Please could you start by telling us a little bit about the novel and its exploration of music, poetry and Zen philosophy?
Those who have read my previous novels, A Man of Understanding and The Infinite Wisdom of Harriet Rose, will know that a theme that runs through my writing is the importance of the arts for our spiritual development and overcoming loss and grief. My motivation in writing is to encourage readers to reflect on subjects they may not have considered before, or from a different perspective. I believe in making big themes accessible in my novels, through strong, interesting characters and a compelling plot.
The Zen Violinist explores the arts and the overlap between different artforms with particular emphasis on the similarities between music and writing. To highlight this theme, I’ve written The Zen Violinist like a concerto, divided into three movements – a 1stMovement Prelude, a romantic, reflective 2nd Movement, a faster 3rd Movement, and a final Encore.
Twenty-five-year-old English violinist Suki Koyama grew up in Japan from the age of four after her father died and her mother married a Japanese luthier. She returns to London to further her career as a violinist but, on the brink of success as a soloist, tragedy strikes. The plot takes an unexpected turn, leaving questions that need to be answered. Suki is drawn to explore other artforms in her search to express her true Zen nature, which she fears she may be losing. A relationship begins between Suki and her new violin pupil, enigmatic Rex Curtis, which before long extends to Suki teaching Zen practice to her troubled pupil.
The novel is interlaced with my poetry, which has proved highly popular in my novels. In The Zen Violinist, it is predominantly haiku poetry, with a significant tanka poem that Suki creates at the start of the book in Japan before she leaves for London. Haiku poetry also reflects the structure of a concerto’s three movements in that it is written in three lines, with a strong, meaningful final third line, like a strong, conclusive 3rd movement in a concerto that gives meaning to the two previous movements.
My poetry in fiction is another instance of an overlap between different artforms, in which they blend harmoniously together. The poetry, being written in the novel by Suki, expresses what she is feeling and experiencing when she writes it, so that the reader understands the motivation behind her poems. This insight isn’t always possible if poetry is in a collection written by a poet whose life experiences the reader may know nothing or little about, rather than being read in a novel. The poems in a novel become accessible, they make sense of the moment, they ignite the imagination, they create a bond between the character and the reader. It’s extremely humbling that this has been so appreciated in my writing.
Zen practice and thought are also fundamental to the novel. Zen was taught to Suki by her Japanese stepfather, who has been a constant inspiration to her, and she has practised it ever since. The short story The End that she writes in the novel explores the value of Zen. It reflects the themes in The Zen Violinist as a whole.
In a sense, the Zen philosophy of not two that is explored in the novel also resembles the structure of a concerto’s three movements. It shares the significance of a compelling third like a final 3rd movement and a final haiku line. Suki describes not twoby reference to her relationship with her violin: when she plays her violin and loses herself in the music they create, they aren’t two any more but one. There’s no duality, no sense of space or time – not two. Suki finds freedom, a sense of enlightenment through the experience. Then when she and her violin return from this state, Suki sees again the duality of Suki and violin as she saw them originally. That is, not one. Yet now when she sees herself and the violin, it is with new enlightened eyes – not one, not two, but something else – a third perspective that she has found through the experience of not one and not two. The overall three-movement plot of The Zen Violinist follows a similar path to its conclusion.
What inspired you to write the book?
There were so many inspirations: a fascination with Zen Buddhism since my teens, which led me later to read Philosophy at University College, London, both as an undergraduate and postgraduate; my admiration for classical music and especially the violin, which encouraged me to start playing the violin as an adult; my love and experience of animals and the significant role that some, like Suki’s dog Zenny, can play, if we look closely, in teaching us how to live a better life; my affection for London as a home for the arts; my belief in the importance of sharing our thoughts with those we love and communicating our love to them; a desire to create a book in which the beauty of the arts shines through, from novel writing, to poetry, to music, not just classical but jazz and contemporary pieces that I’ve created for the story, to Japanese wabi-sabi and beauty in imperfection.
The novel takes the form of a concerto in three movements. Please could you tell us more about this structure.
My devotion to the beauty of works of art in various forms inspired me to use my musical and poetic style of writing to create a story that reads like a piece of music in story form, with all the reflections, emotions, romantic themes, variations and fragments of a concerto.
The 1st Movement reads like a Prelude. It sets the scene for Suki’s background and influences in Japan that she takes with her to London – her cherished violin, Zen practice, her love of writing poetry as well as the beginning of a novel, The End, which becomes in places a significant and intriguing mirroring of the main plot in the movements that follow. The 1st Movement is moderately fast moving in pace. An accident occurs, with potentially life-changing consequences … but is it an accident?
The 2nd Movement is more reflective and romantic, like in a musical concerto, as relationships develop, and questions are raised. Suki’s life in London becomes less insular, but she fears she is losing her true Zen nature.
The 3rd Movement revisits themes begun in the 1st Movement. Suki sets out to rediscover her true self of the 1st Movement but with the added insights gained from the romantic, reflective 2nd Movement, echoing the not two of Zen philosophy with another instance of a compelling third, as in haiku poetry and a musical concerto. In this final Movement, Suki finishes The End, but will that conclusion mirror the conclusion in The Zen Violinist?
The Encore is connected to the preceding three Movements and reads as part of the final 3rd Movement. I’ve written it as a conclusion, a cadenza, a piece that requires the strength of the soloist to stand alone, without an orchestra this time, and say what truly matters to her as a musician, as a narrator, as Suki.
Suki tells her story like she plays her violin – with Zen wisdom, compassion, strength and vulnerability. It’s a story with major and minor keys, with times of drama and times of serenity, moments of quiet contemplation, and moments resounding with the paradoxes of love.
Please could you expand on how The End relates to several of the main themes in the novel. How does The End offer reflection on the evolution of Suki’s personal identity and relationships taking place in the novel?
The End is a short story Suki writes like a reversal of the frog-prince fairytale. The frog is an important symbol in Zen. The story explores what loss of self and Zen nature would mean to a being such as the frog as he falls in love, in his transformed state of Prince, with a beautiful Princess. It’s a story about metamorphosis, not just from frog to prince, but from Zen to loss of Zen. The End reflects the evolution of Suki’s enquiries into metamorphosis in the novel as a whole: from one artform to another, from orchestral musician to soloist, from “This is who I am, this is Suki,” to “Who is Suki? Where did true Suki go?”, from wise tutor of Zen to lost pupil searching for answers. When Suki experiences a metamorphosis through the tragic event that occurs, she must confront, like the frog-Prince, the changes it brings. The relationship between Suki and Rex has some parallels with the tutor/pupil relationship between the Zen frog-Prince and the eager-to-learn Princess in The End. The theme of metamorphosis in The Endalso offers reflection on other relationships in the wider novel, such as that between Rex and his mother, Suki and fellow violinist Natasha, Klaus, Suki’s conductor, and his mother, Suki and her violin, Suki’s parents and Suki.
The End echoes several related themes in the wider novel such as the circularity of existence, ends in beginnings, beginnings in ends, the importance of letting go, embracing problems and change, the nowness of being, the path to self-knowledge and enlightenment, the complexities of love.
Suki sometimes uses her writing of The End to search for answers that she hopes will surface through her pen onto the page. At times, The End mirrors problems that have already occurred in Suki’s life, whilst at other times she hopes her writing of it will help her to discover what she does not yet understand – about herself, about Rex, about relationships, about love. But her primary aim in writing her compelling story is to bring alive what she believes is so valuable about Zen. It is a testament, a haiku, to the beauty of Zen.
Please could you expand on the development of Suki’s relationship with Rex, and how conversations between them are used to explore complex discussions around resentment, belief, grief and loss.
The relationship between Suki and Rex is complex. It evolves initially through a shared love of music but expands to an exploration of topics such as grief, belief, parables and Zen koans, the ebbs and flows of love, fear of loss, not just through death but through loss of one’s true nature, and what it means to let go. Suki hopes her Zen wisdom will help Rex to adopt a different approach to his problems. She shows him an alternative attitude to the resentment he feels towards his late mother and the grief he’s experiencing. Faith, suicide, the nature of a good life, death and an afterlife, are discussed from the perspective of similarities between Zen Buddhism and Christianity, as Suki tries to allay Rex’s concerns. But when Suki is faced with problems and concerns of her own, she fears she is losing her Zen nature.
These two strong, fascinating characters appear prima facie very different: Suki is twenty-five, Rex forty; although they’re both English, Suki’s Japanese influence of Zen that she learnt from her Japanese stepfather is a mystery at first to Rex; Suki is from a relatively humble background, whilst Rex lives a wealthy London life; Suki’s nature is calm, peaceful, accepting, whilst Rex struggles with the resentment he feels towards his complex mother following his discoveries after her death. However, as Suki and Rex get to know each other, it becomes clear that they have more in common than it initially appeared. But will Zen practice save them ultimately, or force them apart …
Please could you talk about the role that Suki’s Shih Tzu dog, Zenny, plays in the novel?
As a child, I had a pet dog, a Pekingese, called Suki. She lived to be nearly sixteen. She was a wonderful member of our family, beautiful, courageous, inquisitive, loving, with a magnetic personality. The main character in The Zen Violinist had to be called Suki!
I’ve named Suki’s Shih Tzu pet dog ‘Zenny’ because she possesses several Zen-like characteristics, which I portray in the story. It’s important in Zen to keep an open, flexible mind, a beginner’s mind in every experience. The beginner’s mind is free from preconceived ideas, so that every experience feels new and fresh, as if experiencing the world for the first time. Zenny possesses such a mind. And when she is confronted with problems, hardships, her approach is to accept them as part of who she is and find a positive way around them. This is also a Zen approach.
Zenny shares characteristics with Suki my childhood Pekingese: a white ‘Buddha’s kiss’ marking in their fur that some attribute to Buddha’s love for these breeds; large, intelligent eyes that reflect their inner calm and wisdom; an infectious joy for life. There’s a theory that Shih Tzus are descended from a cross between the Pekingese and the Lhasa Apso, so it isn’t surprising that these two dogs, Suki and Zenny, should share such similarities.
Zenny plays an important role in The Zen Violinist. By her positive attitude towards life and the problems it brings her, by her adaptability, and joie de vivre even through hard times, she is an encouraging role model for Suki. And Zenny loves violin music too!
Please could you tell us a little about some of the other characters in the novel?
Suki’s violin, made by her Japanese stepfather, is ‘she’ not ‘it’. She is a character in her own right. She is Suki’s friend, not just an inanimate object. Suki admires and respects her. When Suki plays her, she becomes her violin, and her violin becomes Suki. A violin develops a unique voice through being played. A violin also takes on the personality of the violinist whilst retaining its own individuality. Suki recognises this in her violin. The violin is Suki’s mouthpiece for the emotion that Suki struggles sometimes to express.
There are other characters who aren’t Suki’s friends, who wish her ill, who envy her musical talent. When Suki discovers this, she doesn’t seek revenge but attempts to understand their motive and use her Zen approach to try and help them.
Suki’s conductor, Klaus Krieger, believes this will be a futile task. Will Suki prove him wrong? Klaus takes a more unforgiving approach than Suki towards her enemies. He believes there are lessons that need to be learnt. Klaus is an interesting musician who does not welcome emotion, yet when he plays the piano, he expresses deep emotion in every note. Suki grows to rely on Klaus, who becomes a mentor – not just in music – to his talented pupil.
Rex’s mother Amelia Curtis is another strong and important character. Although now dead, the reader grows to understand Mrs. Curtis through her diaries and correspondence, whilst her son Rex asks, “Who in God’s name was she?” It is left to Suki – and Zenny – to find out …
Suki’s mother and stepfather are characters in the story too. They’re the orchestra to Suki’s performances, the audience who encourage her with their applause. But, more than this, they’re Suki’s inspiration throughout the novel, and ultimately her path to enlightenment.
What insights would you like Suki’s writing process and practice as a musician to offer to the reader?
Suki’s approach to writing The End offers an insight into an author’s mind when writing a novel. The idea of The End came to Suki in Japan while she was practising zazen, a form of Zen that involves breathing exercises and emptying the mind of all else. During zazen, she pictured her own book, with her name as the author, and the first few lines of the novel. In a similar way, Suki is later enlightened to compose a piece of music whilst engaged in a different form of zazen practice. For me, the idea of writing The End came in a dream. It’s often at moments such as these, of complete relaxation and freedom from thought that the mind and imagination are released creatively and our best ideas surface. They’re very special moments of inspiration or enlightenment that may not happen often, but when they do, they are all-consuming. We cannot search for them, or they will disappear. They are moments that find us.
Suki also demonstrates through her writing process the importance of authors writing what really matters to them rather than being influenced by what others might want or expect them to write. I think this is a crucial lesson for authors and potential authors. Like hearing stirring music being played, you can tell when words are written from the heart.
Suki remarks that it is surely the role of an author to stimulate thought. She reminds herself that an author, like a musician, doesn’t just create for the self but also for others, that it is the beauty of creativity to share thoughts and ideas. A concerto is for an audience to enjoy, not just its composer. A book is for readers to enjoy, not just its author.
Please could you tell us about any pieces of music you’ve recently enjoyed or drawn inspiration from.
I find Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto in G minor very inspiring, which is why it is significant in the story. There are other violin pieces in the novel that I like to play, which have inspired me too: Dvorak’s Songs My Mother Taught Me, Bach’s Double Violin Concerto, Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas, Astor Piazzolla’s Libertango. Although not in the novel, I enjoy playing Fritz Kreisler’s Praeludium and Allegro, and John Williams’ Schindler’s List Theme, both of which are inspiring pieces. Suki is moved in the novel when she hears her conductor Klaus playing Rachmaninov’s stirring Piano Concertos Nos. 2 and 3.
Others I admire include Maxim Vengerov (and his dog Toto), Sheku Kanneh-Mason, Freddy Kempf, Joshua Bell, Kyung Wha Chung, all of whom I’ve heard perform live in concert (except Toto).
Like Suki, I enjoy jazz violin. There’s a chapter in The Zen Violinist called impromptu in which Suki introduces Rex to an inspiring recording at a concert in Montreal of Piazzolla’s Libertango, featuring Hiromi, a Japanese pianist and composer playing jazz piano, and Colombian Edmar Castaneda playing jazz harp. As the music gains momentum, there’s a feeling of impromptu about their performance, which encourages Suki and Rex to dance a tango together … But do they? Or, as Suki asks, is it maybe Suki’s version of Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu, maybe a figment of her imagination? … But maybe not.