Questions from Book Tour - Part 7

Book tour!

1. In addition to grieving and overcoming pain, the book really seems to explore keeping up appearances in a lot of ways. What did this tragedy instill within you about that and how society so often avoids talking about death, in general?

     Death is the Great Unknown, and most human being love nothing more than snuggling up and getting all cozy with certainty. The trouble is— certainty hardly ever truly exists in our lives.

     The greatest fears all living things hold within them is the loss of someone they love and the loss of their own lives. Avoiding death and survival instinct is built into the tiniest amoebas, and they don’t even have intricate death mythology or structure of beliefs about an afterlife. Humanity has been mythologizing death since we had cognizance, one to make peace with it for our own demise, but also to ease the profound suffering of being left behind in death by anyone we love.


     Around Christmas, my mom and I were going through some of her life treasures in the basement.
    “Oh I like those shoes,” I said salivating slightly.
    “Patience, Al, you can borrow them now but you keep them when I’m dead.”
    “Roger that, Mom.”
    “Cheer up. You’ll get it all when I’m dead! Who am I gonna leave it to— the cat?”

     This level of banter is pretty standard for us.

     But the other day I experienced a very special career highlight, and my wonderful, witty mother was there to bear witness. We have an unspoken tradition where after every major life event of mine (such as an opening night, a book launch, a concert), she takes me aside and we pause a few minutes to revel in what has just transpired. After we did that, I paused as said:
    “Mom. Just so you know, this tradition means everything to me.”
    “Me too,” she replied.
    “And,” I continued after reflecting a moment, “I don’t know about the details of the afterlife and all that, but I’m just letting you know now, that if you do get to come back and haunt or visit or say hi, this ‘after the show’ moment would be when I’d really like to know you’re popping in.”
    “Okay,” she said, then smirking added “Good talk.”

     We laughed. Life and death and real-talk chat is no big deal to the Silber ladies anymore. As you can see, the ability to so blithely operate in that kind of dialogue does not put a damper on the joyous occasion, it made it even more memorable, without being a huge downer.

Ta-DA!!! Real Talk!

     Taking death and grief out and looking at them directly seems unpleasant, unnecessary and downright “grim,” but it removes the stigma from a human experience every single one of us is going to have sooner or later, and avoiding the subject is not going to prevent it, and certainly not the solution for making any kind of peace with it.

     My suggestion is to very simply: think and talk about it. Recognize that you might be avoiding the subject out of discomfort or fear. The more you accept the reality of death and grief, the more you can get on with the business of truly investing in and fully living your life.

the real Rabbi Daniel Syme

2. Why did you make the choice to fictionalize Rabbi Syme [in After Anatevka]?

     What a wonderful question. Ah, beautiful beautiful Rabbi Daniel Syme...

     I went about fictionalizing the real Rabbi Syme (who is chronicled literally in WHGP) into the fictional version that captured his spirit, in Rabbi Syme.

     The real Rabbi Daniel Syme was a crucial advocate to and for not only me, but to and for my father’s human legacy.

    Fictional Rabbi Syme (in After Anatevka) is based very loosely upon the real-life Rabbi Syme (chronicled literally in WHGP)—loosely because my description in the novel is not so much a literal, but more of an evocative recollection and honoring of his influence. Real-life Rabbi Syme and I only spent a collection of minutes together in 2001, but they were crucial minutes. He gave me the gift of delivering the eulogy at my father's funeral service, as well as bearing witness to it when he lead the funeral service, and above all, he gave me an hour of his time months later, reminding me of what was eternal, and chartering a map toward the beauty, strength, and individuality my faith. Irreplaceable gifts one can never forget.

     The fictional version of the character was my way of honoring the man who was my father's advocate, and thus, Perchik's (who is modeled in many ways after my father). He was also my first spiritual teacher of any kind.

    The influence of Rabbi Syme proves another true-to-life maxim: that we never know the depth of the influence we have upon one another. A fleeting moment to one, might bear a lifetime of profundity to another, for better and for worse. So it is in these tiny actions that we must recognize that our influence on earth is vast, has meaning, and should never be taken for granted.

To read more about Rabbi Syme click here:
The Real Rabbi Syme
The Real Rabbi Syme continued




3. What questions do you still have for G-d?

Why so many Fast and the Furious movies, Big Guy?



4. Later, with the chapter "Where Memories," you state that you "have always clutched fiercely onto ordinary moments." As I was reading the book, I had a pad of sticky notes + immediately scrawled "Anton Chekhov," whose plays featured plots with very little actually happening (The Cherry Orchard is a favorite of mine). Many people don't or aren't willing to find the poeticism in the mundane, the little moments that don't seem to many anything on the surface. Is it human nature to only remember the big, life-changing moments?

     It is interesting you mention Anton Chekov and The Cherry Orchard. I don’t state it directly, but the “mysterious man” Perchik meets in the Moscow bar in 1903 (about 2/3 of the way through After Anatevka) is indeed Anton Chekhov. I drop about a dozen or so clues, even going so far as to have Perchik inspire Chekhov with the phrase “All Russia is our orchard…” but I never state it explicitly. It was my little nod to the theatre.

     I don’t think it is human nature to only focus on big life moments— I think many people vividly recall the seemingly minute details of their lives. What I think most people do not practice is the meaning-making around and of these details. Making meaning of our lives is why many people participate in religion, why they read and go to the theatre, why they read horoscopes and attend spiritual gatherings. Not every human being finds meaning-making fruitful— some prefer to live utterly in the present and that is okay if it works for them.

     I happen to be a person who not only enjoys, but needs to make meaning of my and all human life. I do think I have a gift for creating a myth around an experience almost instantaneously, but as a few very wise friends have observed, sometimes my speedy ability to mythologize hijacks my experiencing of the moment itself. And noting that, I endeavor to stay fully aware in the present, and meaning-make later.

with Rabbi Syme

Questions from Book Tour - Part 6

At the JCC of West Bloomfield, MI - where it all began

1. How would you urge the reader to learn to approach life as you do, in relishing the mundane and the ordinary?

By recognizing that absolutely nothing is mundane or ordinary.

But also:
     Pause.
     Breathe.
     Look in people’s eyes.
     Ask thoughtful questions and really listen to the answers.
     Practice gratitude.



2. As you stress in the book, death is something none of us an avoid. Have many people reached out to you with their own stories?

Absolutely. I think that has been the most overwhelming and rewarding part. Why write a book about grief and your own boring, excessively ordinary life if not to connect to others about theirs; and thus discover that nothing is boring, and no one is ordinary at all.

It is an old maxim, but you get what you give in this one glorious life. By leading with authenticity and vulnerability, by exposing your inner-most soft places (and merely exposing, not flooding or forcing your experience down someone’s unwilling throat!)  we allowing others to behold them, at their own capacity and tempo. Calm exposure invites  one to ask the age old human question: “you too?” And that exercise welcomes people to truly connect with one another.

I am so grateful to all [including you, dear interviewer, whose name I do not have the honor of knowing—I am so truly sorry for your loss—] who have been courageous enough to share their stories with me. It has been the greatest reward of this entire process.



3. Why did you begin the book with the list of things you'd tell your 17-year-old self?

The beginning of each of the five “sections,” as well as the Epilogue begin with a return of the adult Alexandra voice, speaking directly to the reader about events from the present day that are in direct relation to the events of my/her father’s death. They are “echoes” if you will that resonate in the present, informed by the past. After those introductory section chapters, we continue with the narrative of 2001.

First, I chose to speak to my 17-year-old self, because that was the last time I was truly innocent to the events chronicled in the book—the age of my personal “BC,” some of the advice is witty and typical stuff we as adults all realize we were idiots about bak then (“buy Frizz ease”), and some is very weighty (“go on all the walks with him and tell him all the things.”)

Second, it was important to me to create a structure that calmed the reader instantly by establishing that the narrator of this book was Alexandra Silber: contemporary adult who “turned out okay” and maybe a little bit more than “fine.” While, in contrast, the protagonist of this tale is an 18-year-old “Al” who has not yet acquired the perspective and wisdom of the narrator, she is just experiencing the events in real time.

The  “things you'd tell my 17-year-old self” was a clear way to establish that there was going to be an ongoing interchange between Al and Alexandra (if you will) throughout this book, and creates for the reader a subconscious understanding that our protagonist is not yet fully processed, while our narrator, is. Those two “characters” just happen to be the same person—17 years apart.






4. Concerning everyone who helped you through this tragedy, are you still in contact with them? What have been their reactions to the book?

All of them. ‘Grey’ is a hugely successful theatrical designer. ‘Kent’ is changing the world working for a State Senator and just had a baby. Lilly is still my best friend and plays oboe all over the world. I saw her last month at the Metropolitan opera playing Strauss at American Ballet Theater.

They are, all, triumphs of human beings.

Lilly!

Questions from Book Tour - Part 5

1. Have you also always been a writer and if not, when did you start writing?

I have always been a voracious reader—ever since childhood. Books were not only my friends, my escape as well as my solace, but they were in every way, my first teachers. There is a private experience a reader has with a book—possibly the most intimate artistic exchange one can have for it is direct dialogue between you and the author. Literature and language were always at the center of my life, and I believe one cannot write meaningfully without also, reading meaningfully.

Coincidentally, I began writing in earnest in the middle of my run of Fiddler on the Roof in London— in the spring of 2007. I discovered something that many a theatrical actor encounters during a long run: that being a ‘performer’ and being a ‘creative being’ are very different things. They have many an overlap, but they are distinct characteristics. I discovered (much to my shock) that I was not, in fact, a performer. I did not feel ignited from within simply telling stories for others, sharing my gifts with the world on the stage. That, actually, was often quite stressful! I was an actor because I loved the creative process— the distinct joy of wrestling a character from the page and filling it with life.

When one is in a very long run, the creativity, at some point, ceases. That is not to say that one doesn’t continue to discover new things every once in a while, shift and change your perspective and interpretation as you shift and change. But the creative process is finished. For a few weeks after this initial discovery, I was in quite a state of despair.

After getting a firm grip on myself I realized I could mope about this fact, or take charge of my creativity and of my contentment, and I would create on my own terms! So I
started by writing a very little irreverent blog (that I still maintain!) titled “London Still.” (The title is snatched from the song by the Australian band The Waifs). I never intended to share my writing with a wider audience, the blog was less a public platform than a location for a personal creative crucible— a place I could create daily.

The blog, quite simply, transformed my life. The act of writing became a quiet place to retreat and make new things that had never existed before and put them into the world.

Now that I am here I don’t intend to stop professionally engaging in either! It has been my honor to enjoy such a varied and ongoing career on the stage, and writing has brought me extraordinary creative pleasure.

We only get one life. Why limit oneself? Why wait for permission? Why tie up our precious days on earth with anxiety and not-good-enoughs and fears? I desire a rich and textured life full of a variety of experiences from the personal to the professional. Is it at times challenging juggling doing multiple things? Certainly. Rewarding? Inexplicably.



2. Even knowing the general background of your memoir, I could never have expected the journey you take the reader on. It's emotional, raw, earnest and witty. Did finding + delivering that balance (serious + comic) take time to craft?

The experience of chronicling memories, particularly traumatic ones, will always take time to craft, a deliberate energy, and a ton of discipline. But did the tone of the book require fine-tuning? Not really. I chronicled the memories much as I experienced them—at one moment poignant and devastating, the next flat-out hilarious or even preposterous, followed by more honest devastation. That is, of course, much how true life ebbs and flows. We laugh through our tears, we cry in moments of joy. There is no one label that could ever fully capture the essence of an event, a period of time or even a single moment. I documented the memories as I recalled them— in all their genre-busting detail.



3. The structure of the book is so layered and complex. Each chapter works as a vignette of a time, place and emotion. How did you make decisions when to write the chapter out as a stage play or a word puzzle, for instance?

If you examine the book intricately, you come to sneakily discover that not only does the overall narrative storytelling style switch genres chapter by chapter, but within the chapters themselves the writing switches its genres like some sort of bizarre, out-of-control improv game. I suppose that is why I used this format.

To be honest, it wasn’t entirely a conscious creative choice, at first, it was a very necessary personal exercise. The flipping of genres and formats was the result of me attempting to personally express the experience of grief as directly and emotionally accurately as possible, and I found couldn’t always do that in traditional prose. Some things cannot always be described—they must be intimated at like a photographic snapshot that is worth “a thousand words” (the use of mazes, cryptogram, and haiku.) Some things are in fact too painful to look at directly or described in the first person (that was often when I used the scenes).

Oddly, the overall effect is very much like grief itself—not just every day, but every minute is a new rush of experience, information, and feeling rushing toward you like a freight train. One has no control over it, one must simply endure and surrender to the “parade.”




4. Throughout writing this book, did you ever feel you were being torn apart emotionally all over again or was it more of a cathartic release?

I’ll answer in the style of WHGP:

Emotions Experienced Whilst Writing a Grief Memoir:

C K F P S M Y V A Z O W J Q T M 

Z O I N S E C U R I T Y V S R I 

E I M M O J W W Q V U L U Q A S 

G N K I A S M S K E W G I I E E 

J O Y N C J J G P R S H N U F R 

G P G Z D I N V P I S N P Y G Y 

E E K Y L M R C D X S I Q X E T 

R L T S B J T O K Y E A H V P G 

I I A G P B E N N J N N O T R W 

H B A T H V S F C Y D L R A O G 

K C Q P I G X U H E A L T F Y L 

A L K U S O D S D P S I R G O G 

E M A H S E N I G E T F K V Y R 

X V J M T Y D O J U M W O B I V 

T R I U M P H N D F O I M U P G 

W J W U N U X E Y T I R A L I H 

ANGER

COMICIRONY

CONFUSION

DESPAIR

DISGUST

ELATION

FEAR

GRATITUDE

GUILT

HILARITY

INSECURITY

JOY

LOVE

MISERY

SADNESS

SHAME

TRIUMPH

Response to Violence

On October 28 (the Sunday after the horrible shooting of the Tree of Life Synagogue), genius musical director and performer Ben Moss and I joined Jamie Bernstein at the Center for Jewish History, to raise our voices in song as her father Leonard Bernstein so rightly said is our greatest weapon against violence:

"This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before."

 

Questions from Book Tour - Part 4

1. What made you feel ready to tell such a personal story [as White Hot Grief Parade] at this particular moment?

     I actually began writing White Hot Grief Parade in 2011— after I published a blog post marking the 10th anniversary of my father’s death. There was something about the milestone, combined with my Broadway debut just weeks before, that made me awaken to the fact that I had indeed “turned out okay.”

When a child experiences any kind of adversity, the main hope and concern of all responsible adults is that the child “turn out okay.” I can’t speak for everyone, but I felt an extraordinary responsibility to not just be “okay” but to also fulfill my dreams as my father (and mother) also wanted and encouraged for me. And despite all my wonderful experiences in the West End, and across America, when you’re an American little girl dreaming of being an actress, the dream of your life is to be on Broadway. It was a lot of milestones colliding at once.

I starting writing the piece after the blog post came out and it almost tumbled out of me— I finished it in a few short months.

Why share it now, seven years later? I realize now that “turning out okay” is a bare minimum. it is a term of survival, not of actualization or a thriving mentality. I need to reach higher, and deeper within. I needed to more than survive, I need to become myself. Today I stand here not only “okay,” but as fully myself and as deeply at peace as I have ever been. From this place, is where we are ready and able to share our deepest vulnerabilities. They have been processed, they have formed and guided us.


2.   This chapter is directly rooted in musical theatre culture with Sondheim and Into the Woods, but you play with structure throughout the book, introducing chapters written as scenes of a play, chapters written as scenes of a farce, a cryptogram, a maze. What led you to play with form in this way?

If you examine the book intricately you can see that not only does the whole narrative switch genres, but within the scenic work itself the writing switches its genres like some sort of bizarre improv game. I suppose that is why I used this format.  To be honest, it wasn’t entirely a conscious creative choice, at first it was a very necessary personal exercise. The flipping of genres and formats was the result of me attempting to personally express the experience of grief as accurately as possible, and I found couldn’t always do that in traditional prose. Some things cannot always be described—they must be intimated at (the use of mazes, cryptogram and haiku.) Some things are in fact too painful to look at directly or described in first person (that was often when I used the scenes).

Oddly, the overall effect is very much like grief itself—not just every day, but every minute is a new rush of experience, information and feeling rushing toward you like a freight train. One has no control over it, one must simply endure and surrender to the “parade.”

from The Killing Game

3.  Who’s work or what work from the theatre guided your writing these scene chapters?

The farce-like quippiness is pure Michael Frayn and Ken Ludwig.

The ultra-contemporary cinematic scenes are Annie Baker and Scottish playwright David Grieg.

The almost preposterously long stage directions are Eugene Ionesco and Tennessee Williams. (Have you ever read Ionesco’s The Killing Game? The stage directions are as good as—if not a bit better than—the dialogue). 



4.   Have you ever written a play before?

from Antigone

I have. I have (very loosely) adapted two Greek tragedies, and am currently working on a third. The first is an adaptation of Trojan Women (after Euripedes) which had a premier production in 2015 at The Hangar Theater.

The second is after Sophocles’ Antigone—mine is extremly modern in its language and politics, and is just aching for a production at this particularly volatile time across out planet.

I am working on an adaptation on Seven Against Thebes. I love the Greek plays—living in them feels what I think an archeologist must feel like; they remind me of our theatrical and thus, human and emotional, origins. it is both troubling and comforting to know that we have always rumbled with the same mythic queries.

I feel that Antigone is more relevant than ever, and I do hope she can see the theatrical light very soon.


5.       You say you never saw yourself inside Into the Woods. Would you like to play Cinderella if you could? Or would you rather play another role because you feel you’ve explored Cinderella through your personal story?

Honestly, the greatest Into the Woods ache is that I will likely never get to play Little Red—which is the character I feel—and have always felt—the most aligned with. She is the one who faces so much trauma and loss so early in her life. I suppose a part of me will always “be” her.

I would certainly never turn down an opportunity to play Sondheim’s Cinderella, I would be so willing to have her teach me things. But yes, i do feel i ‘ve worked through a great deal of her arc through my own life, and suppose I have much more currently in common with The Witch.

But yes— I have never felt “inside” Into the Woods, it’s a piece I always feel I am seeing from the outside. Perhaps that means I am the Narrator...

Silence is not an option. For any of us.

     Dearly beloved: we are gathered here today to mourn Al’s marriageability in a timely manner. Why? Not because her Dad is dead and “no one will ever be him” [Cue: score of Yentl], not because she has “intimacy issues,” or because she and her twenty-something long-term boyfriend in London decided to part ways before they could mutually acquiesce themselves into marriage. Al’s marriage-before-40 likelihood is as faded and impossible as that Hilary sticker you’re still sporting on your car bumper.

I did an interview yesterday with a woman who didn't ask IF I was married, but WHY I was NOT. I took a deep breath and said:

    "Probably because my OKCupid profile says nothing other than 'DEAD FATHER, HAS CAT, PUBLICLY DISCUSSES BOTH ON THE INTERNET. INQUIRE WITHIN.”

… She hung up.

I promptly went through a barrage of emotional responses:

DEFENSIVENESS
ANGER
SADNESS
INSECURITY
ANXIETY
ANGER (AGAIN)
EGOIC INTERNAL MONOLOGUE ABOUT MY LEVEL OF AWESOME!!!
DEFEAT
DESPAIR
INDIFFERENCE.

That entire cycle took about 34 minutes. I repeated it roughly 5 times. After getting a grip I recognized that her totally inappropriate question triggered a crucial issue:

    Why, even if one is a triumph of a female human being, must they be married-with-children to be considered by society a fully-fledged “success?”

I've written about this crisis before, specifically when, earlier this year, I came clean about The Lie of Brian. Brian who, you ask? Why Brian my fake, fabricated, made-up husband. That is correct: the non-existent human I made up out of thin air. The fake husband who is, in his absolutely fake life, a pilot. Good ol' Brian the Pilot. Who does not exist.

*

Hear ye hear ye. Dearest readers, friends, family and total strangers:

    - I do not care that I am un-partnered.
    - I do not particularly want to arbitrarily be coupled off because it’s “time” or “what people do.”
    - I loathe the word “childless” because the word itself implies lack, and prefer the term “child-FREE,” which does not. Moreover, though my inability and desire to not biologically have children is (pardon the expression) inconceivable to you, please don’t regale me with how I will never understand true love or the meaning of life. There are many ways to parent. A multitude of ways to contribute.
    - I enjoy having meaningful, safe sex with people I like a great deal but might not be in a defined relationship with.
    - I vigorously deny that my only possible value as a woman must lie in the perceived carnality of my body, my avoidance of spinsterhood (what is this 1840?), and the number of (male) children I bear.
    - I would rather be single, living my awesome life, than married to the wrong person, living a life I don’t entirely remember why I signed up for.

Look: if any that is your jam, your life purpose, and awakened you to a host of life’s glorious possibilities, great. I’m genuinely happy for you. I want you to have your contentment and feel you have actualized your life purpose. All I humbly ask is that you please believe me when I tell you I have found my own in my own way, and please do not pity me for not sharing your identical source of happiness and contentment. (Okay and also don’t get mad if I appear bored with the posts of your kid labeled #blessed; as bored as I’m sure you are discussing my #booktour.)

But where’s the mute button for Debbie at the JCC who won't stop asking when you’re gonna stop getting married on the Tony Awards, to start focusing on when the “real wedding is?” How can I delete the family friend who passive-aggressively comments on all my posts that she is so glad I “have THIS [refers to epic career highlight she still thinks is equivalent to playing Mrs. Webb in Our Town freshman year].”

I’ll give these judgey people the benefit of the doubt: perhaps it has not occurred to them that the absence of a nuclear family might be a fact, but the myriad of reasons why, are profoundly personal? I also have the capacity to recognize that the public and visible parts of my life (travel, opening nights, elegant [rented!] clothing) might not display the personal sacrifices I (and all artists) make for my art (constant vigilance about one's vocal health that means missing out on talking or many a loud social catch up, serious financial volatility, or missing hugely important life events due to a performance schedule), and understandable, misunderstood envy might indeed be behind this interviewer's heated question.
 Ah well. Not every person is wired for empathy.
I can have patience.
That is, until I can’t.

*

I became allergic to dating somewhere around the summer of 2013, around the time I was dumped by a circus clown the same day I endured Parsifal at the Metropolitan Opera. It was also the summer I made my Carnegie Hall debut, was the unceremonious divorce-rebound (then ghosted-until-eternity) of a former high school classmate, and made the live West Side Story recording that earned me a Grammy nomination. 2013 was also the summer I turned 30 (the final night of West Side Story), and the summer I named my sister-in-law’s final baby bump “Charlotte” and realized I’d likely never name my own baby and had absolutely zero emotions about it.

It was a weird summer.

The following year I was diagnosed with an auto-immune disease, sang live on BBC at Royal Albert Hall, and adopted a fabulous cat. Man: life sure has its up and downs.

Let me be clear: I’m not humblebragging. I can be a mess just like the next person. Tonight I fell asleep in sweaty audition clothes at 6:40pm watching ‘Miss Fisher’s Mysteries’ for the eighth time, and awoke to the “are you still watching ____?” screen and laughed because LOL of course I am, Netflix. I don’t want to throttle my resume of down your throat to defensively justify my solitary existence, it’s just that I feel I have to in order to get this interview lady—and everyone like her—off my back already.

I’m not Marilla Cuthbert. I’m not Carrie Bradshaw. I’m Alexandra Silber: a real-life woman, authentically endeavoring to do the best I can with my one glorious life in the 21st century. Tell me: when did Glorious Solitude become such an “alternative lifestyle?” Have we as a society remained so staunch in our old world values, that declining to participate in the “you must be married and have babies by 30” myth is still limiting our view of a woman’s potential contribution to the world?


And while it might be easy to blame the Patriarchy and get all uppity on this here high horse (and I'm not saying systemic toxic masculinity isn't a part of the problem) in my experience, the majority of judgment and passive-aggression I personally encounter comes from fellow women. I cannot for the life of me fathom how women attacking other women is productive, or could in any way be viewed as progress. It's far past time to stop merely talking the talk of supporting one another and start walking that walk. Haven't we endured enough as a collective gender?

Sigh.

So what do I do? Well, I guess I’ll just have to get on with my kick-ass, amazing life. My life of spectacular, reveled-in introversion, blissful solitude, poetic quiet balanced with glittering days and nights. A life of service, creativity, travel, meaningful work, and life-affirming relationships with friends, family, and lovers. I guess I’ll just have to settle for writing and publishing books, doing eight shows a week in the theatre, teaching, and singing with internationally renowned orchestras. I guess I’ll have to travel at a moment’s notice or read and write all day in cute Golden Girls Pajamas. And I guess I’ll have to date people I like a lot, really care about, and have (predominantly decent) sex with most of them, until we decide not to do that anymore. What a bummer.

My life is not meaningless. It is not void of love. It is full to bursting of—and with—love and meaning. Just not the love and meaning the Old Testament talks about, that a lot of people judge me for not actualizing in a socially acceptable, howling-mob-determined “timely” manner.

*

So rounding back to the point sometime this century: screw you, interview lady—you can go whine to your heart's content, like the Jewish baby I will likely never be giving birth to because you know what? I don't need that kind of inquisition, Debbie from the JCC of Nowhere. I’m too busy kicking ass to worry why my milkshake brings all the mediocre jokers to the yard, or to split a lunch bill on a Thursday with some lame, 40-something nincompoop who “doesn’t want anything serious.”

I own that I didn’t have to answer with such snark. I could have politely responded rather than reacted. I could have tactfully said in a warm tone of voice “I don’t care to answer that question, thank you.” But I didn’t do that. I didn’t do that because I found the question intrusive as well as deprecating. So yes I answered with an edge because I didn’t so much feel I was speaking up for myself, as I was speaking up for women everywhere.

Simply put: I realized that I was not reactionary because I secretly fear my life is empty, but because I am annoyed as hell that I have to continually explain my life choices to people that assume it must be. People who feel sorry for me against my will.

What answer to your nose-y, judgmental question could possibly have helped you gain consequential insight into my most recent creative endeavor? Why exactly is this relevant? But above all: any of your business?

Do I want to be with someone eventually? Sure. I feel confident that I will be—in my own time and on my own terms, with a healthy, totally available, evolved adult. A true partner who fully sees and values me, and allows me to cherish them in return. I might meet them tomorrow. I might meet them in 20 years. But this nebulous concept of a timeline is okay with me, for not only am I fiercely principled about partnership, but I truly relish my present with all of my beating, passionate heart. I am confident that regardless, the fullness, contribution, legacy, impact, and richness of my life is up to me—and no one else.

But this needs to be an international conversation. We have allowed-away our society to create a world where both inter-sectional feminism and the #MeToo movement exist. Yet we also live in a world of persistent wage disparity, and where female reproductive health rights may legitimately be revoked at any moment. We still hate, doubt, blame and mercilessly shame women privately and publicly. We live in a world where human beings still continue to rip each other to pieces for living differently. I am not the only woman to have come of age in a pop culture that is hostile to women, but as I stand on the shoulders of my predecessors, I recognize that remaining silent and allowing myself to be judged this way is an affront to the progress of all women.

And that is not an option. For any of us.

Audible Presents: After Anatevka

Hear this:

Dear hardworking dreamers everywhere, keep going.

Create one word, sentence, paragraph at a time.

Anything is possible.

"After Anatevka, an Audible Production at the Minetta Lane Theatre, will celebrate Alexandra Silber's novel about the characters in the musical Fiddler on the Roof.

Audible Inc., the world's largest producer and provider of downloadable audiobooks and other spoken-word entertainment is pleased to announce its production of After Anatevka, a literary and musical evening celebrating Alexandra Silber's sweeping historic novel and its upcoming release on Audible. Picking up where beloved musical Fiddler on the Roof left off (based on the original stories by Sholem Aleichem), After Anatevka centers on Tevye's daughter Hodel and the adversities she faces in her extraordinary attempt to reunite with her politically-imprisoned fiancé at a Siberian work camp. A love story set against a backdrop of some of the greatest violence in European history, After Anatevaka is a stunning conclusion to a tale that has gripped audiences around the globe for decades.


The actress turned novelist Alexandra Silber has
spent a lot of time living in Anatevka, the fictional Russian village in “Fiddler on the Roof.” Maybe not as long as Tevye and Golde’s daughters, but she has played a couple of them — Hodel, in a British production, and later Tzeitel, in the 2015 Broadway revival."

Or, to quote the New York Times:

 "On Monday, Aug. 13, at Minetta Lane Theater in Greenwich Village, a live event will add another couple of layers to this creative mille-feuille. The audiobook company Audible, anticipating its own release of “After Anatevka,” will host an evening combining excerpts from the novel, read by Ms. Silber, with songs written for “Fiddler” (including “Dear Sweet Sewing Machine,” which was cut from the show) and new numbers inspired by “After Anatevka.” 

Performers are slated to include Samantha Massell, Matthew Scott and Kerstin Anderson; the “Fiddler” lyricist Sheldon Harnick is expected to be on hand, too. Audible will, of course, be recording the program for its audiobook."

Dearest friends. Dearest readers who have been with me since the first blog post was published in 2007.It is not at all hyperbole to declare that Monday was among the top moments of my entire life. Once upon a time I was a tiny baby actress in love with a character, who discovered she had a need to express herself in words. One word, one collection of words, one sentence, one paragraph at a time... words that became a story, that became a collection of paper pages that have now touched more than I could ever dream to have reached. To have my friends and colleagues inspired by this new chapter, for these characters to come to life, and be given a new voice in which to sing and soar; to lend my own voice to it as well?

My Bennyyyyyy.

This project is everything I do in one place, and it was captured and shall be preserved for eternity by and on Audible. This was a dream project born of my humble little mind so many years ago, an effort of heart, soul, creativity and sheer will. I say that to inspire, not to gloat: If I can do it, so can you. If you have a dream, keep going. One sentence at a time.

I am so grateful to Pegasus Books, to Audible, to my agent Joelle Delbourgo, to my editor Iris Blasi, to Carolyn Cantor for directing the evening, and to every composer, lyricist, the gloriously gifted friends who raised their voice in song.

But especially my beloved Ben Moss—that kid fresh out of Harvard I met all those years ago now, who has grown up to be my favorite pal to grab a margarita with (in any town), my greatest collaborator and favorite travel companion. There's no one else I'd rather be trapped at LaGuardia with, Benny.

This was a night of nights which I shall never forget (and that you can all hear on the audiobook from Audible, Oct 5!)

Keep making things.

*

Magical production photographs by Michael Kushner.

Ben Moss

Ellie Fishman and Kerstin Anderson sing "The Stillness of the Office"

Samantha Massell reprises her "Far From the Home I Love"

the glorious Ellie Fishman (with Ben Moss on piano)

from L to R: Ben Moss, Matthew Scott, myself, Samantha Massell, Kerstin Anderson, Ellie Fishman

with beloved "Dear Friend" Sheldon Harnick

Dear Friends

The Lie of "Brian"

Meet Brian. GOD, he's the best. (PS ^actual Southwest ad)

As an artist, people are often asking me to speak at things where audience members will have thoughtful questions, or various recording devices and my internal monologue is always WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME I’M FAKING ADULTHOOD. But off I went on book tour.

It was on my third stop that I met Oscar: Nosey Man of Scotch Plains, New Jersey. It wasn’t a remarkable crowd that day in Scotch Plains; mostly older people, a few flat-out almost-dead people accompanied by the teenagers who had wheeled them into this lecture hall, plus a handful of perfectly nice Jewish Gen-Xers who had clearly planned this event.

I spent about an hour chronicling my London and New York theatrical career, my research journey in Siberia, the story of how my first novel came to be, the pertinent information about my upcoming novel…

Let me be clear: talking to a roomful of strangers for an hour about anything is not fun. Like what could I possibly be an expert on? Even current eleven-year-olds know more about what is up with my iPhone, and probably have a 401K or two in better shape than mine.  But talking at length about yourself? That's the pits (maybe it's fun if you’re Oprah? but I honestly doubt it...) It is far more interesting to speak about what you value, believe in and your personal mission statement. But book talks are a wily hybrid of selling a product and selling your actual self. It’s more intense than being an actor, oddly, because you are the entire cast and creative team, and this “show” never closes. In the theatrical talkback, you very rarely have to talk about your own damn self which is fantastic because talking about yourself, no matter how profoundly awesome you may be, is seriously boring.
    Why have you even invited me here to talk about myself? I think. I’m just a 30-something with a barely verified Twitter account and a PhD-level specialist knowledge of both Murder, She Wrote trivia and pre-1998 musical theater. I’m basically the same awkward teenager I was 18 years ago. Except now I have a utility bill and ulcerative colitis. Do I inform them of my encyclopedic knowledge of Angela Lansbury trivia? Do I make them follow my cat on Instagram?
    The answer: I eventually come to do both of those things.

But anyway there I was in Scotch Plains talking about myself. When I had finished my talk I asked, in the now-forever-lost innocence of pre-Scotch Plains book tour events:

    “Any questions?”

In the back of the room, an older man named Oscar had been trouble the whole book talk. Oscar was handsome, popular, with the charisma of a cult leader. Terrific. In response to my invitation for questions, Oscar the octogenarian class clown raised his hand.

    “I have a question,” he said with an air of faded-but-not-forgotten Mad Men; the white-guy bravado that comes from any 85-year-old with all his hair, and can still drive a car unsupervised.
    “Yes, Oscar?”
    “ARE YOU MARRIED?”

—Record Scratch.—
Hold on a minute.

Would Oscar have asked a male author this question? Why does it feel as though the onus is on me, on us, the women, to identify and justify independence? Why are women always the victims of some kind of Marriage Inquisition?

Also, there’s no short but positive answer to this.

I mean I guess I could be coy:
    “Why, oh my gosh are you proposing, Oscar?”

Or be socially strong:
    “No, but I am really content to [blah blah enter completely honest statement you’ll write off as feminist bullshit blah blah]”

Or I could simply have some damn boundaries:
    “I meant questions about the BOOK, anyone have any of those?”

There’s really no version of “NO I AM NOT MARRIED” that could satisfy a person or crowd that had the audacity to ask. Mind you— all of this crossed my mind in 1/1000th of a second.

Reader? You’d be as shocked as I was to hear the phrase:
    “Iiiiiiiiiiiii aaaaaaaaam, yeeeeees I aaaaaaam married yeeeeeeees” fall out of my mouth in slow motion.

Time stopped. I imperceptibly moaned as I prayed fervently for a flaming hot meteor to strike the lectern here at this Jewish Community Center.

    “Um… any other questions?”
    “Yeah!” Oscar again, “What does he DO?”

But before I could worry about diarrhea soaking my skinny jeans I found myself spewing the following out of my unruly mouth:

    “Heeeeeee is aaaa pilot. YES! He’s a pilot. He flies planes…. Because he is a pilot—BRIAN!” I screamed, “—Brian: The Pilot….”


I ran.

With shocking, and extremely creative ease, I had lied outright to a room full of senior citizens and barely broken a sweat. Thus I ran from the JCC of Scotch Plains New Jersey. I ran with the ferocity of Harrison Ford running from Tommy Lee Freakin’ Jones.

I’m sorry Oscar.
I’m sorry Scotch Plains, New Jersey.
I’m sorry Brian, wherever you are…

*

Once on the train back to New York City I immediately texted people to assess my level of trash can person:

• I called my best friend and former high school roommate Lilly who has seen me far worse than this! Lilly was there the day my Dad died, the day I got LASIK eye surgery and had to wear the weird goggles, Lilly has even picked me up from a colonoscopy or three. Lilly laughed so hard she almost asphyxiated. 
• I texted Laura Benanti, the only adult in my phone who knows how to capably handle a real-life-Nora-Ephron-essay-plus-sensitive-etiquette situation and she told me I’d done the right thing to both panic-lie AND run away. Plus she's from New Jersey. So.
• I texted Danny Burstein who virtually high-fived me and told me to tell the world about Brian, suggested contacting Central Casting for a full fake-wedding photoshoot, and made a few vivid additions to the backstory almost instantly.
• I texted Julia Murney, who thought Brian was lovely (He is duh), though was concerned with how quickly Brian and I were moving in the relationship.
• I texted my also-single, kick-assiest-woman-I know friend Amy Maiden in Australia,  who reminded me that “it’s the end of days so fuck it it’s fine.”
• I texted Samantha Massell, daughter of a successful, single, working mother who was outraged on my behalf.

Sent this to everyone on the list, above

Basically: I got most of the moral support I required before I even reached Trenton.

Not that I shared it with more unsuspecting senior citizens, but the Lie of Brian grew. And grew. Brian is amazing, you guys. God he loves flying so much, #blessed! He loves flying and tennis and sunsets and me. His father bought Amazon at 6 so he’s loaded! Plus he’s an orphan so no irritating in-laws, and he’s super sorry he can’t be here today but he’s flying the red-eye to Beijing …again.

Anyway the next day I went to Claire’s and bought the biggest, most hideous rhinestone fake wedding and engagement ring combo $27 could buy. And no one ever asked me about being married again. (Lesson? Props matter).


I am grateful for the experience in Scotch Plains. I am better armed for the future, and both impressed and horrified that a prop wedding ring can help keep everyone focused on discussing my attempt at an artistic contribution to society and less focused on discussing my damn love life.

Protector of the skies and my heart.

[Real] Rabbi Syme: Continued!

My previous post about [the Real] Rabbi Syme generated a wonderful internet "moment—" one of those lightning-in-a-bottle experiences where the internet proves to be truly connective. I wrote the post in response to questions I received through the course of my book tour, and online: is the Rabbi Syme (Perchik's teacher and advocate) of After Anatevka at all connected to a real person, particular a man named Rabbi Daniel Syme of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan?

The answer: yes. To briefly quote my previous post:

Fictional Rabbi Syme is based very loosely upon the real-life Rabbi Syme—loosely because my description in the novel is not so much a literal, but more of an evocative recollection and honoring of his influence. Real-life Rabbi Syme and I only spent a collection of minutes together in 2001, but they were crucial minutes. He gave me the gift of delivering the eulogy at my father's funeral service, as well as bearing witness to it when he lead the funeral service, and above all, he gave me an hour of his time months later, reminding me of what was eternal, and chartering a map toward the beauty, strength and individuality my faith. Irreplaceable gifts one can never forget. The influence of Rabbi Syme proves another true-to-life maxim: that we never know the depth of the influence we have upon one another. 

I then followed this by recounting a crucial memory of the real Rabbi Syme.
Keep in mind that I have not seen, heard from, been in touch with dear Rabbi Syme since 2001. Nearly 17 years.
I pressed "publish." 
I posted the blog's link to a few social media places.
The link was shared on Facebook.
Then again.
And before long?
An email in my inbox was sitting there from the real Rabbi Syme.
This was followed by a save-it-forever voicemail.
And finally, a phone call that, at long last, completed a circle I never even dreamed would reach its resolution.

Then today...

Today I gave a book talk at Temple Beth Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan—only a few miles away from Birmingham, the suburb of Detroit in which I grew up, and in fact, from Bloomfield Hills, where Rabbi Syme and I first met.

My talk went on, and as usual, I concluded with a reading. Whenever one of my book events is located in a temple I like to read the following passage and tell the audience a little about the real Rabbi Syme. How the character came to be and how this was my form of honoring the man who was my father's advocate, and thus, artistically, Perchik's.  I read:

  
     “Free a man of the constraints that limit and inhibit his development, and you have a free human being. Freedom is the natural state of man.” He looked away from the boy for a moment and recalled his youth, his own search for self. “My boy,” he imparted with a ferocious passion that shook them both by the throat, “there is nothing negative about our human potential—do you understand me? God Himself created you the way you are. Do not let anyone in this world convince you otherwise. And you are capable of anything, my boy. There is and shall always be a disparity among the gifts God has granted men, but we all deserve equal consideration. All men, no matter how low, how basic, or how tormented, deserve compassion, dignified brotherhood, and respect.
     “But part of respecting all men is respecting ourselves. Recognizing that God has blessed you. By embracing these gifts, we live as God lives, with love for all He has created—with an open heart.
     “Thus our Sages have said: ‘In every generation, a person must see himself as if he has himself come out from Mitzrayim.’ You, of course, know what Mitzrayim, this Hebrew word used for ‘Egypt,’ means, do you not?”
     “Boundaries,” the boy said quietly.
     “It does indeed—and the effort to free ourselves is a perpetual one.”
     The rabbi removed his spectacles and looked deeply into the eyes of the boy. “I promise you, Perchik: you are a truly blessed child of our Lord. I promise you will find the strength to overcome the oppression of your circumstances. This fight is your purpose—the strength for it inherent within you. Like rocks of salt shaken in water, the turbulence soon asserts itself in perfect order. My boy, you are supported by the greatest parent of them all. As it is He who has endowed you with your gifts, you can be sure that He, therefore, believes in their power. And for the record, my boy, so do I.”

Reader?
The real Rabbi Syme... was there.
In the audience.

Coming up in line as I signed copies of the novel that honors him in character, and thanks him in the acknowledgments, came the real-life, breathing man who bears the name Rabbi Daniel Syme.

We reunited.
Embraced.
Cried.

What other proof do we need that miracles happen?
Because they do.
Happen.

Questions from Book Tour, Part 3

1. What are the main differences between working in the two art forms: performance versus writing?

It’s fascinating. Two major observations.

The first is the difference between the social versus private nature of both art forms. (These are not exclusive observations and, of course, there are exceptions).

The theater is an innately social art form— created in collaboration with others, and enacted in the presence of others. Though I suppose you can technically recite speeches into thin air, that is not why theatre was created. In Ancient Greece, the theatre was born out of the need for communal catharsis— a shared cleansing of the mind and spirit, performed to and for the people. Aristotle defined it as “the purification of the spirit…by witnessing the playing out of such emotions or ideas on stage.” The result is personal, as well as sociological, positive change. Therefore it is an art form that cannot be created or experienced in solitude.

Literature is the opposite. Its nature is of solitude— both in its creation and in its consumption. It is an art that must occur within the confines of an author’s inner world. Though collaboration may occur in the later parts of the process, the majority of the writing experience takes place (necessarily) in utter solitude, quietly attempting to capture a universe before it escapes from your fingers. Further, literature (specifically) is experienced in solitude. The relationship between a writer and her reader is among the more intimate relationships that exist. The reader is being taken on a journey, often experiencing many emotions along the way, all taking place within the confines of the “theatre” of their imaginations. Writer and reader in a private, intimate space for a period of time. I have relationships with authors I will never know or meet, but have had more of an impact on my life than certain boyfriends or family members.

The second has to do with the form of creativity that is exercised.

Both art forms are, of course, creative. But being an actor in the theater is, at its essence, an interpretive creative art form— one is interpreting (and hopefully, elevating and breathing very real life into) characters that one did not write, dress, light, or direct. Your role in the creative process is to interpret. This is in no way to diminish this art form, it is merely to clarify it. Interpretive artists are among our highest contributors in society, shedding an illuminative light upon the intricacies of life.

Whereas writing, I contrast, is innately creative. A story, a character, a sentence, did not exist before the writer created it.

Something about these artist dichotomies deeply enriches me— it provides a satisfaction across the spectrum of creativity. I wouldn’t want to be without one now that I’ve tasted the gratifications of both.


2. What is the reaction of readers who attend your book signings and events? 

I’d say less than 5% of interactions are a little unpleasant and have included such gems as cornering me about politics, presenting me with pages of critical notes they have on my book (one woman even told me she’d “wait” so she could go through them with me in person, thought by thought), pearl-clutching about the darkness of the book, dozens of people trying to set me up with their grandson/the Rabbi’s son/literally anyone. Those were mostly sort of hilarious and happened quite rarely (okay, the setting-me-up part happens every time...). But pah! Worth it.

The best parts are always meeting people who have had an emotional experience with your book, who have spent hours in this world that prior to a year ago, only I lived in. Now these characters that I love as if they were real, are known and sometimes loved by others. These readers share their insights, stories, their vulnerabilities, and reflections, and sometimes illuminate my own work to me in a way I had never considered.

Further, though many of these people are incredibly cultured, not all of them would have the chance or funds to make it to a theatre, let alone a Broadway theatre, let alone to the stage door after the show. I am meeting so many people I would never otherwise cross paths with because literature is the ultimate democratic art form—thanks to libraries, the written word is accessible to all. There have been some people I met in Austin, St. Louis, Naples, Saratoga Springs, that I have formed lifelong connections with, and will be indebted to for the rest of my life. Connections I would not otherwise have.

Above all, I endeavor to share my story with as much authenticity as I can with both the organizers and the attendees of these events, and when they respond with the same generosity back, when they hold your personal story and honor the depth of love that went in to creating a project like a novel, there is no greater transaction— gratitude always begets gratitude.



3. Other than writing, have you got any hidden passions you’d like to pursue?

I love the accordion and have taken lessons! I passionately love travel of all kinds— Antarctica is at the top of my list.

I would also love to spend more time creating visual art of some kind— I once took a collage workshop with my idol Nick Bantock several years ago now, and I’d love to try my hand at engaging with the visual on a more consistent basis. But apartment living + curious cat = not conducive? Still worth a try! I just have visions of Tati-shaped paint paw prints all over the place…



4. Do/did you feel any extra responsibility or pressure playing and writing about Hodel/Tzeitl in London/Broadway— seeing as they are among very few overtly Jewish characters in musical theatre?

I believe that if you portray any character or story with honesty, authenticity, and vulnerability, the work will resonate. Our only responsibility as artists is, to tell the truth.



5. Your next book is White Hot Grief Parade, about the death of your father. How has After Anatevka impacted that book?

They say that all fiction is in some way non-fiction, thus, yes, these two works are very much companion pieces.

The writing of After Anatevka felt like a necessary personal exercise for me because of the extraordinary significance playing Hodel had in my personal life. That significance was directly related to my experience playing Hodel, and “saying goodbye” to him every day (whilst singing “Far From the Home I Love”)— an experience I felt robbed of in my actual life, approximately five years after the death of my father. White Hot Grief Parade is a direct account of the experience of that loss.

So you see, one could not truly have happened without the other. In fact, if I were to chart the writing in real-time: I wrote the first two-thirds of After Anatevka very quickly, got terrible writer’s block for over a year, marked the 10th anniversary of my father’s death, then, almost in a frenzied trance I wrote the first draft of WHGP in about three months. It came galloping out of me! Then, almost as if the writing of WHGP had shifted something essential within me, the finale of After Anatevka became clear to me and I felt ready to complete it.

There are definitely crossover characters as well—Hodel is in every way a combination of myself and my mother. Perchik is a version of my father (particularly his experience in childhood). Gershom is modeled after my paternal grandfather. And Rabbi Syme is a real man who oversaw my father’s funeral service and gave me the great gift of advocacy when I need it the most—I wanted to honor him in After Anatevka by making him Perchik’s advocate as well (thus Rabbi Syme is the only actual character in both books).

But to answer the question directly: I am a direct descendant of these people from the Pale of Settlement. Their legacy of suffering, endurance, oppression, and persecution trickled down and affected the generations that eventually touched my life directly. To write about their trials helps me feel compassion for the “characters” in my actual life. We all come from somewhere, and these two books, though wildly different in tone, genre, voice, and setting, have threads that reach across all barriers and interweave.