Portraits of artists as conflicted beings
Valerie Martin has written seven novels, including ''Mary Reilly," ''The Great Divorce," and ''Property," as well as two collections of short fiction and a biography of St. Francis of Assisi. In ''The Unfinished Novel and Other Stories" (Vintage, paperback, $13), she deftly portrays artists in all their vileness, sublimity, and humanity.
A native of New Orleans, Valerie Martin spoke from her home in upstate New York.
Q: Each story here concerns an artist or writer. What drew you to this theme?
A: Well, the stories were written over 10 years, so it was not conscious in any way. But when I sat down to arrange them it was easy to see how they fitted together. I'm personally fascinated by the whole notion of art and the artist, the price of art to the artist and how art saves or ruins your life.
Q: Is this collection in any way introspective?
A: To some extent, yes. Being a writer and watching other writers, I'm always struck by the struggle to reconcile art with popular success. The idea that if you're really an artist your work won't sell, and if it sells then it's not art; that conundrum fascinates me.
Q: These artists are generally selfish, dishonest, cruel. Is that an occupational hazard?
A: [Laughs.] It's an occupational hazard of being human. I don't think of my artists as particularly repulsive. But ambition of any sort puts you in moral quandaries. Artists, however, are persuaded that their goal is somehow sublime. It's a bit like religion. They feel themselves to be in the service of something.
Q: Are the artistic life and the moral life incompatible?
A: I wish I had said that. I totally agree. Or let's just say it's a struggle.
Q: Do you think of yourself as a Southern writer?
A: Not really. Although since New Orleans disappeared I've begun to think maybe I am. Part of my experience of becoming a writer was to face that question, but in general the writers who influenced me were British or European.
Q: Which British or European writers?
A: So many. The two big books that influenced me in my youth were ''Madame Bovary" and, oddly enough, ''The Stranger." They're so far apart in what they're up to, and they're stylistically so different. ''Madame Bovary" is about the conflict between romanticism and reason, and I find that very appealing. I go back to that novel all the time, even to read a paragraph. In ''The Stranger" it's the beautiful simplicity, the clarity of the style.
Henry James, Edith Wharton. . . . I used to love Thomas Hardy. . . . [British novelist] Elizabeth Taylor, she's just wonderful.
Q: You lived for three years in Italy. Did that alter your work?
A: I think it did, but I'm not certain how. I discovered how huge art could be in daily life; every little town has its treasures, and everybody knows about them. I wish it could be like that everywhere. I mean what if every town in America had its treasured artist or philosopher? Wouldn't it be a different place? I wrote ''The Change" in Italy, and that's how this collection all started. But I had trouble writing while I was there. I don't speak Italian well so I had trouble speaking too.
Q: Was your writing difficulty a kind of language block?
A: I think it was. I was trying to learn Italian but I was speaking it mostly to my partner, John, who's a translator. Other than that I hardly spoke. If you can't speak you can't write? I don't know.
Q: Was it difficult to readjust to living in America?
A: A bit, yeah, it is.
Q: Have you been back to New Orleans?
A: Yes, about three weeks ago. New Orleanians are so fatalistic; they always have been. They have a unique sense of irony, and part of that is not acting surprised by anything. But they're shocked and wounded. It's just awful. The part of the city that's alive is just beautiful, but it's surrounded by an uninhabitable ruin.
Everybody I spoke to said ''Tell people to come." It's important to see it.
Q: You seem to move easily between the short story and the novel. Does one form feed the other?
A: Not for me. It's a really different endeavor. In short stories I can write about what I'm not writing about in my novels, which are often pretty dark. It's almost like having a playroom.
Q: Animals seem to be potent symbols for you.
A: Animals are so magical and at the same time they're so much more a part of the world than we are. They witness it for us. They witness us. I just put a bell on my cat because he keeps killing everything -- and he gave me that look.
Anna Mundow, a freelance journalist living in Central Massachusetts, is a correspondent for the Irish Times. She can be reached via e-mail at ama1668@hotmail.com. 