“Elisabeth de Mariaffi’s “The Retreat” pairs the blood-chilling suspense of The Shining with the thorough and thoughtful feminist exploration of the creative process in Virginia Woolf’s ‘A Room of One’s Own.’ De Mariaffi’s dancer-protagonist is blessed with powerful, intertwined drives to create and survive; both of which turn out to be essential to making it through the journey ahead of her when she arrives at a remote artist retreat in the opening pages of this fast-paced, heart-wrenching novel.”
Stephen King x Virginia Woolf? They really GET me. It’s kind of astonishing to find a jury willing to look beyond the word genre and find the book as it was intended. I feel very grateful.
And look, I got my nails done in NYC! Thank goodness!
What can I tell you about Stan Dragland? I’ve been thinking about him non-stop this week, since he passed away — too soon, on August 2nd.
I met Stan first at Banff, in 2009, where he was a program mentor (although not mine) and I liked him immediately. How could you not like Stan? He was quiet and kind with a razor-sharp mind and a killer wit. As my husband George has said, Stan did not fear silence, and when he did speak, what he said was always just right.
In 2012, Stan agreed to act as editor on my first book, How to Get Along with Women, a collection of stories. The book was published by Invisible, then quite small, and I’m sure he took… um, let’s say a reduced rate, as a kind of favour to me. We worked on the stories intensely – he sent me notes on one story a day, for twelve days. I only had twelve stories total; I was just learning to write them. They were all going in the book. The book was nominated for the Giller prize, and frankly, that changed my fortunes as a fiction writer.
Later that same year, I moved to St. John’s and got to hang out with Stan and his partner, Beth, in real life, alongside many other fine writers. He was fixture in our house, at our freeform dinner parties. He was a pleasure to host. The room quietened when he spoke.
In 2014, he sang at our wedding, along with our friend Holly. In combing my files last week, looking at old photographs, I also found the mp4 of their song. What a gift.
In the years after that, as our arts community faltered around misconduct cases that had moved into the public sphere, Stan did not falter. One night, I found myself in our kitchen at the end of a party, late, with two writers, both men. George had gone off to make sure the kids were in bed, I think. One of the men, with a few drinks in him, started to give me a pointed lecture on a case we were all concerned with: how the accusations could not be believed, how one must presume the man in question innocent. “We know he didn’t do it,” he said. This was years ago, and I was already exhausted by that time, which tells me now how very long I have found these conversations tiring.
I had a lot of things to say, in response, but somehow I could not say them. It was late. We were supposed to be friends. His tone had changed, just enough. We know he didn’t do it.
But the other man in the kitchen that night was Stan, and he didn’t freeze. He stepped in for me, shutting the conversation down simply, as was his way. “Do we?” he said. “Do we know that? Because we know that men do these things.”
The room quietened. There was no arguing back. I didn’t have to say anything at all, or do any of that work.
I was so grateful that I wrote to him sometime later, months later in fact, to tell him how much it meant to me. I think no man outside of my husband has stood up for me like that before or since, to another man, in that kind of social situation. (Certainly, my own father would not have.) Stan replied to my email in his usual way, quietly, humbly.
“I’m very glad I chanced to say something heartening,” he wrote. “I don’t always speak up when I disagree with what’s being said, not unless I feel strongly about it. I’m ashamed of what too many men get up to.”
I didn’t get a chance to see much of Stan in the last few years. With the pandemic limiting our movement, and with our priority being the big blended family we are blessed to enjoy, we haven’t seen many people who are important to us.
We had an amazing first week with The Retreat on store shelves! I couldn’t be more pleased — and couldn’t be more grateful to those of you who have pre-ordered or bought a copy, put your photos of the book on social media, and generally made me feel like a very lucky writer indeed.
I’ll tell you the best ways you can help promote a writer or a book you love, whether that’s me or someone else: — Buy the book! A pre-order is nice, but any sale is a good sale, especially in the crucial first weeks when a book is trying to gain traction or momentum. — Tell yo’ friends! If you love a book, throw a photo up on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter or wave it about on TikTok, whatever platform you like to use. (I’m sure there are others but I am in my 40s, let me be.) — Tell some strangers! A great way to help a book get better attention is to post a positive review on Amazon, Indigo, Barnes and Noble, Goodreads… you get the picture. In the case of the Big Online Retailers, the number of reviews actually affects how much or how little a book is “shown” or promoted, so your two cents makes a great deal of difference.
And of course, I know so many of you have already done these things for me, and all I can say is a very humble thank you. You have all made a huge difference in my life, and your support is what allows me to keep doing this job and living the life I really love. So, thank you, truly, with all my heart.
GIVEAWAY ALERT! We’re launching The Retreat in just over two weeks, and the #giveaway fun starts now! Register for the launch by midnight, Sunday, July 11th for a Monday morning draw! Three lucky winners will receive a “The Retreat” cocktail kit, created specifically for our launch party by Terre restaurant in St. John’s, and a signed copy of the new book Register here: https://bit.ly/3gOijXD
**High Spoiler Alert! There are a whole lot of details about the movie in this post, including the ending. If you haven’t seen it yet, don’t read this.**
Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman opens in a second-rate club with a handful of bros complaining about a female colleague. The scene cuts quickly to a banquette and a blonde. Almost too drunk to sit up, she attracts our men’s attention quickly and they joke, basically—frankly, even—about raping her. The sole gentleman among them cuts them off, heads over for a wellness check, and then takes her home, after all, where he plies her with syrupy liqueur and gallantly helps her lie down on his bed.
The scene gets uncomfortable fast. The blonde, Cassie Thomas, lies prone, arms spread in a Jesus Christ pose. As our bro begins to peel her panties down, she mumbles drunkenly, whatareyoudoing. But as the panties come off her feet, Cassie’s eyes open and the soundtrack drops a monster beat.
Suddenly sober, she sits up and repeats her question, stone-cold and sharp as anything:
What are you doing?
As viewers, we don’t know exactly what becomes of this guy. (In the next scene, Cassie strolls home, something gooey and red dripping down her arm… but it’s only ketchup from her morning-after hotdog.) What I do know is the thought that flashed through my mind in that early scene, not five minutes into the movie:
This is a dangerous game. What if this backfires? One of these men is going to get mad.
I meant to see Promising Young Woman opening weekend. I made a date to watch with my daughter, but we got delayed – she was moving house, Covid ruins everything, etc. Finally, a friend texted late one night to say she’d just seen it. Um, she joked. Did you write this?
When I saw the first promo for the movie, it’s almost what I said myself. What I actually said was: goddamn I wish I wrote that. My own first novel, The Devil You Know, starts in a similar place. A 20-something protagonist struggles over the loss of her best friend, allowing her obsession with finding the perpetrator to provide her with the feeling of control she craves—until the obsession spins out of control itself.
In the novel, main character Evie Jones is a young reporter who can’t get over the murder of her childhood best friend. She cycles obsessively on the crime and her favourite suspect, finally risking her own life to try and trap him. In Promising Young Woman, Cassie Thomas is paralyzed by the suicide of her best friend, Nina, after Nina was raped at a party in full view of their med school peers. But Cassie’s obsessive cycling on the crime appears to head down a different road altogether: Promising Young Woman sets up as a revenge thriller, and Cassie targets the very predators who assault drunk women—by going out every weekend and pretending to be too drunk to walk, then surprising her would-be rapists in the moment of truth. Guess who’s sober and mad as hell?
I based Evie’s story, in part, on my own. Like Evie, my best friend was killed by a predator when we were children. Also like Evie, the murder continued to haunt me well into my twenties. My sense of my own safety was so damaged that only now do I see how paralyzed I was, how I turned away from opportunities, and how generally fucked up my relationships with men became. Later, in my thirties, my therapist broke it down for me as a kind of PTSD. Out of a classroom of school children, she said, probably most of them remember the event, and its aftermath. Maybe one or two have forgotten completely. But one or two—especially those who were close to the victim—will have reacted like you, she said. At nine years old, I sucked the trauma into my body, and there it stayed.
I recognized myself constantly in Cassie’s paralysis and her obsession with Nina’s death. Cassie, at 30, is desperate to hang onto that obsession, which is now the only contact she has left with Nina at all; we see her survivor guilt over and over. A medical school drop-out, she wears her hair in schoolgirl braids, tied up with ribbons, and works in a coffee shop, a job that even Gail, her boss, knows is beneath her; when Cassie says she simply doesn’t want any of the trappings of adulthood, Gail sniffs, You must want something.
And Cassie does. At first, we think what she wants is revenge. The film is billed as a revenge thriller, after all, and I know a lot of viewers come to it hoping for blood. But Cassie isn’t aiming for that; what Cassie really wants is control. She goes home with a different asshole every weekend and becomes frighteningly sober in his apartment. She’s not in it to hurt them. She’s in it to make them feel afraid. She wants to take away their control, and replace it with her own. That’s what rape is all about it, isn’t it? Power for one person, and none for the other.
There’s risk here, and in retrospect, I think Cassie is tempting that fate all along. She deliberately puts herself in harm’s way every weekend, and then saves herself – and Nina, too, by proxy—by playing both roles at once: the drunk victim and the sober friend. The friend who, in this world, arrives just in time.
When love-interest Ryan comes along, the movie genre-swaps, morphing into a rom-com. It’s notable that the parameters of the relationship are still framed by Cassie’s trauma. Ryan is an old schoolmate from those med school days, and every charming thing he says is tinged with the language of consent; this is what wins Cassie over to begin with. She beats back the obsession, realizing how it controls her, rather than the other way around and it’s just what we all want for her. It’s what we want for ourselves—to feel that recovery can be easy. Changing out the genre is a risk, but we are lulled here, forgetting that upending expectations actually demands much more from the viewer. There’s a cute montage set to Paris Hilton’s ‘Stars are Blind’, part of a soundtrack pattern that includes Britney Spears, another denigrated woman of the 2000’s. But wow. What a relief.
And then, just as we think she’s heading to her happy ending, the page turns again: a video surfaces of the night Nina was raped. Finally, Cassie has the proof that Nina lacked. But the video seems to retrigger Cassie’s obsession; she doesn’t deliver the tape straight into police hands. This time it’s personal.
The end of the movie plays to our desire for a revenge narrative. We want her to go psycho. Dressed as a Harley Quinn-inflected nurse, Cassie poses as a stripper and shows up at the rapist’s bachelor party. She takes him upstairs, cuffs him to a bed, and delivers a pitch-perfect villain’s monologue—only, in this version, she’s demanding that he admit to being the villain. Cassie describes who her friend was before the rape, who she became afterward, and most importantly, she asks him, repeatedly, to own his actions. To own up to the rape.
Ultimately, neither Cassie nor Nina survived Nina’s assault. It’s clear that after Nina’s suicide, Cassie has never been herself again. If there’s a moment in the movie where Cassie becomes every woman (and to be honest, I think there are plenty), it’s this one: statistically, somewhere between 20 and 30 percent of women report having been sexually assaulted. Even without extrapolating—that number is surely higher, many women aren’t willing to revisit their assaults for the sake of statistics—it’s easy math. We have all seen the effect of sexual assault on the promising young women around us; we all know the threat and fear of assault. They are pervasive in our world.
The rapist—Al— is terrified now, but he never seems to fear for his life. What scares him is the impact this woman might have on his status, his job, his impending marriage. We can recall Margaret Atwood here: Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them. When Al defends himself by saying the event had repercussions for him, too—It’s every guy’s worst nightmare, getting accused like that—Cassie responds simply:
Can you guess what every woman’s worst nightmare is?
The plan, predictably, goes awry.
No, I mean it: I predicted the ending in that very first scene. Remember? This is a dangerous game. What’s more, I believe every woman does.No woman watching this film doesn’t immediately think of how dangerous it would be to surprise a man the way Cassie does, repeatedly, every Saturday night. What if this backfires? One of these men is going to get mad.
There is a fight. It’s loud and overlaid with soundtrack music and Al’s shouting— Shut up! Stop moving! But in the moment where Al holds her down and thrusts a pillow over Cassie’s face, kneeling against it to hold it in place, the sound cuts.
There are six full, excruciating seconds of silence.
When the silence breaks, we come back to the sound of Cassie’s long, muffled scream. A faceless howl from beneath the pillow. This segment, maybe ten seconds total, frames the film: That howl is all of us. It’s our grief, our pain, and our fear and it rises out of nothing to become the one thing that we can all hear.
From there on in, we hear every sound Cassie makes as Al, his knee holding the pillow in place, suffocates her until she is dead. It’s a long scene, and at the end of it, when she has stopped moving, Al’s face changes—his fear given way to anger, he bears down, kicking her in the face three times. By that time, of course, she is no longer a threat.
We can’t quite believe it, can we? Watching with my daughter, lockdown-style, in our two houses, our phones lit up. This better be a zombie movie, she texted me, panicked. But it bears remembering that Fennell was the showrunner on season two of Killing Eve. So if Cassie doesn’t deliver the psycho killer vibe viewers are expecting, it’s not because Fennell doesn’t know how to write a woman that way. It’s that she’s deliberately chosen not to. It would be easier if she had delivered to our expectations. Wouldn’t it be great if trauma recovery was really like that? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, violence for violence. Wow. What a relief.
Despite our hopes, in the next few scenes, Fennell goes out of her way to make it clear that there is no twist coming: Cassie is dead. Morning comes, and with it the buzzing of flies, the dirt on Cassie’s white-stockinged feet, and her stillness—her pose on the bed recalling that earliest scene, a Jesus Christ pose, arms wide open, the pillow still over her face. Because we all knew, from that very first scene, just what kind of risk Cassie was taking by challenging men to face their own actions. She predicted this outcome, too; she planned for it, every weekend at the club.
There is no twist ending. It’s not a thriller. Promising Young Woman is an acute investigation of trauma. It is a movie about grief, and at the end of it, our friend—Cassie Thomas—is taken away. We are left in shock, bereft.
The movie goes on for another ten minutes or so. We never see Cassie’s face again.
Galleys for the American edition of THE RETREAT arrived last week and they! are! gorgeous! I’m so excited to share this book with the world, and the galley — or Advanced Reader Copy, as we refer to them in Canada — are the first big step in that direction.
Are you as excited as I am to see 2020 finally end? With a new and improved (and hopefully, Covid-free) year ahead of us, now is a great time to plan for the winter and spring to come.
As always, I’m taking a select few clients for manuscript evaluation — if you have a draft already written — or for mentorship, if what you need is help getting started and staying on track. Booking goes fast this time of year, so if you think you might be interested in some help with your novel or short stories, now is the time to get in touch.
Looking for the structure of a certificate program? I’m also a mentor in the Graduate Certificate in Creative Writing program at the Humber School for Writers — the new term starts in January.
But what if poetry is your jam?
Brand new online poetry school Walk the Line is taking enrolment for Winter and Spring 2021 workshops. Instructor George Murray has published 10 books, including 7 books of lauded poetry and 2 books of aphorisms, and has taught the craft of poetry for over twenty years — everywhere from NYC’s New School University, to UBC, to the University of Toronto, to Memorial University right here in St. John’s. (And, oh yeah, I also married him.)
I can’t recommend these workshops highly enough, but don’t take my word for it: details and student testimonials are up online now, and George will be pleased to answer any of your questions.
What a long, strange year it’s been — and the truth is, I’ve been so busy writing and teaching this year, I’ve barely had a chance to breathe — or make a post here on this site!
But I have great news and I can’t wait another minute to share it:
COMING IN JULY 2021, from Harper Collins in Canada and Mulholland Books in the US –
A chilling literary thriller in the vein of The Hunting Party and The Shining, in which a dancer arrives at a remote mountain retreat hoping for artistic inspiration—only to find it’s disaster that strikes when an avalanche traps her among strangers who begin, one by one, to meet unspeakable ends.
Everyone has a secret to keep . . .
Maeve Martin arrives at the High Water Center for the Arts determined to do one thing: launch her own dance company. A retired performer and mother of two, time is running out for her to find her feet again after the collapse of a disastrous—and violent—marriage. And at first, there’s a thrill to being on her own for the first time in years, isolated in the beauty of a snowy mountain lodge. But when an avalanche traps the guests inside, tensions begin to run high. Help is coming, so they just have to hold on—right?
But as the days pass, strange deaths befall the others one by one. Soon Maeve must face how little she knows about anyone there . . . and how useless a locked door is if the darkness is already inside.
Rights sold to Helen O’Hare at Mulholland Books, by Samantha Haywood at Transatlantic Literary Agency (World English ex Canada). Rights previously to Iris Tupholme at HarperCollins Canada. TV/Film Jiah Shin at CAA.