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Elizabeth Dewberry's first novel, Many Things Have Happened Since He Died (1990), introduced a distinctive voice to American fiction. That novel and her second, Break the Heart of Me (1994), both of which were published under the name Elizabeth Dewberry Vaughn, were followed by several plays, including Flesh and Blood and Four Joans and a Fire-Eater, as well as a stage adaptation of Many Things Have Happened.
In February, Dewberry's third novel, Sacrament of Lies, was published by Blue Hen/Putnam. In one sense, it marks a new departure for her, crossing into the territory of the psychological thriller—though it's not strictly a "genre" book. It is also a natural continuation of her earlier work, particularly in its attention to spiritual reality. And like Jane Smiley's novel, A Thousand Acres, which retells and revises the story of King Lear, set on a farm in Iowa, Sacrament of Lies tranposes Hamlet to contemporary New Orleans and makes the protagonist a young woman. Dale Brown, who has been following Dewberry's career from the beginning, talked with her about the new book.
There was a gap of eight years between Break the Heart of Me and Sacrament of Lies. Did you have to write a bad book or two to get to this new novel?
Sort of. For a while, I was working on a book about a woman who set her house on fire while her husband was asleep inside. Then I started writing about a woman who thinks the Virgin Mary has appeared in her bathroom window. But neither of those went anywhere. I didn't even give them titles. Sacrament of Lies was first conceived about six years ago, while I was working on other things. I guess I actually worked on it for maybe three or four years, depending on what you count as work.
And you were writing plays during those years, too.
Yes, I did several one-acts and two full-length plays, Flesh and Blood and Four Joans and a Fire-Eater. Four Joans is about a group of friends who decide to do past-life regressions under hypnosis, and they all come out of it believing that they used to be Joan of Arc. It's a comedy that asks questions about whether it's possible to have a mystical experience today— whether it's ever been possible, for that matter. I'm working on one right now called Goddesses in Distress. It was inspired by the true story of a student in England who ambushed Germaine Greer, the once-radical feminist who wrote The Female Eunuch. The student broke into her home and tied her up for three hours. I read about that and kept wondering what happened during those hours. When I started writing the play, though, I found that the dynamics became more interesting and more flexible when I changed the characters from a radical Seventies-style feminist professor and her disgruntled student to the author of a New Age feminist self-help book and a disgruntled reader. The author herself recognizes that the book is banal, but it has become a bestseller, and the reader who ambushes her has taken its bad advice too literally, so now she's blaming the mess she's made of her life on the author.
How do you shift from playwright to novelist?
They are two very different modes of discourse. One is solitary, and for your solitary endeavors you get the benefit of having complete control. And you get a book, this sensual, lasting object that you can hold in your hands and look at on your shelf and smell and, of course, read, which is a tremendous pleasure. And the other is collaborative, which is more fun, but you don't always have control. You have other artists contributing, and sometimes they contribute things that aren't what you want them to contribute. Though, of course, sometimes they bring it to life in ways that are just exhilarating. There's no thrill for novelists like the opening night of a play, but there's also no heartbreak like closing night. Going out of print feels bad, but at least your book still exists. So I find pleasures both places.
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