Q. What is Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management? Did the fact that Mrs. Beeton died at the age of twenty-eight have an ironic resonance for you?

A: Oh yes, indeed. The Book of Household Managementis a huge compendium of domestic advice and recipes, first published in 1861. Several things about Isabella Beeton intrigued me. Firstly that, contrary to what her name and reputation have suggested, she was not some staid old mouthpiece for conservative Victorian values, but an innovative, highly well informed (largely self educated) and entrepreneurial young woman. Her book introduced a level of professionalism to the domestic front, as well as a whole generation of homemakers to new recipes, ideas and knowledge about the culinary and domestic arts. And the irony of her early death is profound: for all her skill and knowledge she was unable to save herself from septicemia, and she died leaving two small children, one just a baby. Of course this resonated strongly with the idea I already had for my character, who also dies leaving young children.

Q. As you were working on this novel, your youngest son was diagnosed with leukemia. How did his illness affect the book?

A: My son’s diagnosis came when I was ready to commence intensive work on the draft I had written so far. Most of the story was sketched out, and I had written about 30,000 words. After his diagnosis I couldn’t look at it for over a year. It was impossible to find the time to write, but it was also unthinkable to return to a comic novel about a woman dying of cancer when I had looked the disease in the face. But after my son had returned to school and was living what approximated a normal life again, I finally summoned up the courage. I found I could do it, because I decided to tackle it in small pieces. However I know that the novel became rather sadder in parts as a consequence. The scene where Delia leaves the hospital after deciding to have no more treatment, where she views the pediatric oncology ward, was very much drawn from my experience. While my son’s illness intervened in the writing of this novel only temporarily, I know that if he’d been diagnosed with cancer (or if anyone close to me had) earlier then I would never have contemplated writing a comic novel about dying. But the character of Delia, her voice, the story were basically there well before this, and I eventually found the courage to face it, and then continue with it. Recently, I was being examined by a liver specialist as I have had anemia for several months and needed to have my liver investigated. Of course the topic of cancer arises in such situations (especially as you get older -- it seems to loom in the background of every medical complaint you have) and my response is usually dismissive, often jokey, but not because I am in denial or even insensitive (I hope!), rather because I absolutely don’t believe in worrying about such threats to your health when they are only vague, and usually unlikely. This doctor said to me, There’s nothing funny about cancer, and I know that this is true. On the other hand I also know that we retain our sense of humor at the most unexpected times.

Q. Delia goes in search of the girl who received her son’s heart after his death. What is she looking for by doing this? Do you relate to her need to find Sonny’s heart?

A: As the years have passed, Delia’s response to Sonny’s death has changed: at the time she was determined to cope by turning her back on the experience and the place – Amethyst – where they lived and he died, and by starting a new life with Archie. On the verge of dying she realizes this isn’t working, and when she returns to Amethyst it’s to try and hold onto the son she lost, for one last time. Compounding this is her long-term guilt over donating his heart – at the time she felt it was right; over the years she’s had doubts. And for her, the only way to reconnect with her son, however briefly, is with the girl who received his heart.

I’ve never experienced anything like this, but as a mother of course I do think about the sorts of choices we might have to make about things like this. The questions fueling my novel are in a sense very personal: How would I feel? What would I do? What would I say? Organ donation is also completely anonymous, and that anonymity is protected strongly by law. What Delia wants is some small recognition of her extraordinary gift, and the joy of seeing that this girl has survived, while her own son couldn’t. She wants to break through the anonymity that has stifled her for so long, which I can relate to. I would, if I could, like to stay in touch with the child, and its family, who may have received a gift of organ donation from my own family. There’s an extraordinary intimacy in such a gift, so it seems odd that both parties should be denied even the chance of any relationship. Of course, I rush to add that for those who need and want it, anonymity should exist and be protected. Not everyone is like me.

Q. Delia’s voyage --- the writing of the guide, her desire to experience closure from a painful loss --- can be seen as a spiritual one. Was this your intention?

A: I think her entire journey can be seen as some sort of metaphysical quest, though I’m not sure that spiritual is the right word. Unlike me, Delia is unreservedly pragmatic. While I would be happy to spend all my days in the life of the mind, by reading and writing and thinking about writing and reading; she thrives by doing practical things, and has no time for a spiritual life. When the novel commences she is in a state – ill, housebound -- where she is obliged to reflect on matters that she’s suppressed. Towards the end of the novel she says it is too late for religion, though she is surprised by thoughts of an afterlife and even a god (one with a great sense of humor!). But obviously her strong connection with the word Eternity is a giveaway: she does have a sense of the afterlife, it’s just that she’s denied it for a much of her life. Perhaps this is because of Sonny’s sudden death, which has also killed something in her.

In contrast, my spiritual beliefs are best described as a broad and undirected form of theism. I cannot accept that life simply ends at death, and feel that the spiritual dimension enriches our lives immensely. That said, I have no time for dogma and doctrine, and the terrible troubles in the word that are the result of religious prejudice and fervor. I was brought up in the Anglican church and still value its traditions and ceremonies, even if I can’t accept all its teachings. I love the church’s rituals, and I treasure the poetry of its language (before they ruined it by ‘modernization’).

Q. Parental guilt is a central theme. What are some of the types of guilt Delia experiences that are common to all parents, dying or not?

A: I think guilt is one of the least honored of parental feelings. Someone once told me that as a parent you’ll always feel guilty for one reason or another, so why not embrace the idea early on, instead of resisting it? Delia is guilty for being sick, for dying, for losing a child, for being an irresponsible parent, for being too caring or smothering, for not caring enough, for being estranged from her own mother, for being angry with her children, for not being angry or assertive enough, for swearing at them …. the reasons go on and on.

Q. How can a book called The Household Guide to Dying be a novel about life? And often funny, too?

A: Perhaps death in a way is the object of life --- not that we tend to consider this until the very end (and not that I have an especially morbid nature). But in part the novel explores what it means to live, and how much living one can extract from ordinary, everyday existence, when the focus is sharpened by the threat of early death. And as for the humorous aspects of the book, I do have a quirky sense of the comic, and I wanted to see how far I could exploit that in fiction with this subject matter. In the end it wasn’t hard to write humorously about many aspects of the narrator’s illness and imminent death, in fact it seemed natural. Of course, I expect that the humor helps avoid the underlying issues, which are fairly grim.

Q. Delia comes up with some ideas that are quite unconventional, to say the least, in her pre-death planning. What are some of the more outrageous ones?

A: It’s true: at times she tries deliberately to shock or unsettle people, including her family. At other times she is genuinely pushing an idea that she thinks is normal, but which strikes others as bizarre. She considers posing as a corpse (a pretty one) in a coffin for the cover of her proposed guide to dying; she orders her own coffin, then asks her family members to decorate it; she makes blood sausages from her own blood in a well-meant but misfired attempt to offer her family something essentially and uniquely hers before she is gone forever; she even tries to organize a new wife for her beloved husband. Fortunately, she relinquishes most of these nutty ideas before the end.

Q. Delia is known for her tart, witty responses to readers’ queries in her advice column. But she also provides a lot of solid information. How did you come up with some of her most useful and amusing household hints?

A: I made them up. It’s not that hard, although perhaps I do have more domestic capability than other people. And some of the advice is sound, despite Delia’s quirky attitude. For instance, the advice on how to boil a soft egg, or make a cup of tea. Years ago there was an odd page in one of the Sunday newspapers here, full of quirky home advice, though from readers, not from a columnist. I would often laugh out loud reading this even though it wasn’t meant to be funny. Correspondents would regularly write in, often panicked, saying things like, “Help, I’ve lost the recipe for my favorite ginger cake/butter biscuits/whatever – I’ve been making it for 20 years.” And I would laugh because I’d wonder, if they’d been making it for 20 years, how come they still needed the recipe? Another regular contributor would write in with hints on what to do with the weirdest bits of rubbish; for instance the empty plastic cartridge left when all the disposable razor blades were used up (good for soap dishes and under pot plants, apparently); or how to make a pie base from stale bread crusts (are we really that poor ?!). They also seemed to have the oddest names, and come from the most obscure places around the state. The queries would – to me – be so basic, and some of the responses so weird. I think that I stored that up and it came out in Delia’s voice. I think, too, that I was exploiting something I’ve detected in older people --mainly women --- which is a slight contempt for the domestically disabled coupled with a perverse refusal to pass on lore and advice. That is, the person who scorns your inability to produce a good sponge cake, but then won’t help you with it, as if that’s too much of a concession or something. (I hope I’m not becoming that sort of older person myself!)

Q. What kind of research did you do for this book?

A: Not a great deal of research actually. Research in fiction needs to be used sparingly, I find. I attended an autopsy some years back and wrote up very detailed notes on that, even though at the time I had no idea how the scene might fit into the novel. I researched some aspects of coffin manufacture. The weirdest --- and saddest --- research came quite unexpectedly: just when I finished the first complete draft of the novel, three people I knew died, two from cancer. In one week I attended three funerals. That was the sort of research I would rather not have done.

Q. The music of Elvis Presley is also prominent in this story. Is he a particular favorite of yours, or just an enthusiasm of your characters?

A: The richness and maturity of his voice always fascinates me. I think sometimes we forget that Elvis was a voice first, and a celebrity next. But I’m also slightly cynical about the cult of Elvis – and this comes out in the novel. And I’ll confess that I have, just as Delia, instructed ‘Always on My Mind’ to be performed or played at my own funeral, if possible. It’s a love song but appropriate, I think, full of tenderness along with the regret, and expressing a general feeling that while we don’t always do the right thing, we always intend to. I love that idea. It captures much of ordinary human yearning, our desire thwarted by our faulty natures.

Q. Delia claims that there is a connection between cleaning and creativity, which many women (and men) will be startled to hear. What connection does she see?

A: This to me is perfectly logical: cleaning and other domestic chores (like ironing) are totally mindless tasks, and that frees up the mind and the imagination. It could be sweeping leaves or chopping firewood or painting the fence. Or lawnmowing. Many writers advocate walking, which does kindle the imagination and is excellent for problem solving. But I think these other activities work too.

Q. When and how did you decide to become a writer?

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