Rahela Nayebzadah talks to Debbie Bateman about her second novel.
1. Your novel, Monster Child, alternates point of view between three teenage siblings. We are given interwoven timelines and left with the meaningful task of finding points of connection and disconnection. What were the challenges and rewards of using three points of views to tell this story?
RN: Monster Child is told from the perspective of the three children of the Afshar family: Beh, Alif, and Shabnam. I had a lot of fun writing Part 1 (told from Beh’s perspective) and Part 3 (told from Alif’s perspective) because although the story is tragic, Alif’s and Beh’s voices brought humour to tragic situations. Furthermore, if I were to compare my teenage voice to any of the characters, I’d say it was most similar to Alif’s and Beh’s, so to relive and embrace that moment was literally a blast from the past.
However, to write Monster Child from the perspective of the three children was more challenging than rewarding. First, I didn’t want Monster Child to be categorized as a YA novel. I wrote for an adult audience and had to keep that in mind the entire time. I constantly asked myself questions such as, “Is this too childish for adults?” At one point, I remember wanting to rewrite the manuscript in third person so that it would be more appealing to an adult readership. Second, although each sibling had their own story to tell, Monster Child is about the Afshar family falling apart due to the choices, secrets, and lies made by Madar (Mother) and Padar (Father). Thus, the story of Beh, Alif, and Shabnam is the story of their parent’s marriage. This was difficult to demonstrate because not only did I want to capture the essence of how each sibling made sense of their world, I also wanted to make the story believable and easy to follow, especially since it isn’t told in chronological order. Third, each voice had to be different, yet similar—different because readers had to tell them apart, and similar because readers had to believe that they grew up under the same roof.
2. The story is heightened through elements reminiscent of Gothic horror including ghosts, disturbing dreams, and a gym flooded with tears of blood. Underlying these elements are strong currents of shame, regret, and secrets. How did the Gothic horror elements influence the issues and deeper concerns that pull the story forward?
RN: I find it fascinating when readers comment on elements of Gothic horror in Monster Child, especially since I wasn’t influenced by it at all. Ghosts and dreams (especially dreaming of the dead) is a part of the Afghan culture. We believe our dead never leave us—their spirits guide us, or sometimes, haunt us. References to blood (Shabnam crying tears of blood), however, were more of a personal and autobiographical choice. At the age of ten, I almost lost my youngest brother in a car accident, and ever since then, I see people covered in blood. I therefore decided to include this traumatic piece in my novel not only as a healing process, but to also find beauty in it.
3. Monster Child is rich with stories, prayers, meals, and other details about Afghan culture. Words in Dari, a dialect of Persian, are used to explain rituals, traditions, and ceremonies. This gives the reader a vivid experience of Afghan culture. What are your thoughts about sharing Afghan culture and preserving meaning through language?
RN: Regardless of one’s race, culture, or religion, I wanted readers to connect with the Afshar family. But, at the same time, I didn’t want readers to think that the Afshar family could’ve passed as any typical white family. Equally important to me was not writing about a “white Afghan family.” I wanted the cultural aspects (songs, recipes, and traditions) to be educational and give readers a vivid experience of Afghan culture without it being forceful or serving as a cultural tour to white readers.
Also, as an Afghan writing about an Afghan family, there are some words, phrases, or expressions that wouldn’t have made sense if they were translated into English. This mattered to me because I did not want to ignore my Afghan readers. Although I worried that the constant page-flipping to the glossary may be frustrating to some readers, I chose to preserve meaning through language because that was important to me.
4. The sexual assault of Beh drives the plot and deepens the exploration of gender roles. At one point Beh says, “I am a girl. I am a disease.” Can you talk about the struggle for identity experienced by the three siblings and how it relates to gender roles in the Afghan culture they live in?
RN: Islam is one of the most contested and misrepresented religions in the world, and its women followers are the greatest victims of the distortion of their society and culture. Speaking of one’s experiences of sexual assault further reinforces the narrative of brown women needing saving from brown men. Especially in Muslim culture, rape is perceived as the woman’s fault and she is forever tainted by it. As an Afghan-Muslim woman, I know the fear of becoming a source of shame for one’s family by speaking out on sexual assault. I also know of the dangers, the repercussions, and the silence it produces. But, such stories need to be shared and I hope Monster Child influences young girls and women to speak up. Now is the time to spark dialogue.
5. The novel follows several important threads. One is a quest for the real monster and the notion of what that means morphs as the story shifts into each point of view. Can you reflect on the meaning of monsters in this novel and the questions it explores?
RN: Every character in Monster Child can arguably be seen as a monster. Alif, Beh, and Shabnam, especially, inhabit their own monstrosity. However, one may argue that the siblings are the least monstrous, and are instead the product of monstrous parents. Others may believe that the monster is not a person but rather societal/cultural/religious expectations. There is really no correct answer as to who is the real monster child. From the beginning, I was more interested in allowing the readers to decide who the real monster child might be, rather than pointing them to the real monster.
6. What books were you reading when you wrote this? Are there any books that you had to keep visiting for inspiration when writing this book?
RN: If there’s any book that inspired me to write Monster Child, it was The Jade Peony by Wayson Choy. I was teaching the novel to a grade 10 English class in Gladstone Secondary when I fell in love with it. Although I read the novel in high school, I did not connect with the text as much as I did when teaching it.
7. How did you arrive at the title? What did you want the title to do?
RN: Originally, Monster Child was supposed to be a fantasy novel. I came up with the title ten years ago, way before I sat down to write the story. At that time, I wanted the title to do exactly what I hope it does today: to get readers to question who’s the real monster child.
8. Are any aspects of the book autobiographical? How did you consciously deal with your intimate material (such as emotional and physical experiences) in a way that avoids the dangers of straight autobiography?
RN: Shabnam’s tears of blood have to do with my own trauma of seeing people covered in blood after almost losing my youngest brother in a car accident. A lot of the racism the Afshars faced (in particular, the name calling) was also based on real experiences. Finally, the Afshar’s family restaurant (the Afghan Nomad) was based on my family’s restaurant in Main Street Vancouver called The Silk Road Cafe.
9. Are there threads of the story that were not told? Were there ideas that you couldn’t use? Were there threads you had to keep for a later work because of editorial reasons or plans for a sequel?
RN: Originally, Monster Child consisted of four parts. The last part was supposed to be told from Beh’s perspective and it was set five years later. I decided to remove that part not only because it did not fit, but also because I wish to turn Monster Child into a trilogy. I wanted Monster Child to end in a way that left readers wanting to know what happens to the three siblings.
10. Did you have an intended audience for the book?
RN: I had several audiences in mind. First, I wanted to write for my Afghan readers. Working carefully and critically in representing a community I belong to is crucial to my writing. Second, the English teacher part of me wrote the novel for my Afghan female students. I see Monster Child as a feminist text with strong female voices. Third, I wrote Monster Child for my children, who are biracial. I want my sons to learn about my culture, my traumas, and the racism I encountered as an immigrant.
A mother of two, Rahela Nayebzadah holds a Ph.D. in the Faculty of Education from the University of British Columbia. Her novel, Monster Child (Wolsak& Wynn, 2021), is nominated for the Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize and the Roderick Haig-Brown Regional Prize. Her autobiographical novel, Jeegareh Ma (2012), was based on her family’s migration to Canada from Afghanistan.