Synopsis

A tribute to family history, We are the Kings (Bold Story Press, March 1, 2022) shows the difference in women’s struggles across two generations of women. While Marcella is sifting through her family’s conflicting and fading memories, she puts into words what no one else will say out loud, revealing not only what may or may not have happened, but what is truly at stake when a woman tells her story.

The strength and resilience of women shines in this author’s debut novel. With themes of feminism, domestic space, and women’s invisibility, this story delivers headstrong, driven characters that carry readers through the bonds between women. It shows how women rely on each other through trauma, grief, joy, and the journey to find themselves from childhood to adulthood.

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Interview

There is an interesting cross between architecture and violence. Can you explain the relationship between the two?

I have always loved architecture and interior design, which is, in many ways, central to my understanding of the world around me and the people whose spaces I’m lucky enough to occupy. I’m fascinated by all of it–from the big stuff like furniture and color and fancy kitchens, to how people arrange their cleaning products or towels. The things we build and live with represent some of who we are, and much of it will remain after we’re gone.

Having studied architecture and design, and knowing just how much thought goes into even the tiniest design decisions, it’s pretty startling to wrap your head around the idea that the intention behind a lot of our built spaces is violent or punitive. Many sets of ideas go into building prisons, just as many sets of decisions were involved in the building of concentration camps (both of which feature in my book). Entire communities in our country at this moment have been designed to contain people and to deprive them of both certain luxuries, and some pretty basic human needs–clean air, access to food and unpolluted water, healthcare, and education. I think what I’m trying to get at in my book is that this sort of architecture and design is so normalized in our society that we don’t stop to question it. We aren’t fully present with things like the legacy of redlining, the creation of public housing, and the industries behind the development of solitary confinement units and restraining devices.

Right now we have a shocking number of elderly people in prisons–the population that poses the lowest risk to society and who are the most expensive to contain. Our prisons are designed to warehouse, not rehabilitate. They are not spaces in which one can grow old safely and they do not take into account the dignity of the humans they contain. Imagine trying to navigate a prison when you’re experiencing cognitive and physical age-related impairments. And that’s on top of the already monumental stress of being imprisoned.

I could go on and on! I guess as depressing as it is, it is also a part of our world. Maybe understanding it better will help us build things in the future that promote peace and love and ecological viability.

How has your own family history affected the writing of We are the Kings?

I was lucky enough to have 4 grandmothers–my mother’s mother, my father’s mother and stepmother, and my stepfather’s mother. And I had two amazing grandfathers. As a kid, I found all of their stories and quirks and spaces really thrilling. I just loved being around them, and I learned a ton from all of them. As I grew up, particularly with my grandmothers, I saw the limitations that were imposed on them by sexism and ridiculous social conventions. I had always seen them as larger than life, and in many ways they were, but they were also victims of their circumstances. That juxtaposition–between being incredibly powerful in some ways, and truly powerless in others–was a big part of how I came up with the storyline for my book.

What aspects of women’s lives do you feel are invisible to the world, and why is it important that we acknowledge it?

I think in abusive, patriarchal systems, populations that are deemed less valuable to society are pushed to the margins. We don’t consider their interior lives, and we don’t think to preserve their experiences in our stories or museums or histories. This is true for non-white, female/LGBTQ, immigrant, and poor populations (to name a few), and it’s certainly true for people who are imprisoned. I believe that it is morally wrong to silence these populations, but my main issue with that silencing is that it robs us all of some of the most beautiful and brilliant personalities and stories.

I have a lot of regrets about not seeking out the thoughts and opinions and stories of my grandmothers more than I did. Because my grandfathers loomed so much larger, and they took up so much room, it was kind of just the way it was that my grandmothers’ experiences during something like WWII just weren’t as much a part of the conversation. And it wasn’t that my grandfathers were unkind. They were absolutely wonderful. It’s just the way it was. I think that’s partly what compelled me to write. I want my grandmothers’ stories–and any story that gets pushed to the margins– to take up more room.

You mention you’ve always been interested in women’s stories. What do you find interesting about how women’s stories are formed, told, and what isn’t said?

I just don’t think women have been given the space in our culture to be really free. I think that’s true for a lot of men as well, and for all sorts of people who don’t fit within specific gendered or societal conventions. But my book is really about women’s stories and what we feel safe talking about, not only to each other but to ourselves. Particularly recently, there’s been a really amazing rethinking of feminism throughout the world, and I’m so excited about it. But I think we still have a ways to go. There are things that are still really hard to disentangle–like women who uphold the patriarchy, for example, and womens’ misogyny.  I think it’s internalized abuse or the playing out of hierarchies of power, and it’s understandable in a lot of ways. It’s also ugly and mean and awkward, and maybe people who like to write are drawn to that sort of stuff.

What sort of research went into preparing for this novel?

Honestly, there was very little direct research. The work I did in graduate school just became a part of who I am, and I think that’s why it’s so present in my book. And many characters are loosely based on women in my family or women that I’ve known throughout my life. But a lot of it just sort of came to me. Reading a lot of biographies probably helped too. For a while that was my favorite genre, though I generally like reading everything.

About the Author

Torres attended Mount Holyoke College, majoring in Russian Studies and English Literature. Her graduate work at the Corcoran College of Art & Design and Columbia University focused on prison architecture and aging in prison, respectively. Torres has worked in interior design and prison advocacy. She lives with her family in Somerville, MA. This is her first novel.

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