Q: Ruth Macallister is smart, savvy, determined, and a woman ahead of her time. Your novels are known for having, what would be considered today, feminist women at the forefront. What is it like writing fierce leading women into a time that would not be as accepting of them?

A: When I was around eleven or twelve, my father’s mother—who was born in 1916 in Kobe, Japan, married in Calcutta, raised her children in postwar England, and was to me the prototype of the quietly adventurous, bookish, globetrotting modern woman—used to say that the 1920s and ’30s were “a wonderful time to be a woman . . . and then the fifties came, and it’s as if we fell asleep!” That sense of prewar freedom followed by postwar frustration probably lurks, conscious or not, behind all my female characters, whether they’re brasher sorts, like Ruth, or more introspective women, like Iris. I think women of the era were invigorated by a newfound freedom to pursue careers and enjoy love affairs, but on the other hand they also experienced the physical and emotional challenges that inevitably come with freedom, and they made mistakes and suffered. I find these women fascinating to write because they have so many layers. That friction between strength and vulnerability gives them life, and my job is to portray them in such a way that the reader can perceive the truth of characterization between the lines.

Q: Much of this novel also revolves around romantic love, as Iris falls desperately in love with her eventual husband, Sasha Digby, and cuts off family to remain abroad with him. Ruth also finds herself drawn to a counterintelligence agent Sumner Fox. Why do you think these stories of love and connection resonate so strongly with readers? How do you write touching stories of both falling in love and heartbreak?

A: Falling in love is such a quintessentially human experience—one that changes the way we relate to each other and to ourselves, one that heightens our engagement with the world around us and demands that we define our loyalties in clear, decisive lines. It also suggests the possibility of new life, which is another transformative experience, especially for women. For those reasons, I make no excuses for being drawn to stories that deal with romantic love, both as a writer and a reader. I don’t think we need to be afraid or ashamed of romance, or to treat it like some kind of sentimental feminine weakness. Eros is real, it’s natural, it drives all of us in fascinating and unexpected ways. It’s the desire for life over death, for hope over fear, and it’s the living heart of storytelling from Shakespeare to Austen to Verdi to Pushkin and Pasternak.

Q: What was the most difficult section to write, and what section came to you most naturally? Likewise, who was the most difficult character to write, and who came to you most naturally?