[♪♪♪] -♪ Every day every day Ev ery day every day every day ♪ ♪ Every day I write the book ♪ [♪♪♪] -Welcome.

We are Write Around The Corner in Bland, Virginia with Kristina Gorcheva-Newberry.

Kristina is a Russian American émigré who moved to the United States in 1995, after witnessing Perestroika and the fall of the Iron Curtain.

Writing in English, her second language, she has published 50 stories and received nine Pushcart nominations.

Her debut novel, The Orchard , is a story of four friends coming of age in the '80s, and the dreams they have despite a destabilized world.

Let's meet her.

Hi, Kristina.

-Hi, Rose.

-Welcome to Write Around The Corner.

-Thank you.

-And what a debut novel you have and what a timely topic.

But before we get to any of the story, I think everyone ought to know that we're in your home thank you for inviting us and you are sitting on the couch.

Your couch where you do all your writing and your thinking and put Orchard together.

-That's right.

That's my couch.

-Yeah.

And we were excited to be able to be here in the place that The Orchard actually came to life.

But let's go back to your earlier life.

You were raised by a single mom?

-Right.

-And at age eight, you fell in love with English.

-Exactly so.

I was raised by a single mother who insisted that I went to boarding school for my first year.

And it was so lonely there.

And I cried all the time.

And I said, can I go to another school, please, please?

But it was a really, really good school, education-wise.

So, she said, well, the only other option we have is Special English School, which is close to where we live.

But you have to pass exams.

And so, I worked so hard all summer, and I was seven years old.

And I did pass exams.

And so, I started school in the fall.

It was my second grade.

And that's when I had my first English class.

And I remember coming home and telling my mom that I love it.

And that's what I wanted to do when I grow up.

And she said, what?

And I said English.

She said, well, that's not a profession.

And yes, it's not, but I said, but what can I do?

And she said, well, maybe you can become a teacher.

Later, when I already grew up, in fact, my first degree is a teacher of English.

I graduated from a State Linguistic University in Moscow.

But I asked her just maybe five or seven years ago, why, why, why didn't you say you could be a writer?

And she was laughing.

She said, well, back then we're talking '70s women did not write fiction.

I mean, they wrote short stories, sometimes a play and occasional screenplay, but novels, those belong to men.

And most of those men were long dead.

You know, the ones we studied at school.

So, it wasn't even an option.

And she couldn't have never thought that I would have become a writer.

-Now, I bet she's so proud, though.

That's wonderful.

-She is.

She's very proud.

And unfortunately, she cannot read anything I write, which may be a good thing.

-Now, do you write in Russian and in English?

-No, I only write in English.

-Okay.

So, maybe you want to take this story or other stories and write them in Russian for her, so she can read your work?

-Yes, I translate occasionally stories for her.

And occasionally, when I used to go to Moscow, I would translate them to our neighbors and friends; we would have like a little reading circle and people would come to my flat.

This is very, very tiny place, but everybody would be packed closely in my living room.

Mamma would make some tea, maybe make some cookies, and I would translate them, my stories.

It's hard to do occasionally because I do it from the page.

But I think it's the best momentum to do it like that.

-Well, and I know we will talk about this because the world is a very different place.

And you haven't been back in a while and who knows when you're going to be able to get back there again.

And you know that world you're living in with love for Russia and love for America and you split your time between Virginia and New York.

But there I'm sure having your mom here and family, that's got to be especially difficult for you as the things that we're all dealing with, with the world.

-Right.

It's very difficult mostly because I've already lost my country in the 80s, but it was for the best.

We knew that we would build something more powerful, hopefully democratic.

We also knew that all those crimes against humanities committed by Stalin and the like had to be acknowledged and we could finally move forward.

There were two coups in 1991, 1993, that my friends and I actually participated in, and I talk about this in the author's note.

And there was another time when we thought we almost lost our country, and we took to the streets.

And now, my friends are doing that again back home, and it feels like once again we lost our country, but this time we feel no hope.

-And what's your wish?

What would be your wish for the people in your country?

-I want for my people to be free, just to understand that there are parts of the world, and that the world doesn't conspire against them.

And they need to learn how to live with themselves and their neighbors.

And I think there's so much lovelessness in my country, on my former country, and I just hope that people believe in themselves, believe that they can do better.

And that the regime will change, and they need to do something for the regime to change; it will not change on its own.

And I feel very sorry for those who are trapped, and they can't get out.

And I don't know when they will be able to get out.

-And that's a beautiful wish.

That's a beautiful wish to share that you have for them.

As I was learning about you and reading some of your work, you are so focused and find such pleasure in words, to memorize words, to learn about words and how they impact people's lives.

There have been a lot of people who've also impacted your life, your life as a writer and your life as a woman and you're along the way.

Who are some of those people?

-Well, first person who impacted my life is Professor Moira Baker.

She just retired from Radford University, but that's where I began writing.

After one of her classes, she came up to me and she said I think you have a story to tell, and you can tell it well.

You should start writing.

And back in the Soviet Union, they always told us you should listen to a teacher.

So I did.

-That was great advice.

-It was great advice, but also, she gave me early on the gift of Morrison, Toni Morrison, and Virginia Woolf.

And those two writers impacted my writing or, actually, shaped it and formed it in ways other writers haven't before.

-True or false?

You met Toni Morrison.

-Yes, I did.

-And you brought her 50 roses.

-Yes, I did.

-And what did she ask you about?

-She said, did you bring any vodka?

And I was, it was so awkward.

I felt awkward.

I thought, my God, had I known?

-You would have brought vodka.

-Yes, and like the best and pumpernickel bread and pickles.

So, and I told her so.

And then she said, what kind of Russian are you?

So, I didn't have to tell her I was Russian.

She heard it from my accent.

It was a magical moment.

She was in a wheelchair, so when they wheeled her into the room, there was a skylight, so the sun poured on her.

She was like this goddess, and I met her twice but every time it seemed like she was like this giant ship entering a town's harbor.

She made everything and everyone look small.

She's just such a presence.

-And I understand you say everything I've learned from her, as far as your writing, you attribute to her and even how to write sex scenes.

I don't know if people would think I wrote sex scenes and learn how to do that from Toni Morrison.

-Well, you have to understand where I came from.

In the Soviet Union, sex didn't exist.

I mean, it existed, but it did not exist in literature, in film, and on stage, paintings.

If there was an intimate scene, it was very chaste, just sighs and whispers, maybe a bare shoulder.

If there was like a half breast, that was already no, no.

In fact, two lovers couldn't even rent a room in the Soviet Union in a hotel, if they were not married.

So, you had to rely on your friends, whose parents might be out of town.

It was very embarrassing, really.

Disparaging, too.

So, of course, I have never encountered any sex scenes in literature, in the Soviet literature.

And even literature that I studied.

While Moscow State Linguistic University and medical literature is still, there was nothing there.

So, when I read The Bluest Eye, I think that book was such a revelation to me because it was gorgeously written, but it was also horrifying.

And she spoke about things other than, of course, racial discrimination, and that poor girl who prayed to God to give her blue eyes because she thought she was ugly, but also, I think she wanted to be loved.

And then, there was the rape scene.

And her father actually thought that he dared to love her despite her ugliness.

It was a very different way of looking at things, but also, it was described in such precise language, such fine language; it was not vulgar but a hurt.

She did not embellish that scene, and yet, the language itself was gorgeous.

So, I remember that when I read the whole book, I called one of my friends and I actually said, I've just read the most horrifying, gorgeous book in The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison.

She said, who is that?

-And you put those words together, horrifying and most gorgeous.

-Right, which is something we don't connect.

But Morrison, she has a very specific relationship to language because it comes from oral tradition.

I do think that in Russia, there's very strong oral tradition, too.

So, but I write an English and I had to connect that sound to the inner world of my characters.

-And you got advice from your family members, too.

Your husband and your mother and your son, what advice did they give to you when you were putting the stories together, especially The Orchard ?

-I can't remember what they said.

-Well, your mother, I'll help you with that.

Your mother said not to write a tragic story because the world is already tragic.

-Right.

-Your husband said don't include a lot of sex.

And your son was saying all stories are tragic with big sex.

So, they were all kind of trying to guide you into what they thought the story would be.

-Well, yes.

And I think they also refer when I do readings, I think they worry that neighbors and relatives and some old-fashioned people would be watching or listening or reading, and they're maybe not concerned but they're a bit uncomfortable.

-They just love you and want you to be loved by everybody.

I think.

-I guess.

-And that reminds me something that you said about stories, is the story comes to you and if it lives with you for a while, and you can go back and visit it for five years, then you know that it's good or you know you've done that.

-Yes, I said that about a feeling.

So, I write by ear and most of my stories begin with a feeling.

-What does that mean?

-Well, it's hard to explain, but it's sort of, you're haunted by something.

You can't quite understand it.

It can be sadness, so like profound sadness.

You have to build the house for that feeling to live in, so you have to craft it from words, and this is what I do.

Can be some feeling of curiosity.

It's something puzzles me.

I can't quite explain it, and I have to build my story around that feeling.

And if I read that story, say five years later, and I still felt that, I'm feeling that curiosity, I'm feeling that helplessness or sadness or melancholy or a passion, then I know I did it right.

But sometimes you visit or revisit a story and you can no longer remember that feeling.

And that means, to me at least, it's not a success.

-So, if you do feel that success when you're building those parts of a story together, you had mentioned a little earlier that it was like a house.

-Right.

-And you have to find that place for the feeling to live and grow.

So, then, use that house and share with me how that process works for you.

-As I said, I write by ear, so a lot of it is a surprise to me.

However, I think Catherine Porter said that one must know the ending, always, because it's one thing to experience something, it's another thing to understand what it means.

Years or.

-Oh, that's good.

-Decades later.

So, with The Orchard , that's very true because the character of Milka is fictional but somewhat is built on the childhood friend that I had who disappeared.

So, I made up a story for that friendship to live on.

So, all those feelings that I had, the longing for the friendship to continue, I put it into The Orchard.

But I knew the ending when I started writing the story and what that character's the loss of that friendship meant for me, and the loss of the girl and her disappearance meant for me.

Now, Milka doesn't disappear, there's a different story, a different tragedy.

But still that feeling of longing and loss, that haunts the story, it haunts the protagonist just as it haunts me still.

-It does.

It still haunts you.

-Yes.

-So, Milka has a best friend.

-Right.

-And introduce us to Anya.

-Well, Anya is very different from Milka because she comes from a very loving household, even though her parents fight and represent different ideas about the country and politics.

However, it's still a very nurturing family as opposed to Milka's.

Milka is neglected by the very two people who are supposed to love her.

And so, Anya is aware of that and unaware of that, at the same time.

I mean, there are many situations in the book where even her parents and her grandmother think that there is something wrong with Milka or with the family.

-Or even when she comes over to eat.

-Right.

And she's insatiable.

She always eats because there is something as though she has a wound that she tries to staunch with all that food, and yet, she remains very, very thin.

And everybody calls her a sprout, right, like that little tiny fish.

So, we already as readers, we know that something is not right.

Now, Anya's parents are engineers; they're aerospace engineers, so there's a certain layer like intelligencia, where Milka's parents, they work in a fish cannery.

So, we pretty much know the kind of family that is, that they really don't have education, and we know the father ferments wine and the girls drink it.

But I think her world, Milka's world, just as the world of Morrison's, we call it bread love; it's a very loveless world.

And those girls are very lonely.

And I think that Anya is aware of that.

-And how do the two boys fit into the story?

So, let's share with the viewers a little bit about this adventure growing up in the 80s, a few of the things that they're going to experience and what they're going to do and how those relationships are so cemented.

-Well, they're their boyfriends, their first boyfriends, right.

Also, the two boys.

-And I'm going to have you pronounce their names.

-Yes, Lopatin and then Trifonov.

They're very different.

They're like, the sky and the earth very different.

They do echo, they're kind of archetypes.

They do echo the two characters from The Cherry Orchard , Lopakhin and Trofimov.

Trofimov is eternal student, which Trofimov kind of is, and Lopakhin just as Lopatin is the son of a kind of a peasant, right, who became a merchant, who became rich.

Also, the four characters, in many ways, they're very different in terms of just like they represent the sky, the earth, the water, and the fire.

-Oh, was that your intention?

-Yes.

If you write them, you'll understand how they function, right.

But also, very different social circles as well.

There is a spiritual guide, who is Trifonov.

He always, you know, he reads the Bible.

And he believes, he's like their universal conscience.

He believes that he can change the world or Russia for the best.

He is the revolutionary, right.

Then there is, of course, Lopakhin, whose parents and grandparents dutiful communists.

And even though they're all came from peasants and workers.

-What I love is that they're in the middle of navigating this world of growing up as teenagers, trying to deal with what's happening in a destabilized world, and throughout the course of the book, there's twists and turns.

There's travels.

There's heartache.

There's an emotional roller coaster.

And then something happens several years later, which I think you're, the people who are going to pick up this book and read it are going to be wondering, what happens when you go back home?

And isn't that a bigger message to them growing up in a space and then having to figure it out as they're dealing with families and heartache and everything?

-Well, I think that part may not be inherently Russian.

I think that part is just being human.

Don't we all grow up trying to figure out how to live in a world that is so different from the world of being a teenager?

-Why don't you bring us inside of their world?

Would you read something for us?

-Yes.

This is before their senior year.

They're taking this trip to the Black Sea, and so, at night, they sneak out, swim.

"The salty water prickled our flesh.

"Waves slapped us in the face, "grains of sand and fine ground shells coating our bodies.

"We could still feel the bottom "paved with large slippery rocks.

"Milka was shorter, so she stood on her toes "and Lopatin had to lift her every now and then "on his hip like a child.

"She giggled and looked up "at the carpet of stars suspended so low, "you could touch them.

"She screamed at the top of her lungs hey!

"The echo of her voice carried over the water hey, hey, hey!

"We all took turns yelling into the universe.

"We held hands in a circle, jumped up and down, "splashing, unashamed of our nakedness, "the differences in our bodies "or the funny gurgle of sounds they produced.

"Our hair gathered in clumps on our lips and cheeks "and made us look like mad people.

"We whirled in one direction and then in the other, "along the current and against it.

"Guffawing, Lopatin and Trifinov jumped up "and touched chests, and so did Milka and I.

"What was that game we played as children, Milka asks?

"Something about the sea rolling.

"The sea rolls once, the sea rolls twice, "the sea rolls thrice, I said.

"On the third time, we all must hold "and impersonate a sea creature, real or mythic.

"Let's do it, Lopatin said.

"The sea rolls once, the sea rolls twice, "the sea rolls, yet again.

Freeze, everyone.

"He assumed the pose of a giant, arms lifted and strained.

"The outline of his tough muscles covered in droplets.

"His head was tipped high, signaling his superiority "while he tried hard not to laugh.

"Bent onto Trifonov, had his arms "swaying about the water like many tentacles.

"We could see the curve of his spine "and his protruding ears.

"The rest of his body seemed motionless.

"I was submerged underwater, "all but my head that darted back and forth, back and forth.

"Milka, on the other hand, was halfway out; "her breasts like two cold birds perched on her chest.

"Her belly button was visible, but nothing below that.

"Her skinny arms dribbled in the water "and gave the impression of hair.

You're a mermaid, I said.

"Lopatin is Nepto, Milka answered.

"Trifonov is an octopus, Lopatin said.

"They kept looking at me "while I continued to turn my head and drip underwater.

"We give up, Trifonov said.

A tadpole.

"There are no tadpoles in the sea, "only in the river, Lopatin said.

Sure, there are, I said.

"Nope, don't think so.

Doesn't matter.

I won, I said.

"To that rock, Trifonov said, and pointed ahead "where a chunk of a cliff towered in the distance.

"It had a flat top eaten away over time "or perhaps lopped off during a storm.

"Before anyone could protest, "Trifonov was rising above the water and diving back in.

"His thin, nimble body arched.

"His arms rotating like the sails of a windmill.

"We all followed, of course, and he waited, "floating on his back, resting.

The sea colder and shinier.

"The cliff wasn't too far away, "and we made it there without much effort.

"We climbed on it, slipping a few times, "scraping our legs on barnacles and shells, "but otherwise, the surface of the rock "was soft and mossy.

It tickled our feet when we stood up.

"The waves heaved and smashed against the sides, "spitting foam and occasional pebble.

"Naked, the four of us, faced the darkness, "the terrifying infinity of water and night sky.

"It's like the end of the world, Trifonov said, isn't it?

"We didn't comment, but continued to stand, shivering.

"Our tongues, our hearts, numb with cold and fear.

"Far in the distance lay the countries we might never visit, but behind us was the land we could never leave."

-Oh, Kristina.

I think I've learned so much about a place you love and these characters.

But yet, I think people are people, all the way through, and you've resonated that, and the book resonated with me.

I really, really enjoyed it.

Thank you so much for joining us.

-Thank you so much.

-My special thanks to Kristina for having us here in her home, and actually, on her couch, where she actually wrote The Orchard .

I want you to remember Kristina Gorcheva-Newberry.

You're going to love her book and love the work that she has.

Please stick around.

We're going to be getting more details about the book, some of the great language, and a lot of fun talking to her.

I'm Rose Martin, and I will see you next time Write Around The Corner .

-♪ Every day every day Ev ery day every day every day ♪ ♪ Every day I write the book ♪ [♪♪♪] ♪ Every day every day Every day ♪ ♪ Every day I write the book ♪ ♪ Every day every day Every day ♪ ♪ Every day I write the book ♪