Question and Answer with Simon Lelic, author of A THOUSAND CUTS

Q:  Your novel focuses on a school shooting, but in a twist from what we’re used to, the teacher is the culprit, not the student. Where did you get the idea for this book? 

A:   Some time before I started writing A THOUSAND CUTS, I came across a short news item in the British press about an American college professor who shot and killed one of his colleagues. There were few details in the story but it immediately started me wondering what could have driven such an obviously intelligent and, you would have assumed, emotionally mature man to commit such a desperate act. I was reminded of incidents from my own time at school – teachers, for instance, being subject to victimization that was often more vicious than anything I had witnessed in the playground. From there, the story that turned into A THOUSAND CUTS began to grow. I became fascinated by the idea that the experience of teaching in a school could never be entirely distanced from that of being a pupil there.

Q: You were a journalist before writing this book. How did your experience in journalism prepare you for writing fiction?

A:   It prepared me most significantly in that I was used to the discipline of writing. For some writers, I am sure, the act of tethering yourself to the keyboard, even on those days you are convinced you have nothing to say, is the toughest part of the job. As a journalist, with a page to fill and a deadline to narrowly avoid missing, you become practiced at tapping keys until the working day is done. Being a journalist also teaches you about writing succinctly, precisely, and about not patronizing your readers: all useful skills for a novelist, I would argue. On the other hand, journalistic writing is often formulaic – stylistically, grammatically, structurally – and the best fiction, I think, creates its own rules. I had to remind myself frequently – and still do, in fact – that there was no style guide I was supposed to be following; that the only measure of good writing was the effect it would have on the reader.

Q: In the novel, Detective Inspector Lucia May interviews witnesses of the crime and you tell part of the story through their accounts. What made you structure it this way?

A: My intention was to take the reader on the same journey as Lucia, the principal character in the third-person strand of the novel. Lucia has to decide on what constitutes the truth as she is presented with various interpretations of it and I hoped it would be an engaging approach to ask of the reader the same thing. I also enjoyed experimenting with the voices, and hoped my enjoyment in the writing would translate into the experience of reading. That said, I felt too that the novel needed the third-person chapters in order to maintain a sense of flow. The idea was that Lucia’s character would act as a needle, drawing a thread through the narrative and, ultimately, stitching it together.

Q: Bullying is a theme throughout the book—Lucia May is the victim of bullying in her all-male workplace, and as she investigates the case, she learns the shooter may have been a victim of bullying as well. Why do you think people bully? What do you think the consequences are? Is it still a problem today? 

A: Bullying occurs, and persists in all areas of modern society, for myriad reasons. It is one of the darker manifestations of human nature (or, perhaps, the animal side of human nature) for the strong to exert their dominance over the weak. Quite often, too, those who bully are themselves scared, insecure, uncertain of their place in society and the world. Fundamentally, however, bullying occurs because we let it. It is easy to be dismissive of what, to someone not directly involved, might seem to be trivial, petty irritations: name-calling at school, for instance; casually sexist remarks, perhaps, in the workplace. But it is often not the specific nature of the bullying that matters most, more the sense of emotional isolation that bullying of any kind engenders among its victims. Bullying causes misery on a personal level and discord on a societal one. It is allowed to flourish because it is shadowy and elusive – because it is so hard to grapple with and contain. Also, because it is easier to place the onus on its victims to overcome their sense of shame and come forward than it is to intervene on their behalf.

Q:   Your book was discovered in a slush pile and has now received rave reviews from the UK press. What was the experience of publishing a first novel like for you? What is your writing regimen like ?

A:   The whole experience has been terrific – by far the most exciting period of my professional life – but also, if I am honest, ever so slightly terrifying! When I was writing the novel, with the hope but perhaps not the expectation of publication, I was insulated from the sense of responsibility I feel now. Whereas before I could take reassurance from the fact that the only time I was wasting was my own, so many people – at Viking in the US and Picador in Britain; at the Zoe Pagnamenta and Felicity Bryan literary agencies; at the various other publishers around the world that have acquired rights for the novel – have now invested time, money and effort into making the book a success that I can admit to having had a few sleepless nights. Although I would take the sleepless nights every time!

In terms of my writing regimen, I tend to keep office hours. I run my own import/export business so I need to be at my computer from nine to five anyway, and I write between fielding phone calls. That said, when I am caught up in a novel I will write at any opportunity: earlier in the morning, after the kids have gone to bed, weekends if I can in good conscience steal an hour or two here and there. And in fact there is no escape from a novel when it is only part written, as most writers would probably attest. Physically pinning the words to the page is only part of the process. The real work – planning, plotting, cogitating, contemplating – takes place when you are away from the keyboard: shopping, running, reading, pushing your children on the swings. Another reason for those sleepless nights...

Q: What do you think readers can take away from your book?

A: This is a tough one. One of the great things about fiction is that every book – every chapter, paragraph and sentence – will impact on each reader in a different way. And I did not set out to write a sermon: my aim was simply to tell a story, about characters I hoped readers would care about, in as compelling a manner as I could manage. Bullying is at the core of the novel, however: the question, primarily, of complicity. When someone is being bullied, who is responsible for their suffering? The tormentors themselves, solely? Their friends, who turn a blind eye to their behaviour? Disinterested observers, who justify keeping their distance precisely because, they say, it is none of their business? I have my own opinions, naturally, but I will be happy enough if A THOUSAND CUTS in some small way helps readers to evaluate theirs.