Blood of Dreams
How would you describe this book?
I’d prefer readers to answer that question. Different readers seem to respond to different aspects of the story. There’s the dark doomed love story. The gothic murder mystery. The historical thriller. The literary/popular fiction cross-over. It’s been nominated for a crime fiction award in Canada, three horror awards and a few literary-focussed awards. Do categories matter? There are so many exciting books out there at the moment that are crossing boundaries. I’m proud that my book might, in some way, be participating in this trend.
The author talks about the evolution from nightmare to novel:
Without the inspiration of a nightmare this story wouldn’t exist. In fact it’s doubtful my career as an author would exist. It took a nightmare to grab me by the shoulders and say, “Listen, this is what you should be doing in life! Get to it!” I still can’t figure out whether I’m a late developer or just a slow learner.
And the marvellous thing is that dreams - understanding them, coveting them, even addiction to them in the form of opium -- have become the driving force in my story. It’s not something I consciously set out to achieve when I started writing the book, but very quickly the story became underpinned by the notion of a metaphysical addiction, every bit as devastating and overpowering as physical craving - a desire to cross the threshold between reality and illusion. I sensed that each character was driven by a sort of hunger that wasn’t physical, a craving for something unobtainable, transcendent, and they were all seeking it in their own way.
How important was Venice as a setting for your story?
There’s something about Venice and the Venetian mindset that made this city the perfect setting for Blood of Dreams. First, there’s the remarkable beauty of the place, that wonderful atmosphere of decaying splendour evident even today in a city overrun by tourists. And then, of course, there’s the strong gothic undertone of the city that suited my story absolutely. There’s also something wonderfully decadent and out-of-control about societies on the brink of decline - and by the 18th century the Venetian empire, an empire that had existed for close to one thousand years, was certainly in decline. The perverse energy of cultures about to implode, where everything is overripe and past its use-by date fascinates me.
Take these elements and then magnify them by the effect of Carnevale. People were out to live their dreams. Masks and costumes meant you could role play any fantasy you liked. The place must have been absolutely wild.
And then there’s the Venetian character, illustrated so well in Venetian proverbs - earthy, yet subtle, world-weary and sophisticated. I also found the memoirs of that most notorious of Venetians, Giacomo Casanova, a useful window into the antics and intrigues of 18th century life. I’ve tried to capture something of this sensibility - charming, illusive, ornate -- in my character, Estavio Rusconi.
How important was the opium taking to the theme?
When I started writing I knew Estavio had to have some sort of dark flaw, a weakness that made him unpredictable and moody. Apart from being charismatic and intense he also had to be a bad boy. And once I decided upon opium, the whole question of hallucinatory visions, expanded consciousness and most importantly - craving -- came into play. And the more I explored Estavio’s fascination with the blood of the poppy - the blood of dreams - the more things got interesting. And I loved the eroticism of his craving for dreams, his unquenchable desire to transcend mentally and physically, to attain an ecstasy not unlike a peak religious or sexual experience. I think it’s fair to say he gets rather carried away with the idea.
Clairvoyance, fortune-telling and the Tarot are important elements of the story. Do they reflect your personal interests?
It’s family folklore that my mother’s side of the family was related to the 16th century English prophetess Mother Shipton. Apparently my great-grandmother took the claim quite seriously. In my adolescence I developed an interest in palmistry and would go around offering to read people’s hands, but that’s as far as my talents seemed to extend.
I didn’t consciously start out writing Blood of Dreams as an exploration of dreams or metaphysical themes. But as the story evolved, so too, did my interest in these areas. I find the history and symbolism of the Tarot quite powerful and beautiful and a wonderful way to stimulate self-reflection and imagination. But having said that, they are not a resource I consult regularly. I like a few surprises in my life.
I’ve always loved the tale of Chuang Tze’s dream, a dream in which the Toaist philosopher believes he is a butterfly and then reflects: I thought I was Chuang Tzu who had a dream of being a butterfly. What if I am a butterfly who, at this very moment, is dreaming of being Chuang Tzu? Another development in my path to becoming a writer is how important the state of lucid dreaming - that dream state in which you are aware that you are dreaming and can begin to manipulate and influence the dream - has become in my writing process. Again, I didn’t start out to work that way, but I found that in a sort of half-awake state I was able to explore scenes and dialogue in very vivid and useful ways. In effect, I use it as a sort of horizontal problem-solving. It was a fantastic discovery because it means I get to spend a lot of time lying around on the sofa!
As far as metaphysical themes are concerned, my next book is about the discovery of an ancient mosaic with occult power. Alchemy and magic will feature prominently in my third novel, set in the 12th century. I think that’s a fair indication of where I’m heading and probably adds up to a significant amount of sofa time.
What were your inspirations when you were writing Blood of Dreams?
Butler’s Lives of the Saints was probably the book that launched my writing career. If I hadn’t been reading all those colourful stories about martyrs being tortured and devout virgins having their limbs cut off, I might not have had the nightmare that inspired Blood of Dreams in the first place. When I started writing, Sheridan Le Fanu’s strange and wonderful Carmilla, Carlos Fuentes’ novella Aura, Jeanette Winterson’s Passion and, of course, Patrick Suskind’s Perfume all made a strong impression on me. But I would have to say I found the first person accounts of various 18th century travellers, Casanova’s History of my Life (all twelve volumes!) and the paintings of Pietro Longhi and Canaletto highly evocative references that really informed my work.
As an artist, I respond very strongly to the visual impact of film. In fact, I can’t really write a scene until I see it in quite precise detail my mind. I admire films such as Francis Ford Coppola’s delightfully hallucinogenic interpretation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream, M. Night Shylamalan’s The Sixth Sense, Guillermo del Toro’s The Devil’s Backbone and Alejandro Amenabar’s The Others. Tony Scott’s stylish cult classic The Hunger is also a favourite. And I didn’t know it at the time of writing but have since realised that an entire scene in Blood of Dreams was inspired by an encounter in Ridley Scott’s Aliens. I’d love readers to guess which scenes I’m referring to in each.
As another source of inspiration entirely, I regularly engage with my kaleidoscope collection! My prize is an exquisite brass model with a Murano glass orb made, of course, in Venice. I can spend hours absorbed in the universe of brilliant colours and changing patterns in a kaleidoscope. But I’m weird like that.
I’d prefer readers to answer that question. Different readers seem to respond to different aspects of the story. There’s the dark doomed love story. The gothic murder mystery. The historical thriller. The literary/popular fiction cross-over. It’s been nominated for a crime fiction award in Canada, three horror awards and a few literary-focussed awards. Do categories matter? There are so many exciting books out there at the moment that are crossing boundaries. I’m proud that my book might, in some way, be participating in this trend.
The author talks about the evolution from nightmare to novel:
Without the inspiration of a nightmare this story wouldn’t exist. In fact it’s doubtful my career as an author would exist. It took a nightmare to grab me by the shoulders and say, “Listen, this is what you should be doing in life! Get to it!” I still can’t figure out whether I’m a late developer or just a slow learner.
And the marvellous thing is that dreams - understanding them, coveting them, even addiction to them in the form of opium -- have become the driving force in my story. It’s not something I consciously set out to achieve when I started writing the book, but very quickly the story became underpinned by the notion of a metaphysical addiction, every bit as devastating and overpowering as physical craving - a desire to cross the threshold between reality and illusion. I sensed that each character was driven by a sort of hunger that wasn’t physical, a craving for something unobtainable, transcendent, and they were all seeking it in their own way.
How important was Venice as a setting for your story?
There’s something about Venice and the Venetian mindset that made this city the perfect setting for Blood of Dreams. First, there’s the remarkable beauty of the place, that wonderful atmosphere of decaying splendour evident even today in a city overrun by tourists. And then, of course, there’s the strong gothic undertone of the city that suited my story absolutely. There’s also something wonderfully decadent and out-of-control about societies on the brink of decline - and by the 18th century the Venetian empire, an empire that had existed for close to one thousand years, was certainly in decline. The perverse energy of cultures about to implode, where everything is overripe and past its use-by date fascinates me.
Take these elements and then magnify them by the effect of Carnevale. People were out to live their dreams. Masks and costumes meant you could role play any fantasy you liked. The place must have been absolutely wild.
And then there’s the Venetian character, illustrated so well in Venetian proverbs - earthy, yet subtle, world-weary and sophisticated. I also found the memoirs of that most notorious of Venetians, Giacomo Casanova, a useful window into the antics and intrigues of 18th century life. I’ve tried to capture something of this sensibility - charming, illusive, ornate -- in my character, Estavio Rusconi.
How important was the opium taking to the theme?
When I started writing I knew Estavio had to have some sort of dark flaw, a weakness that made him unpredictable and moody. Apart from being charismatic and intense he also had to be a bad boy. And once I decided upon opium, the whole question of hallucinatory visions, expanded consciousness and most importantly - craving -- came into play. And the more I explored Estavio’s fascination with the blood of the poppy - the blood of dreams - the more things got interesting. And I loved the eroticism of his craving for dreams, his unquenchable desire to transcend mentally and physically, to attain an ecstasy not unlike a peak religious or sexual experience. I think it’s fair to say he gets rather carried away with the idea.
Clairvoyance, fortune-telling and the Tarot are important elements of the story. Do they reflect your personal interests?
It’s family folklore that my mother’s side of the family was related to the 16th century English prophetess Mother Shipton. Apparently my great-grandmother took the claim quite seriously. In my adolescence I developed an interest in palmistry and would go around offering to read people’s hands, but that’s as far as my talents seemed to extend.
I didn’t consciously start out writing Blood of Dreams as an exploration of dreams or metaphysical themes. But as the story evolved, so too, did my interest in these areas. I find the history and symbolism of the Tarot quite powerful and beautiful and a wonderful way to stimulate self-reflection and imagination. But having said that, they are not a resource I consult regularly. I like a few surprises in my life.
I’ve always loved the tale of Chuang Tze’s dream, a dream in which the Toaist philosopher believes he is a butterfly and then reflects: I thought I was Chuang Tzu who had a dream of being a butterfly. What if I am a butterfly who, at this very moment, is dreaming of being Chuang Tzu? Another development in my path to becoming a writer is how important the state of lucid dreaming - that dream state in which you are aware that you are dreaming and can begin to manipulate and influence the dream - has become in my writing process. Again, I didn’t start out to work that way, but I found that in a sort of half-awake state I was able to explore scenes and dialogue in very vivid and useful ways. In effect, I use it as a sort of horizontal problem-solving. It was a fantastic discovery because it means I get to spend a lot of time lying around on the sofa!
As far as metaphysical themes are concerned, my next book is about the discovery of an ancient mosaic with occult power. Alchemy and magic will feature prominently in my third novel, set in the 12th century. I think that’s a fair indication of where I’m heading and probably adds up to a significant amount of sofa time.
What were your inspirations when you were writing Blood of Dreams?
Butler’s Lives of the Saints was probably the book that launched my writing career. If I hadn’t been reading all those colourful stories about martyrs being tortured and devout virgins having their limbs cut off, I might not have had the nightmare that inspired Blood of Dreams in the first place. When I started writing, Sheridan Le Fanu’s strange and wonderful Carmilla, Carlos Fuentes’ novella Aura, Jeanette Winterson’s Passion and, of course, Patrick Suskind’s Perfume all made a strong impression on me. But I would have to say I found the first person accounts of various 18th century travellers, Casanova’s History of my Life (all twelve volumes!) and the paintings of Pietro Longhi and Canaletto highly evocative references that really informed my work.
As an artist, I respond very strongly to the visual impact of film. In fact, I can’t really write a scene until I see it in quite precise detail my mind. I admire films such as Francis Ford Coppola’s delightfully hallucinogenic interpretation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream, M. Night Shylamalan’s The Sixth Sense, Guillermo del Toro’s The Devil’s Backbone and Alejandro Amenabar’s The Others. Tony Scott’s stylish cult classic The Hunger is also a favourite. And I didn’t know it at the time of writing but have since realised that an entire scene in Blood of Dreams was inspired by an encounter in Ridley Scott’s Aliens. I’d love readers to guess which scenes I’m referring to in each.
As another source of inspiration entirely, I regularly engage with my kaleidoscope collection! My prize is an exquisite brass model with a Murano glass orb made, of course, in Venice. I can spend hours absorbed in the universe of brilliant colours and changing patterns in a kaleidoscope. But I’m weird like that.
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