Of Bees and Mist: A Novel

Of Bees and Mist: A Novel

by Erick Setiawan
Of Bees and Mist: A Novel

Of Bees and Mist: A Novel

by Erick Setiawan

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Overview

Erick Setiawan's richly atmospheric debut is a beautiful, engrossing fable of three generations of women in two families; their destructive jealousies, their loves and losses, their sacrifices and deeply rooted deceptions, and their triumphs.

Of Bees and Mist is a fable of one woman's determination to overcome the haunting magic that is created by the people she loves and the oppressive secrets behind their broken lives. Raised in a sepulchral house where ghosts dwell in mirrors, Meridia spends her childhood feeling neglected and invisible. Every evening her father vanishes inside a blue mist without so much as an explanation, and her mother spends her days beheading cauliflowers in the kitchen. At sixteen, desperate to escape, Meridia marries a tenderhearted young man. Little does she suspect that his family is harboring secrets of their own. There is a grave hidden in the garden. There are two sisters groomed from birth to despise each other. And there is Eva, the formidable matriarch whose grievances swarm the air like an army of bees—the wickedest mother-in-law imaginable.

Erick Setiawan takes Meridia on a tumultuous ride of hope and heartbreak as she struggles to keep her young family together and discovers long-kept secrets about her own past as well as the shocking truths about her husband's family.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781416596257
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Publication date: 07/06/2010
Pages: 404
Sales rank: 863,031
Product dimensions: 8.46(w) x 5.66(h) x 1.00(d)

About the Author

About The Author
Erick Setiawan was born in Jakarta, Indonesia, to Chinese parents and moved to the United States in 1991. He is a graduate of Stanford University and currently lives in San Francisco.

Hometown:

San Francisco, CA

Date of Birth:

February 15, 1975

Place of Birth:

Jakarta, Indonesia

Education:

B.A. in Psychology & B.S. in Computer Science, Stanford U., 1998; M.S. in Computer Science, Stanford U., 2000

Read an Excerpt

One

Few in town agreed on when the battle began. The matchmaker believed it started the morning after the wedding, when Eva took all of Meridia's gold and left her with thirteen meters of silk. The fortune-teller, backed by his crystal globe, swore that Eva's eyes did not turn pitiless until Meridia drenched them in goose blood three months later. The midwife championed another theory: The feud started the day Meridia held her newborn son with such pride that Eva felt the need to humble her. But no matter how loudly the townspeople debated, the answer remained a mystery — and the two women themselves were to blame. Meridia said little, and Eva offered conflicting explanations, which confirmed the town's suspicion that neither one of them could actually remember.

The town first took notice of Meridia at the hour of her birth. That evening, following what would be remembered as twenty-seven hours of labor, she was extracted blue and wrinkled from Ravenna's womb. Her lungs, despite the ten slaps administered to her rump, refused to take even one breath. The midwife was about to bundle her away when Ravenna scolded: "What are you doing, woman? Give her to me!"

In her calm, ordinary voice, Ravenna told the baby that after putting her through eight months of discomfort and twenty-seven hours of unadulterated pain, after ruining her figure and swelling her breasts and wreaking havoc on her appetite, the least she could do was give her mother a farewell cry. "The tiniest squeak would do," said Ravenna. "A yowl would be even better." Ravenna went on for some minutes, rocking her daughter gently, and by the time she recited the intimate details surrounding the baby's conception — "if you could only see the ungodly contortions your father had me do" — Meridia spluttered a cough and inhaled her first breath.

"Stubborn little creature," chuckled Ravenna. "Do you think you're too good for this world?"

The midwife waited in vain for the baby to cry. Meridia gasped and grimaced, but one thing she did not do was cry. An hour later, shaking and scratching her head, the midwife departed. To every person she saw she confided, "One hundred babies delivered, and I've never seen one like her. Whether she is an angel or a demon only time will tell."

A few months shy of Meridia's first birthday, a blinding flash of light traveled at great speed in the dark of night and awakened her. There was a crash and a tumble, followed by a terrible scream, and suddenly she was snatched up from her bassinet and crushed against Ravenna's bosom. At the age of three, after Meridia learned enough words to speak, she tried to articulate to Ravenna what she had witnessed. All her mother did was sigh and mutter, "Some things are better left as dreams, child." Was it a dream then? Meridia wanted to ask, but Ravenna had turned to her vegetables and forgotten her. Her mother's back was straight and sturdy — capable, Meridia suspected, of holding unknowable secrets.

The house at 24 Monarch Street was made of glass and steel. Perched on a high hill, it boasted a mansard roof, large latticed windows, and a veranda banked by daffodils. Stone steps climbed the sloping garden to the front door, over which an ivory mist hovered regardless of weather. The mist was a bane to peddlers and visitors alike, for it often held them suspended in midair, stole their hats, or chased them away with terrifying noises. Inside, the house obeyed a law of its own. The wood floors echoed no sound of footsteps, and people simply appeared in doorways without warning. The spiral staircase shortened and lengthened at random, and it could take toddling Meridia two seconds to two hours to go from one floor to the other. Mirrors were especially treacherous: In them Meridia could glimpse unfamiliar landscapes and all shapes of apparitions. Despite the large open windows, dusk never quite left the rooms; the sun could be blazing yet inside, the brightest objects looked dim and unappealing.

It was always cold in the house. Even at the height of summer with the fire going, Meridia was unable to keep warm. In the mornings, the nurse dressed her in heavy winter clothes as though a storm was brewing. At bedtime, the good woman wrapped her in two or three blankets and still her bones chattered. The cold emanated from one room, where at all hours a frosty wind fluttered curtains and rattled lamps. Meridia did not know how Ravenna could sleep in that room; her father, Gabriel, certainly never did. Meridia was four when she noticed that no words had ever passed between her parents. Five when she realized that the three of them were never in the same room at the same time. Gabriel spent his days in the study at the front of the house. Exactly what it was he studied, no one could say. In hushed tones, the nurse and the maids referred to him as a man of science, a celebrated scholar, an astute investor who had doubled his inheritance and was now living for the sake of knowledge. They were all terrified of him. No sooner did they sight his shadow than they trembled like leaves. Gabriel seldom spoke to them. A gesture or a look was all he needed to convey his command, which everyone but Ravenna followed like a mandate from heaven.

Meridia regarded her father with both fear and respect. A tall and elegant man, Gabriel was direct in manner, limited in patience, scrupulous in appearance. He had a firm chin and a grim mouth, and his dark eyes were severe and without warmth. He walked with a slight stoop, which gave him the appearance of a swooping raptor. Not once had Meridia heard him laugh. That he resented her — for reasons that would not become clear until years later — was the first thing she noticed about him. If he were to ever take her in his arms or speak a kind word to her, she would not have the slightest idea of what to do.

One day, despite the nurse's warnings, Meridia stole into the study when no one was looking. She had simply meant to peek around the door, but when she saw that Gabriel was out, she braved herself to enter. Though she had no previous recollection of being there, the room looked welcoming and familiar. She grinned at the towers of books that made up the walls, at the hanging maps and graphs full of numbers. Cabinet after cabinet was jammed with flasks, beakers, burners. Meridia skipped toward the massive desk by the window. Jars of growing seeds populated the surface, and they were all winking at her. She was reaching to touch them when a shadow fell across the desk.

"Who gave you permission to enter?"

Meridia turned and shrank. Her grin instantly melted from her face.

"Speak up! Don't just stand there drooling like an ape."

"I — I — "

Gabriel had not raised his voice, yet Meridia felt the whole world was screaming at her. Confronted with his immaculate suit and shiny oxford shoes, she felt dirty, small, purposeless. As she beseeched the maps and books for a way out, every object in the room darkened like an artifact of hate. Meridia dropped her eyes and did not dare lift them.

"You are five years old and quite capable of forming a sentence. Do you mean to stand there and insult me with your silence?"

"Papa — I — "

She was saved from further agony by her nurse, who ran into the study trembling with fright.

"It's my fault, Master. I didn't think — "

Gabriel did not deign to look at her. "It is immaterial what you think or don't think. If I ever find her in here again..."

Quick for her considerable bulk, the nurse yanked Meridia out of the study. Once upstairs, she berated her charge soundly, but soon took pity and enfolded the child in her arms.

"You darling girl," she said with infinite tenderness. "Don't you mind your father too much. Some men can't help themselves when they're battered."

Her eyes pale and small, Meridia stood without moving. What had she done wrong? Why did Gabriel despise her like an enemy? Failing to stop the chill where his shadow had touched her, she wondered if all fathers were cruel and all mothers forgetful.

If the study was Gabriel's shrine, then the kitchen was Ravenna's sanctuary. In this large, bright room where the ceiling soared two stories high and the tiles were scrubbed four times a day, the lady of the house poured her venom into the endless meals she cooked. As she chopped, grilled, and boiled, Ravenna addressed the vegetables in a dark and private language, telling them of sorrow and despair. The fury of her pots and pans kept visitors away, while her air of absentmindedness spun a web of solitude about her. These endless meals, much more than her family could eat, were invariably donated to the poor. Apart from the kitchen, Ravenna entrusted the house to the care of the nurse and the two maids. This included the rearing of Meridia, whose existence she seemed able to recollect only with difficulty.

Ravenna's attire was limited to a plain black dress, which she kept protected with a white apron while she cooked. Long-sleeved and high-necked, the dress hid her pale arms and pointed shoulder blades, but did little to soften her appearance. Her face was so sharply angular it was saved from gauntness simply by her generous nose. Perfumed with verbena, her black hair was swept up into an implacable knot, so tight and bonelike it seemed a natural projection of her skull. Ravenna moved in a stiff and sudden manner, as though the aim of her action was decided at the tail end of a moment.

Due to her mother's forgetfulness, Meridia did not correctly estimate her date of birth until she was six. For years, using her own approximation, the nurse had always given her a present — her one and only — on July 2. However, on the morning of July 19 in her sixth year, Ravenna made a great clatter in the kitchen and summoned her. "Child!" she said breathlessly. "Why do you wear such a long face on your birthday? Look, I've made you a caramel cake. Go up to your room and put on a nice dress. I hope you don't mind that our party will be smaller this year." Meridia did not care for caramel and Ravenna never once held a party for her, but she did not trouble to correct her mother.

On the few occasions when they sat together in the living room, Ravenna would often drop her knitting and regard Meridia as if she had no idea who she was. Recognition, if it did occur, was swiftly followed by a tremor of shame. "Are you unhappy, child?" she would ask anxiously, sinking her chin to her bosom. Before Meridia could reply, Ravenna would snatch back her knitting and let fall a torrent of words: "Keep your spine stiff at all times. Never show anyone your tears. Never be at anybody's mercy. Nod if you're listening, child!"

Owing to her fear of infectious diseases, the nurse seldom allowed Meridia out of the house. Twice a month at most, when the sky was clear and the sun gentle, the good woman would take her to Cinema Garden for a brisk stroll. These outings were far from pleasurable for Meridia. Boiling inside a contraption of scarves and underclothes, knee socks and unyielding rubber boots, Meridia attracted as much jeering as pity as she staggered from one street to the next. The nurse, oblivious to her condition, would embarrass her further by remarking loudly, "Mind that dirty boy — from the looks of him he hasn't seen soap in weeks...See that wart-ridden woman over there? You'll end up like her if you don't do as I say...You're sweating an awful lot, dear. Tell me if you feel an attack is coming on..." Ten minutes after they arrived at Cinema Garden, before Meridia had time to inspect the blossoms or feed the golden swans in the fountain, the nurse would insist that they return home immediately before a contamination could occur. All of Meridia's objections would be met as follows: "You're irritable. Are you sure you haven't touched anything? Let's leave before it gets worse."

One afternoon in Meridia's ninth year, after she had been housebound for three weeks, Ravenna suddenly switched off the stove, untied her apron, and declared that she would take her to the market. Curious to know what a market was, Meridia hurried to put on her shoes. The nurse attempted to fortify her with the usual garments, but Ravenna stopped her with a bellow. "Have you lost your mind, woman? It's hot enough outside to brand a cow!" Amid the nurse's scandalized look, they set off, Ravenna severe in her black dress, Meridia torn between a smile and a sense of disloyalty to the nurse. She soon forgot the latter, however, when Ravenna took her hand and led her across the street. To her amazement, no one laughed at her. Several onlookers even complimented Ravenna on her pretty daughter.

"I can't and won't argue with you," Ravenna answered solemnly. "Any woman would be lucky to have a darling like her."

Meridia blushed all the way down to her shoulders. It was the first time her mother had ever praised her.

That day, Ravenna took her to a hot and crowded square. Meridia's eyes flew wide at the sight of people jostling and arguing, stalls crammed with fruit and vegetables, sacks of rice and flour, spices sold in egg-shaped jars. There were fowls dead and alive, fish heaped on beds of ice, crabs in bamboo crates, meat suspended from iron hooks. A woman grew herbs out of her body — thyme on her arms and rosemary on her chest — which customers plucked fresh with their own hands. A tattooed man swallowed whole radishes and spat them out chopped, seasoned, and pickled. The air was thick with aromas — both pleasant and odious — and the ground was wet and dirty. Had it not been for Ravenna's hand, which she clutched tighter as they made their round, Meridia would have felt overwhelmed. The nurse would never have taken her to this place.

Somewhere along the butchers' aisle, Meridia lost her mother. A current of people swept her back; she was pushed and prodded, stepped on, then driven against her will up and down the square. Ravenna was nowhere in sight. Without her, Meridia went unnoticed, glared at by shoppers only when they found her in the way. The butchers' cleavers frightened her beyond measure, the ruthless thwack of blade against bone and meat chucked hastily onto grainy papers. Along the ground, blood formed a fly-spotted river. The louder Meridia shouted, the more the crowd roared to drown her.

Perhaps she cried for hours. Her throat was certainly hoarse when a hand brushed against her cheek.

"Why are you crying, little girl?"

Meridia looked up to find a well-dressed woman in a sea green hat. Choking back tears, she labored to explain, but the woman interrupted her.

"Don't worry. Your mother is only playing hide-and-seek. Come, we'll find her soon enough."

The nurse's warning about the ghastly things that happened to children who followed strangers went off in Meridia's brain. However, not knowing what else to do, she took the woman's hand and followed.

They searched the square twice without finding Ravenna. On their third try, just as the last ray of hope was fading in Meridia's breast, the scent of verbena came strongly to her nose. She froze in her tracks, then quick as lightning dropped the woman's hand and charged against the crowd. She had spotted Ravenna's implacable knot. So great, so complete was her relief that her heart felt like bursting.

Standing before a flower stall, Ravenna was carrying packages in her hand. She turned abruptly when she felt the urgent tug on her dress.

"What is it, child?"

Ravenna's face was calm and untroubled. Meridia could not speak, for tears had once again sprung to her throat.

"What is it? Why are you crying?"

"What do you mean?" rebuffed the woman in the sea green hat. "She's been looking everywhere for you!"

Ravenna shot her a puzzled look. "What on earth for? I've been right here all along."

Unable to contain herself, Meridia broke out sobbing. Ravenna bent down and wiped her tears with her sleeve.

"Tilt your chin up, child. Keep your back straight. Why are you letting the whole world see you cry?"

Meridia sobbed all the more. Tossing her head, the woman in the sea green hat snorted, then gave Ravenna a sharp look before leaving. This look, unnoticed by the mother, sliced deep into the daughter's heart.

Though Ravenna held her hand all the way home, Meridia took no pleasure in it. The stranger's look burned in her vision, and along with shame and sadness, it stirred a reckless dark feeling inside her. More than once she wished she had a cleaver to hurl, not at the woman in the sea green hat, but at the forgetfulness that imprisoned Ravenna in a different world. She wanted to strike until her arm was tired, scream until her voice was gone, and hound down whatever demon had erected this wall between them. Copyright © 2009 by Erick Setiawan

Reading Group Guide

This reading group guide for Of Bees and Mist includes an introduction, discussion questions, ideas for enhancing your book club, and a Q&A with author Erick Setiawan. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.



Introduction

Of Bees and Mist takes place in an unnamed town in a timeless era, a place where superstitions and spells abound, spirits roam free, and even the mist harbors secrets. Here Meridia grows up in a household fractured by misunderstanding and haunted by grief. After a desolate childhood spent trying to understand her mysterious parents, she leaves at age sixteen to marry Daniel, an idealistic young man, and begin a new life.

Meridia quickly discovers that Daniel’s family is not what they seem. The formidable matriarch, Eva, who has a swarm of angry bees at her behest, maliciously manipulates those around her. Meridia increasingly challenges her mother-in-law’s authority, culminating in a battle to save her marriage and protect her husband and son…and bringing to light a long-held secret that connects their two families.

Spanning three decades, from Meridia’s birth through marriage, motherhood, and the years beyond, Of Bees and Mist is an intriguing family saga, a bittersweet love story, and a richly atmospheric fable.



Questions for Discussion

1. Of Bees and Mist is written in the style of magical realism, which combines realistic scenarios with fantastical or improbable elements. Did you enjoy this method of storytelling? Why or why not? Discuss the significance of the bees and the mist. Why do you think Setiawan chose these elements for the title?

2. Of Bees and Mist opens with the line, “Few in town agreed on when the battle began.” When did the animosity between Meridia and Eva start? Why, until Meridia came along, did no one in the family question Eva’s manipulative ways or stand up to her? How successful is Meridia in challenging Eva over the years?

3. “The music of Eva’s laughter, her strong arms and steady gaze—these, [Meridia] believed, held the power to dispel neglect, loneliness, and the unremitting curse of forgetfulness” (page 66). Why did Meridia so misjudge Eva during their first meeting? If Eva never liked Meridia, as she claims, why did she give Daniel permission to marry her?

4. Discuss Meridia’s relationship with each of her parents. What does Meridia come to understand about her mother over the years? How about her father?

5. Share your thoughts on Daniel, who alternates between supporting Meridia and succumbing to his mother’s demands. Why does it take him so long—and so many hardships—to finally see Eva’s true nature?

6. Eva intimidates and manipulates the members of her family, from Patina and Meridia to her husband and children. What is your opinion of Eva? What were her motives in encouraging a marriage between Permony and Ahab?

7. Malin changes dramatically during the course of the story. What accounts for her shift in feelings for Meridia and Permony? What causes her hostility toward Eva, particularly since she had always been her mother’s favored daughter?

8. Discuss the instances in which Hannah appears in Meridia’s life. Is Hannah an imaginary friend, a spirit, or something else?

9. How is Meridia’s departure from Daniel’s family home shortly after their wedding a turning point in their relationship? Do they ever really overcome this separation? Why or why not? What do you think the future holds for Daniel and Meridia?

10. How does having grown up witnessing her parents’ fractured marriage affect Meridia when it comes to making decisions about her own roles as a wife and mother? Does she learn from her parents’ mistakes or repeat them?

11. Meridia finally gets the evidence she needs to prove to Daniel that she knows about his infidelity. Why does Ravenna sacrifice herself to make this happen?

12. Discuss Meridia’s role in running and promoting the jewelry store. How much of its success is due to her business acumen? What later prompts her to start her own shop and design jewelry?

13. “There is too much of your mother in you,” Meridia says to Daniel. Later she wonders “how much of Eva was in her, had been in her all along” (page 401). Why does Meridia believe she might be like Eva? What similarities, if any, does she share with her mother-in-law?

14. The author does not name a time or a place where the book is set. Did this enhance or detract from your reading of the story, and why?



Enhance Your Book Club

Feast on some of the fanciful foods mentioned in the book like pineapple soda, plum sweets, strawberry sandwiches, lemon cookies, cream cakes, rice pudding, and cherry ice cream topped with chocolate sauce. Or serve pastries and tea like Meridia does in her jewelry shop.

In honor of Meridia’s interest in gems, ask everyone to wear their favorite piece of jewelry and share the story of how they got it and why it’s special.

Pair your reading of Of Bees and Mist with another magical realism tale, such as one by South American writer Gabriel Gárcia Márquez.

A Conversation with Erick Setiawan

Q: What inspired you to begin writing fiction? What sparked the idea for Of Bees and Mist?

A: I began writing fiction when I was still working as a software engineer. A year into the job, I realized that it was the wrong profession for me, and I found myself spending more time reading novels instead of keeping up with the latest computer technology. All that reading inspired me to begin writing, but I didn’t know what I was doing. I never took a writing course or joined a writers’ group, and since English is not my first language, I was often plagued by a crippling sense of inadequacy. This went on for years. I wrote two novels and countless short stories before Of Bees and Mist, and they were horrible and received hundreds of rejections. But I soldiered on. When the idea for Of Bees and Mist came to me in the summer of 2004, I thought this one might be special.

The origin for the book came from the family stories and tales I had collected over the years. I was very shy as a child growing up in Indonesia, and instead of playing with the neighbors’ kids, I would sit in my mother’s living room and listen to her talk to my aunts and our family friends. They were always full of stories, and no subject was ever taboo among them (I learned about S&M in kindergarten—from their discussion of a couple they knew who liked to beat each other up in the bedroom. Because I was so quiet, I suppose they often forgot that I was in the room). Their outlook on life, I realized later, was a curious mix of traditional Chinese values and Indonesian superstitions. Over the years, my mind became a sort of kitchen sink for these stories—all knotted and tangled up with no rhyme or reason. The book was my attempt to sort them (and by extension, my childhood) into some kind of order. I wanted the book to capture the joys and sorrows and intrigues that once pervaded the innermost worlds of these women.



Q: What compelled you to write a female-driven family saga? Was it difficult to write a novel primarily from women’s perspectives?

A: Because of all that time I spent in my mother’s living room eavesdropping on her conversations, it was a natural and obvious choice for me to write this book from the female characters’ perspectives. I wanted to honor those women who had shared their stories with me (whether they knew it or not), and I don’t think I could have done this if I had written the book from a man’s point of view. Furthermore, I always find the way women strategize and confront life’s challenges to be infinitely more fascinating. Men frequently settle their differences with fists, but women need to be more inventive and resourceful. Their tactics are subtler, more intricate, but often more deadly. To me, all these ingredients make for a riveting family saga.



Q: You were born in Indonesia to Chinese parents, and then as a teenager you moved to the United States. In what ways does Of Bees and Mist reflect the different cultures of your upbringing?

A: I think of the book as a tapestry woven from the different threads of my cultural influences—Indonesian, Chinese, and American. Indonesian culture in particular is deeply rooted in folklore, legends, and superstitions. When we were little, my brothers and I had a Javanese nanny who liked to tell us bedtime stories. She was the one who introduced me to my first ghosts and spirits, and thanks to her, I spent many a night convinced that there was a jinn hiding under my bed. She was also a Muslim, which made her stories a curious blend of ancient Javanese superstitions and Islamic beliefs. It was from her stories that I conjured the ghosts and spirits that roam the town, and it was her beliefs that informed much of the superstition in the book. One example is Eva’s habit of cutting roses to hang above the shop door for good luck—this is my spin on a common Indonesian practice of giving offerings to placate evil spirits. Another example is Eva taking precautions to eliminate every imaginable catastrophe during Malin’s pregnancy, a ritual prevalent among traditional Indonesian families. The part about Ahab being a half-swine, half-human creature stems from a Javanese legend about a demonic beast who plunders houses while people sleep.

The book also reflects my Chinese upbringing, or what little I was allowed to experience. Because of the widespread anti-Chinese sentiment in Indonesia, I grew up disowning and despising much of my Chinese identity. In fact, the only bit of Chinese culture I loved and was exposed to in those years were the Hong Kong martial arts movies. Inspired by them, I dreamed up my own mythical land of witchcraft and magic, where invincible men combat villains with lightning-quick swords and formidable women soar to the sky on swirling silk. It is this atmosphere of sorcery and enchantment that I aimed to create in the book, both as an homage to those movies and a nostalgic remembrance of the only part of my Chinese heritage I was permitted to embrace. Hence, Ravenna flies on a rapid sailor’s breeze when she goes to visit Meridia after Noah’s birth. Eva bewitches the cockatoo. Gabriel disappears inside the mist much like the heroes in those movies vanish as they elude their pursuers.

The third ingredient I mixed into the book is my American influence. The fact that Meridia dares to defy Eva strikes me as very American. No wife in a traditional Chinese or Indonesian family would even think about standing up to her mother-in-law in this way. The same goes when Meridia so decisively leaves Daniel to pursue her own destiny—in Chinese or Indonesian society, a woman with a child would pause more than a dozen times before doing this. In addition, the book also owes much of its existence to my reading of Western literature. In a way, Of Bees and Mist is my tribute to all the books that have shown me different means of using language to tell a story. Great Expectations. Beloved. One Hundred Years of Solitude. Wuthering Heights. The way the yellow mist knocks on Gabriel’s window comes from a line of T. S. Eliot. The confrontations between Meridia and Daniel are inspired by the dialogs between Newland Archer and Ellen Olenska in The Age of Innocence. These are only instances I remember.



Q: The setting of the story is never defined. Why did you decide to leave the time and place ambiguous?

A: I wanted to capture my various cultural influences as explained above, but I knew I couldn’t set the story in a real city or a real country, since there is no place in the world where Chinese traditions and Indonesian occultism and American ideology coexist seamlessly side by side at any given time in history. What I needed was a completely imagined geography with its own confluence of customs and cultures, where someone of diverse origins like myself would feel at home and not be considered an outsider. The answer is the timeless, mythical town in the book, where the inexplicable and the supernatural exert as much influence and authority as logic and individual will. Erecting that town allows me the freedom to borrow from different cultures and different times and to construct my own brand of legends and mythology.



Q: Why did you decide to write a novel in the style of magical realism? How does it enhance the story you wanted to tell?

A: The original early chapters of the book had no magical realist elements. After a few months of tinkering with them, I realized that something was lacking, but I had no idea what it was. They seemed too straightforward, too constrained, too unexceptional, particularly the part where Eva was venting for the first time. People complain every single day—why should this one woman’s grumbling be so special? And then my father, who was visiting from Indonesia at the time, told me a story about a friend of his who was often kept up at nights by bees. I was confused, and asked him if his friend was a beekeeper. My father laughed, and said that it was the friend’s wife who was depriving the poor man of sleep with her grievances, which sounded exactly like bees buzzing. The idea hit me like a bolt of lightning. The bees were the perfect physical manifestation of Eva’s grudges, and at once I knew what the book had been lacking. I went back to the chapters I had already written, and began to infuse them with elements of magical realism. I remember writing about Gabriel’s infidelity and suddenly coming upon the idea of the mist as a fitting metaphor for his situation. To me, a veil of mist is enchanting, brooding, otherworldly, and mysterious at the same time. It implies secrecy, omissions, things hidden and never spoken. In this same way, the different mists in the book conceal Gabriel, carry him to a different world, protect his secret, hide his shame, keep other people away from it. Whenever Gabriel plunges into those mists, he becomes another man. Just like Eva and her bees, the mists strike me as the perfect physical representation of Gabriel’s—and later Daniel’s—inner turmoil.



Q: Are any of the characters based on people you know? (Yes, we mostly want to know about Eva.)

A: Eva is based on my paternal grandmother. Mention her name today and my mother still shivers with horror. Filled with distrust and discontent, my grandmother had ten children whom she constantly set at odds so they would always rely on her for support and mediation. She demanded attention every second of the day, treated her daughters-in-law with a scrutiny worthy of a jailer, was so quick to anger and impossible to pacify that my mother called her by many an unpleasant name. I took my grandmother’s darkest side and implanted it in Eva, but it was also foremost in my mind that Eva should be resourceful and irresistible, since I did not want a character with nothing good or redemptive about her. Another character who has a real-life inspiration is Gabriel, who is based on my maternal grandfather. Like Gabriel, my grandfather had both a mistress and a temper, and was often so tyrannical that his friends likened him to Mao Zedong. Thankfully, as is often the case with tyrants, he was nothing but the kindest soul to his grandchildren. For one, I never experienced any of Noah’s sweat-soaked paralysis when I was around him.



Q: Meridia is fascinated by the gems that are her and Daniel’s livelihood, and she later designs her own jewelry. Did you have an interest in gemology prior to writing Of Bees and Mist, or did you learn about it while writing the novel?

A: I grew up in Kenanga Alley—Jakarta’s jewelry district in the old days—and both of my grandfathers were jewelers (they were actually business rivals, since their shops were across the street from each other). When I was a child, I was fascinated by the contents of my grandfathers’ display cases, the colorful stones littering their desks, their fireproof vaults, and the tiny sparkling brilliants they wrapped so meticulously in blue tissue paper. In the back of each shop was an area where the craftsmen worked, and I used to watch them set diamonds, melt gold, hammer silver. But my pedigree aside, I’m ashamed to say that I know very little about gemology! While writing the book, I had to do a bit of research to familiarize myself with the names of precious stones and their properties. What I remember most is spending hours at my grandfathers’ shops and observing them interact with customers. It was the memory of those bygone days that compelled me to choose the jewelry business as Meridia and Daniel’s livelihood.



Q: Who are some of the writers you admire? Is magical realism master Gabriel Gárcia Márquez among them?

A: Gárcia Márquez is certainly one of my idols—he taught me how to look for magic both in life and in prose. Other writers I admire are Virginia Woolf, Edith Wharton, W. Somerset Maugham, and Toni Morrison. I go through periods when I read only mysteries, only short stories, only Evelyn Waugh. I think Dennis Lehane is an incredible writer, and like everyone else, I’m waiting for Jhumpa Lahiri’s next book.



Q: What has the reaction been to the novel from your family, friends, and early readers?

A: My family—my father included—is waiting for the Indonesian translation. My mother, who understands a bit more English, I haven’t allowed anywhere near the book, since I have a feeling she will read it and say, “Why did you make Eva so nice? She’s an angel compared to your grandmother!” My friends who have read it were pleasantly surprised. Before, they called me odd. Now, they call me interesting. The reaction from early readers has been the best. They are so excited and passionate about the book, and the fact that they are neither related to nor acquainted with me is sufficient proof that their enthusiasm is genuine.



Q: Do you plan to write another novel? If so, what can you tell us about it?

A: I am working on another novel, and I’m very excited about it. I don’t want to say too much because I’m superstitious, but it will draw on my cultural background and experiences even more than Of Bees and Mist, and it will also have a similar tone and a gripping—I hope!—family mystery at its heart.

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