as its nose, palate, or legs…” (Suarez-Toste 58). Not only is there a whole anatomical schema in the language of wine– “big-bodied, robust, fleshy, backbone, sinewy, long-limbed, fat, flabby… lean, or disjointed”–there exists also “‘kinship’ relationships among wines (e.g. clone, pedigree, sister, mate, sibling or peer)” (Suarez-Toste 58). Ironically, before the current iteration of wine language, wine was occasionally described using comparisons to celebrities, such as “a famous one from a magazine called Wine X[:] ‘Tastes like Brad Pitt stepping out of the shower’” (Gray), so the theme of wine as alive doesn’t seem to be a new idea.

Conclusion

The language of wine is a vast, varied array of words and structures and ideas and metaphors. It exists as a tool, but occasionally acts as a hinderance in the average person’s understanding of wine culture. However, being able to speak fluently about the full-bodiedness of a wine, or it’s oak-barrel after-taste is not necessarily going to make one’s experience of drinking wine better than that of a person who proudly proclaims that a wine “tastes like wine”.

Works Cited

Brochet, Frédéric, and Denis Dubourdieu. “Wine descriptive language supports cognitive specificity of chemical senses”. Brain and Language 77.2 (2001): 187-196.

Gawel, Richard. “The use of language by trained and untrained experienced wine Tasters.” Journal of Sensory studies 12.4 (1997): 267-284.

Gray, W. Blake. “Tip of the Tongue: The Words We Use to Describe Wine “Changes” How It Tastes.” California. Cal Alumni Association UC Berkeley, Dec. 2011. Web.

Lehrer, Adrienne. “Talking About Wine.” Language 51.4 (1975): 901-23. JSTOR. Web. 8 May 2016.

Solomon, Gregg Eric Arn. “Psychology of Novice and Expert Wine Talk.” The American Journal of Psychology 103.4 (1990): 495-517. JSTOR. Web. 8 May 2016.

Suárez Toste, Ernesto. “Metaphor inside the wine cellar: On the ubiquity of personification schemas in winespeak.” Metaphorik. de 12.1 (2007): 53-64.

Teague, Lettie. “An Insider’s Guide to Weird Wine Words.” Wall Street Journal. 28 Dec. 2015. Web. 06 June 2016.

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An Interview with Josh Gross, author of THE FUNERAL PAPERS

Posted on July 21, 2016 by Ed Battistella
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Josh Gross, a southern Oregon native and Portland State alumnus, is a journalist, playwright and author of four books. His most recent book, a memoir called The Funeral Papers, is the story of Gross and his estranged father who died two years ago.

EB: Tell us a little about The Funeral Papers?

JG: My father and I didn’t really speak for the 15 years before he died. A major contributing factor to that was that I saw his self-identity as a writer as an excuse he used to not get a job or be a good parent. It might have been different if he’d ever produced anything. But it was a classic “those who talk don’t do, and those who do don’t talk,” situation. He talked about being a writer all the time, but never seemed to put pen to paper. So imagine my surprise when at his funeral I was given a manilla envelope of his collected works. It sort of threw everything I thought I knew about him, about us, into a tailspin. The Funeral Papers is a curated collection of his writing, my reactions to it, and postcards of our relationship and his passing that investigate how and why it all went sideways to see if there was another man beyond the one I thought I knew, and if forgiveness is even possible.

EB: What made you decide to write this memoir?

JG: It started as a journal entry about how weird his funeral was—and I say that as someone that has been to a funeral that turned into a dance party. It pretty much turned into an open mic, with accordion players, and stories about his time in the special forces with Elvis, and bizarre advice on grieving from his new age friends. It was as funny as it was intense. But while I was writing that I realized a couple things. 1. Since I was going to have to dig into his collected works anyhow, this would be a good means to cope with that process. 2. Since my failings as a child are myriad, and since he didn’t get any recognition in life, this might be a way to do something for him posthumously. 3. Cynically: the overly-honest, incredibly raw family memoir tends to sell well, and it was already half-written for me.

EB: You refer to this as a co-memoir. What do you think your father would say?

JG: Jeez. If I knew that, I probably wouldn’t have had to write this book. Hayo!

EB: Do you and your father share any literary influences?

JG: Not that I can tell. He gave me a lot of books, but it usually went badly because he was obsessed with grooming me to be a religious leader—but in really surreal ways. For example: he once got it in his head that I should read Lord of the Flies. Which sort of makes sense, since it’s generally required reading for high schoolers. Thing is, I was like, six at the time. So when I refused, he read it to me against my will. And when I was too horrified and uncomfortable to continue and started crying, he took me to the movie. In high school, he somehow acquired a really nice vintage Italian-imported bass guitar made by JG guitars (meaning my initials were built into the headstock in abalone, which was pretty sweet), and said I could have it for free, if I’d just read a book he wanted me to read. The book was called Autobiography of an Awakening, and though it was only 152 pages long, it took me three months to finish because it was so condescending and boring I literally fell asleep every four pages or so. At the end, I had to take a quiz. It remains, the worst book I’ve ever read. I would actually pay the cover price just to save someone else from it. Short version: Arnie really liked poetry and spirituality and I liked stories about robots—which in many ways is a succinct metaphor for our inability to connect.

EB: What do you want readers to take away from the book?

JG: A desire for readers to try to see and understand their parents as people independent of them.

EB: A major component of Arnie’s personal history in the book is his involvement in the Sausalito Houseboat Community, both as a resident and columnist for the local paper. When you talk about the Sausalito houseboat wars (the decade-long legal and occasionally physical fight between the county and residents of the houseboat community over the legal status of their homes, a major event in Bay Area history), you describe Arnie as “one of the people who didn’t know he was in a fight.” Can you elaborate?

JG: I mean that the way he spoke and wrote about it treated it as a tall tale, as a caper, rather than as a choice between two paths, and that he could affect what which path was taken through his actions. He was quick to talk about the police raids, and the pranks, but never about organizing against the county in court or fighting back. Basically, it’s pretty clear in his first-person account of the Houseboat Wars (which I’ve included as an appendix in the book) that though he lived there for more than a decade, he viewed the conflict as an outsider, or as something that was happening around him, rather than something that he was a part of, and could influence. And because of that, he was never part of the victory. I think that in this age of gentrification, that’s an especially important element of the book to grasp.

EB: How did your family and your father’s friends react to the project?

JG: I don’t think any my father’s friends know about it yet, so I can’t say. But with this sort of nonfiction, you can’t worry too much about what other people might think because it can lead to self-censorship.

That said, if I were to speculate, I’m not sure they’d like it. For one: they didn’t experience Arnie the same way I did, so we have very different perspectives, and mine, is at times, quite caustic. For two: There are major cultural and generational conflicts that formed much of Arnie and I’s inability to connect, and they are as much a part of that as he is. For three: The biggest part of his writing that I cut from the final text was a collection of newspaper profiles of his friends, yet to his friends, those pieces would probably comprise the core of his writing, despite their being of no interest to anyone else.

EB: What have you got planned for your own funeral?

JG: I’d like animatronics and speakers to be installed in my body so that at the flip of a switch, my body will rise from my grave and say, “if I’m going out, then you’re all coming with me.” That’d be hilarious. Then karaoke. Basically, I’d want to Andy Kaufman the shit out of it. That would be a celebration of the way I like to live my life, just as much as his funeral was a celebration of the strange, confusing, and often wildly misleading way he liked to live his.

EB: What other projects have you got in the works?

JG: I run a small theater company and our next big production is my musical comedy adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s The Call of Cthulhu. The script was written earlier this year, and I’m finishing up the music right now for a fall production. After that, we’ll be staging another script of mine, The Manifesto Monologues, a true-crime drama about three famous murderers. This summer I’m also probably going to start the script for the musical follow-up to the Cthulhu adaptation, Robopocalypse: The Musical, and either revisit the existing draft of another memoir I wrote about my time in youth prison, or novelize a sitcom pitch I wrote last year with a friend in the film industry.

EB: Thanks for talking with us.

JG: No prob.

You can check out Josh Gross’s book trailer here:

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An Interview with Mari Gayatri Stein, author of Out of the Blue Valise

Posted on July 14, 2016 by Ed Battistella
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Mari Gayatri Stein is the author of eleven books and the illustrator of many others. She has contributed regular articles to such publications as Inquiring Mind, The Medford Mail Tribune, Tea Magazine, and The Healing Garden Journal. Stein has been an actor and traded her Hollywood hometown for an organic farm in Oregon where she lives with her husband and a pair of rescue dogs. In addition to her work as an artist and writer, she teaches meditation and yoga and works with women in recovery.

You can find more of her work at Gypsy Dog Press and soon at mariswebsite.com.

EB: Out of the Blue Valise is something of a departure for you as a writer. How did the book come about?

MGS: It began with a birthday gift: an adorable stuffed hippo who föted (Hippoease for flatulence). Po had a powerful personality. She became my constant companion. Po loved driving through the countryside with the top down, eating chocolate—she pronounced it shokolad, and couldn’t get her fill of British mysteries. In the winter, Po, my husband Robert, Mumbles and Snowflake (our rescue dogs) and I migrated to Malibu to escape the Oregon chill. After several days of meditating on the oh-so-blue breaking waves below the bluffs, Po and I began writing a story about a hippopotamus in search of authenticity, love and cheap thrills. Our pilgrimage commenced. We were on a magical mission. The scribbles became chapters, proliferated into The Po Pages and eventually morphed into Out of the Blue Valise. The compelling factor that changed Po from a frivolous bedtime story to a novel with serious intent (still retaining its whimsical nature) was cancer. Out of the Blue Valise became a book within a book and gathered gravitas.

EB: You got a veritable wonderland of curious animal characters—a shape changing hippo, a multilingual zebra, a frog. Why did you choose to focus the story around endangered animals?

MGS: We are all endangered species. Our very globe is imperiled. Human beings are complicated, self-involved and absent most of the time. Animals are innocents and utterly present. These pure souls are our saviors. They expand our hearts as spontaneously as a smile erupts on our faces when we see them, touch them, breath them in, admire and sit in awe of them. It is down to us to save them from extinction. Genocide and specicide are the nemesis of all that is sacred and spiritual. The endangered animals have the ability to break open our hearts, and by so doing they ignite our compassion and rescue us from ourselves.

EB: This is very much a healing fantasy. What is the role of fantasy in our lives, do you think? Escape, healing, something else?

MGS: Thank you. That was the intention—to delight, inspire, heal and provide sanctuary within the pages of Blue Valise. Humans have forgotten how to be happy. Fantasy and whimsy are inherent in our childlike nature and bring out the best in us. They are the antidote to earnestness and discontent. Life without humor is tyranny. Humor allows me to keep my boots on the ground and at the same time surrender to the joy of the moment. That is the magic of Po and her crew. Fantasy is the chocolate icing on her chocolate cake.

The writing of Blue Valise gave me refuge while dealing with cancer twice in two years; a safe place to dwell where meaning and purpose existed. Po’s world made me happy and lent equanimity to endless days filled with life and death scenarios. It buffered me against self-obsession, implosion, worry, doubt and fear.

Our fantasies, imagination and stories keep our hearts tender. They do offer escape, and they heal us. What is real or unreal? In the core of the Blue Valise lies the answer to this conundrum.

EB: Can you explain the idea of the blue valise to our readers?

MGS: The blue valise is packed for the ultimate journey within and without. When Petal lifts the lid and Po leaps into her arms, all things become possible. The valise reveals a bevy of characters and global adventures. Estranged twin British aristocrats will reconcile their differences by collaborating in the rescue of an endangered hippo held hostage in Africa. A lonely and victimized zebra with red stripes will be sneaked out of a Paris zoo by Petal’s bosom friend Dr. Jake. Characters will hippomorphosize—change size with a secret password, and finally defeat a supersized villain out for blood. And more.

Everything exists within the blue valise. All at once, Petal faces her demons and dreams and there is no turning back.

EB: You are also an illustrator, so I’m curious about the ways in which the visual dimension might inform your writing.

MGS: The pictures provide the subtext. In the same way that a friend’s expression and body language reveal more about her than the words issuing from her lips, my illustrations divulge a character’s true identity. They offer intimacy and insight into our hearts and souls—our humanity. No apology. No prevarication. No debate. Nice or nasty, drawings are the unspoken balloons above our heads. Imagine if today, every time you engaged with someone, you told the absolute truth. (Wouldn’t that be a treat?) That is the luxury of my illustrations. They dare say and do what I dare not.

EB: This is your debut novel. How was it different from your earlier books? Was it harder to write? Easier?

MGS: Different, much harder, and at the same time effortless as the inevitable can be, like gulping water when you are parched. I loved writing Blue Valise. This arduous discipline took me over. In previous books, the art starred and words filled the supporting roles. In Blue Valise, words reign. I wrote every day for three and a half years, no matter what—through two bouts of surgery and radiation in addition to the demands and rituals of family and daily life maintenance. My Higher Hippo ruled the creative monarchy. Po dubbed me invincible. Suddenly, I could breathe underwater. I could fall through the atmosphere unscathed. The book was my lifeline, and I was determined to outlive its publication.

EB: I really enjoyed some of the wordplay. I hope I can find a chance to use “hippomorphosize.” It seem like you had a lot of fun writing this.

MGS: Drop it into a sentence at your next cocktail party. It’s a very handy word and rolls off the tongue.

I had a ball. I am bored between books—in limbo. But no worries, a massive novel calls my name—a pile of patient folders stacked in a red Chinese box tucked away on the bookshelf in my office whisper daily. Stay turned. This one should keep me alive for the next five years. Words are my favorite playmates. I love my thesaurus—yes, a real book with frayed corners and glued-together pages.

The first draft is the hardest part for me and always daunting, but I have learned to sit still and face the blank slice of paper like a warrior. Once I start editing and playing with the text, I am in heaven.

EB: What are you currently working on?

MGS: Post-Po production and catch-up. I am writing blogs for my new website: mariswebsite.com. They include a recent adventure at the Portland zoo where I fed and petted a rhino and hippo, a story about spirituality and recovery from addiction, the diary of my new found friend, Penelope, our resident peahen who adopted us as her flock, and sequels to earlier blogs about cancer and hip surgery. After that, I will launch my new novel. The title remains top secret.

EB: Thanks for talking with us.

MGS: Thanks for asking. Po and I had a great time. Join us for tea in the bamboo garden. Po will uncover your mantra. We shall hippomorphosize and dance through the fields.

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An Interview with Midge Raymond, author of MY LAST CONTINENT

Posted on July 6, 2016 by Ed Battistella
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Midge Raymond’s debut novel My Last Continent is just out from Scriber. Karen Joy Fowler, author of We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, says this: “There is a romance about faraway, desperate places, about isolation, about ice and snow. Add penguins and you have Midge Raymond’s elegant My Last Continent, a love story about the Antarctic and the creatures, humans included, who are at home there. Half adventure, half elegy, and wholly recommended.” Library Journal says it is “Atmospheric and adventurous…the story and vivid writing will keep readers glued to the pages.” And there are rave reviews also from Publishers Weekly and Kirkus Reviews.

Midge Raymond’s writing has appeared in TriQuarterly, American Literary Review, Bellevue Literary Review, the Los Angeles Times magazine, and Poets & Writers and she is the author of several books, including a book of short stories, Forgetting English, that won the Spokane Prize for Short Fiction. She has been an instructor at the Richard Hugo House, San Diego Writers Ink, and Grub Street Writers and has been an Adjunct Professor at Boston University. Midge Raymond is also the co-founder of Ashland Creek Press.

EB: This is a story about life and personal choices, but also a story about the environment and the consequences of eco-tourism. Which idea came first to you, the story of Deb and Keller or the story of the Antarctic? Or is it even possible to separate the two strands of the book?

MR: I wanted to tell a story about the Antarctic, and the character of Deb came to me quickly and clearly as the best way to tell this story. As a character, she is very much a part of Antarctica herself; she is so passionate about the continent and its future, especially the fate of the penguins. So I would agree that it’s not entirely possible to separate these strands of the book — they are all so closely connected.

EB: I thought the story of Deb and Keller was complicated, yet believable despite the unfamiliar settling. As you wrote them, were you thinking about how to make the characters relatable to the reader?

MR: Not at first. In the beginning, I wrote to get to know them, and it wasn’t until much later that I took a step back to imagine how they’d be perceived to readers. And then I worked on them some more. Their relationship is indeed complicated, and, I imagine, not easily understandable for most people. So I had to make sure that I could portray how they came together and how they make such a good fit for each other, despite all the complications.

EB: You tell the story of the shipwreck and the relationship between Deb and Keller non-sequentially. Why did you choose that particular type of narrative?

MR: I wanted to begin the story with the shipwreck — in part because I hoped to create a sense of tension and engagement in the story, which I really enjoy as a reader. I also wanted to create a sense of inevitability surrounding the shipwreck — this part of the story was inspired by the concerns among naturalists about large cruise ships in Antarctica as tourism increases. As I began to reveal Deb’s backstory within this narrative, I decided to separate out these sections so that they wouldn’t bog down the narrative but allow readers to take a step back every once in a while and learn more, then jump back into the drama of the shipwreck as it unfolds.

EB: Can you tell our readers a little more about the title My Last Continent?

MR: There’s a scene in which Deb tells a passenger, “[T]here are two kinds of people who come to Antarctica. Those who have run out of places to go, and those who have run out of places to hide.” While I don’t necessarily share Deb’s view, one of the things I did in the novel was put these two categories of people together, which provided plenty of drama for a novel about our planet’s last frontier.

Antarctica provides this contrast among the individuals and groups who share the ships headed down to the bottom of the world. For many tourists, Antarctica is their seventh continent, the last place left to see. For shipboard naturalists, including researchers, Antarctica offers a chance not only to do their work but to educate tourists, to make the passengers’ last continent more than just something to check off their lists. For Deb and Keller, the continent is their last in the sense that it’s the only place they can truly be themselves, both alone and with each other. So I wanted a title that encompassed many of the themes of the novel, and also one that I hope will be intriguing to readers.

EB: How did you first get interested in the Antarctic and its wildlife?

MR: I had the opportunity to visit Antarctica in 2004, on a small expedition boat much like the Cormorant in the novel, and I became fascinated by the wildlife, particularly the penguins and the people who dedicate their lives to studying them. I learned a great deal about the Adélie, chinstrap, gentoo, and emperor penguins while I was in Antarctica, and two years after that trip, I had the opportunity to volunteer for a penguin census with Dee Boersma of the University of Washington, at the Punta Tombo colony in Argentina, which Dee has been studying for thirty years. This experience gave me insights into a new species — the Magellanic penguin — as well as into the lives of scientists, which was very helpful in imagining and writing the novel. And most of all, I became even more passionate about these birds and their fate in a world that is changing around them so rapidly.

EB: What was the research like for this book? Did you have to consult a lot of experts on the environment, maritime disasters and wildlife?

MR: Much of the novel was based on my own experience in Antarctica and from volunteering at the Punta Tombo colony. But of course, I also had to do a lot of additional research, including reading books and watching documentaries. I was working on the novel when the Costa Concordia ran aground in 2012, and all the news surrounding this accident provided a lot of information about maritime disasters.

EB: Coincidentally, or not, it’s the 100th anniversary of Ernest Shackleton’s Trans-Antarctica expedition. Was that an influence at all?

MR: Absolutely. I’m fascinated by Shackleton’s story, and it inspired me a great deal because it’s not only a tale of the wild and unpredictable Southern Ocean, but also of the resourcefulness and good luck it takes to get out of such situations. He’s an inspiring figure, but I’m also intrigued by the ones who weren’t so lucky — Robert Falcon Scott and his party, for example — because one thing that becomes obvious when you read about explorers is how quickly things can turn around in Antarctica. We are all at the mercy of nature when we’re there, whether today or 100 years ago.

EB: I couldn’t help but read the story of the tourists Kate and Richard as a parallel to Deb and Keller’s story. Any thoughts on this?

MR: I did, in fact, want Richard and Kate to be a parallel for Deb and Keller in the story; as a married couple, they are more domestic and their lives are more settled than the lives of Deb and Keller, who travel to the bottom of the world and only see each other a few times a year. However, as she gets to know Kate, Deb finds similarities in the two relationships and begins to appreciate both the simplicities and complexities of love, no matter what the circumstances. And of course, for Deb and Keller, the continent itself is a big part of who they are as a couple, so in a way, Antarctica is like a third party in their relationship, creating something of a love triangle.

EB: Can you tell us some of your literary influences? Who do you read?

MR: Over the years, I’ve become much more interested in environmental issues, so I have a few favorites when it comes to the environment and animal protection: Karen Joy Fowler’s novel We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, Ann Pancake’s Strange As This Weather Has Been, and Barbara Kingsolver’s Flight Behavior, among others. I also read just about everything by Lionel Shriver and Ann Patchett, whose work I really admire.

EB: Thanks for talking with us. I really enjoyed My Last Continent.

MR: Thank you so much, Ed!

Posted in Interviews | Comments Off on An Interview with Midge Raymond, author of MY LAST CONTINENT