"Is it autobiographical?" This is the question that pretty much every author gets asked about their first novel --- unless it's, say, a historical novel set in medieval times, or is the story of an axe murderer, or has a dead teenager as its narrator. Considering what my own life story looks like on paper --- I'm a Silicon Valley native and a former feminist magazine editor --- I knew to expect this question when people began to read my novel about a dysfunctional Silicon Valley family, whose oldest daughter is a feminist magazine editor."It's not about us, is it?" was the first (only slightly hysterical) question out of my mother's mouth when I told her about the subject of my book. I don't think she was truly reassured until she read the book itself, and realized that the fictional Miller family bore no resemblance whatsoever to our own. After all, in my novel, the mother, Janice Miller, is dumped by her husband Paul on the day that his company goes public, and eventually develops a nasty methamphetamine habit. (My family: divorce- and drug-free). The oldest daughter, Margaret, is $100,000 in credit card debt thanks to her defunct magazine. (I, thankfully, am not). The youngest daughter, Lizzie, first becomes the school slut in a bid for popularity, and then becomes a born-again Christian to repent. (My angelic sister will attest that she was neither.)
Similarly, the town where I set the story is fictional --- the only Santa Rita in the San Francisco Bay Area is actually a county jail. "Santa Rita" is, however, a satirized amalgamation of the towns around Silicon Valley that I knew so well, after living in the Bay Area all my life. And anyone who has lived in the Bay Area over the last decade will recognize the world that I depicted --- a world where $3 million dollar ranch homes are called "tear-downs" and where five-car garages and wine cellars are considered necessities.
And so it shouldn't have been surprising when I began to do press in the Bay Area, and one of the questions that I frequently heard was "Are any of these characters based on real people? Do you think your novel is going to upset people in your home town?"
It was a question that had never crossed my mind. I'd spent almost four years inventing a place and a family, filling their lives in with imaginary details and wild plot twists; and even though I intended the book to be an indictment of the ridiculously inflated "American Dream" lifestyle that had emerged out of our country's super-rich enclaves, I'd never intended it to be an indictment of anyone specific.
It wasn't until the novel came out, and I was invited to discuss it at my mother's book club, that I began to worry that it could be seen as anything but fiction.
My mother has a very active book club, filled with many old friends that I knew from growing up. The book club met in the ladies lounge of my mother's golf club (no resemblance to the one in my book). I was greeted with hugs and kisses, some from women that I'd known for thirty five years. They'd all purchased my novel from the local book store, Keplers --- where my novel had quickly become a bestseller --- and as the meeting started, the club members all turned and stared at me.
It seemed, suddenly, very quiet. I realized that everyone was waiting for me to speak. My mother smiled, encouragingly, as she passed a plate of brie and strawberries. "Maybe you just want to ask me some questions?" I ventured.
An old family friend, whose children I used to babysit, raised her hand. "So," she began. "Is this book based on anyone we know?"
My stomach lurched unhappily. A dozen pairs of eyes looked at me. But they were smiling, eager. That's when I realized that they actually wanted this book to be nonfiction. They wanted the thrill of guessing which of their friends was the one with the bulimic doctor, or the philandering husband, or the drug-dealing poolboy. If I told them that any of this was true, it would provide them with years of gossip to come. It would make my novel a much more scintillating read! Suddenly, I hated to disappoint.
Instead, I turned to the woman who had asked the question. "Well, you can find yourself on page 62," I said.
The room laughed; the ice broke; and I was never asked this question in my home town again. Still, I'm sure they'll always wonder.
My next book will be about a couple in L.A. whose marriage falls apart as their home goes into foreclosure. Yes, I'm married, and I live in LA. But I swear, this one isn't autobiographical either.
---Janelle Brown
