Do you have a favourite poem of Christina Rossetti’s that you referred to in the novel and what significance does it have in the story?
Oh, definitely—Christina Rossetti’s Fata Morgana poem, which she composed years after my novel takes place. It is a deceptively simple lyric with only three stanzas, and I quote it in Chapter Three after Marianne finds a letter on which Christina has scrawled this phrase across the top. The poem becomes central to the mystery of what happened to Christina in Italy (I can’t give any spoilers!). But . . . I can say it begins with the almost perfectly-written first stanza about capturing an elusive “phantom”:
A blue-eyed phantom far before
Is laughing, leaping toward the sun;
Like lead I chase it evermore
I pant and run.
The Fata Morgana has many meanings discussed in the book: for Italians, it denotes not only a “phantom mirage” but the harbinger of a coming tragedy—foreshadowing what is to come in the novel—but for Christina, it is the “phantom love” that she chases but always seems just out of reach. That’s all I can say, but I do think everyone has a Fata Morgana, a dream that they chase but somehow remains elusive—and yet we keep reaching for it. And the poem reminds us to never give up on achieving our dreams.
Did you encounter any challenges writing the two timelines of 1865 and 1947? If so, how did you overcome them?
I like writing dual narrative novels because it gives me a huge amount of space to work out my plot on two canvases, so to speak. Personally, I’m steeped in the nineteenth century because that’s my academic specialty, and I love everything about the Romantic and Victorian eras—especially the poets and writers. So, I was pretty comfortable with that narrative thread. However, I had to do quite a bit of research about Verona, Italy, in 1947, including the post-war recovery challenges, the effects of the war on the survivors, and the re-emergence of the Italian fashion industry. That part took almost a year and included a research trip to Milan, Lake Como, Verona, and Florence—the adventurous aspect of writing historical mysteries set in Italy. Once I decided to center the two narratives around Christina Rossetti’s lost dresses, it gave me an emotional touchpoint for the novel, and that helped me to overcome the challenge of bringing the two storylines together.
What is the importance of the nightingale in The Lost Dresses of Italy and what is this bird’s place in literature?
The “nightingale” is a bird that sings only at night and has had many poetic incarnations from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale”—and it always seems to be a symbol of both love and loss. Juliet references the nightingale when Romeo is about to leave her in the early morning, trying to persuade him that the night bird’s song means he can linger a little longer, but he must leave or die. Similarly, Keats sees the nightingale as a metaphor for the mixture of pain and joy in life. However, I decided to include it in my book mainly because Christina did take an evening boat trip on Lake Como where she heard the nightingale’s song, about which she wrote in a letter to her friend, Anne Gilchrist. Of course, I gave this episode more emotional impact because her suitor, Angelo, is with her when she hears the bird sing, and he says it is only a good omen; that moment is the beginning of their relationship.
Marianne is a textile historian. Why did you choose this profession for her and how does it help in telling the story?
I have to admit that I love fashion and have always wanted to make it pivotal to one of my novels. But I never seemed to find the right way to accomplish it because the whole subject seemed slightly frivolous—until I was listening to a costume curator give an interview on National Public Radio. Something clicked. I was hooked on how textile artifacts could reveal so much about the past and the person who wore them; and, I researched everything I could about this profession—reading articles, contacting curators, and watching YouTube videos about the creation of clothing exhibits. It was all fascinating, and I realized that would be a perfect way to reveal Christina Rossetti’s secrets: make my twentieth-century protagonist a costume curator who examines her lost dresses. Delving into that aspect of fashion was pure fun.
Was it challenging to fictionalise Christina and Dante Gabriel since they were both real people? Did you need to be inventive or stick more to the known facts?
Before I started my novel, I knew quite a bit about the Rossetti family because I’ve studied and taught nineteenth-century poets for most of academic career and, yet, fictionalising a literary figure always presents quite a few challenges. I had to re-create them as characters within a historical narrative which is a tricky balance of blending fact and imaginative world-building because I want to “popularize” them in a way that pays homage to their brilliant work and extraordinary lives but, also, acknowledge a twenty-first century reading audience who wants to read a compelling narrative. The siblings also presented very different personas to the world: Christina was a reserved person; whereas, Dante Gabriel was outgoing and charismatic. The key is to find the private person behind the public figure, and that is often revealed through the journals, letters, and poems. At the end of the day as a writer, I have to make certain that I’ve stuck to the facts about the events in their lives and added fictional aspects that are aligned with the actual person. Thus, I tried to make every scene and each character as accurate as possible.