I don’t think we’ll return to the States right away, not even now that my second country has returned to what it should have been for the past year, not even now that a new president has taken the keys from the old one, stating in the simplest of terms that he will never see America repeat the damage it wreaked over the past twelve months. With the first eleven men in the line of succession, well, not quite what they were before their own aphasia serum went to work, the charge of rebuilding went to, of all people, the secretary of health and human services. A funny thing, really, when I think that might have been Patrick’s next job.

Jackie’s also volunteering as a campaign coordinator. Her letter from last week told me all about the midterm elections, how Congress will be back to normal—maybe even better—with all the women running for office. Imagine, Jeanie, she wrote. Twenty-five percent in the Senate and the House. Twenty-five! You should come back and get in on it.

Maybe next year, I wrote back. And I meant it.

For now, though, Jackie has my financial and moral support. I’m not ready to get into politics, not just yet. The boys love the sun and air of Italy, Sonia’s second language is on its way to being as expressive as her first, and everyone is excited about the baby coming.

Also, I enjoy watching the women here. They talk with their hands and their bodies and their souls, and they sing.

Readers Guide

Vox

Christina Dalcher

A Conversation with Christina Dalcher

How long did it take you to write the novel?

You’re not going to believe me, but . . . two months. May 23 to July 23, 2017. Granted, I’d written the short story of about 3,500 words in early May, so I had a skeleton to work with. But Vox the novel came together quickly.

In Vox, you’ve created two characters in direct opposition: Jean, who was politically inactive before the president came to power, and her friend Jackie, who attended every rally and protest. What did you hope to convey by their two extremes?

Jackie, even though she appears in the flesh later in the book, started out as a ghost. She’s the proverbial haunter, the nagging voice that says to Jean, “I told you so, kiddo” and “You made your bed, now lie in it.” Jean might never turn to activism and become a Jackie, but she does change over the course of the story; she becomes more like Jackie, while still retaining her own identity. We don’t all have to be carbon copies of one another to work on the same team, but we can learn things from other people.

What was it like to live in Jean’s head while writing Vox?