A Sense Of Place

Sep 2015

Have you ever read a book that’s set somewhere you’ve never been, but the author makes you feel as though you know it: the way it looks and smells and sounds? You can imagine yourself in that dusty crowded street, sweat beading on your forehead, or shivering on that snowcapped mountain, your feet and hands numb with cold. It’s an author’s job to create a sense of place – to transport readers there and make it real for them.

My debut novel, Learning To Speak American, is set in Somerset, London and California’s Napa Valley. It isn’t enough simply to describe these places – they have to mean something within the context of the novel.

In Somerset, Lola Drummond has a lonely existence of self-imposed isolation. Her husband Duncan commutes to London for work, but it’s also the place where he indulges his secret obsession. The Drummonds’ privileged lives have been blighted by a tragedy they don’t talk about and in a last ditch attempt to save their twenty year marriage, they take a luxury trip to California’s Napa Valley.

It is in this idyllic setting that everything changes. Lola is captivated by the beauty of the place and its warm, welcoming people. So when the Drummonds happen upon a derelict house for sale, Duncan buys it, hoping that its renovation will make Lola look to the future rather than dwelling on the past.  

The Napa Valley represents a new beginning for Lola and the possibility that she and Duncan might be happy together again. The story isn’t that straightforward of course, but I wrote Learning To Speak American when I was living in the Napa Valley and utterly enthralled by it, just as I imagined Lola would be.

The days are warmed by a dazzling sun and the nights cooled by a fine mist that floats in off the Pacific Ocean. It’s the perfect climate to cultivate grapes that make world class wines, and the valley is replete with meticulously tended vineyards. At harvest time, the air smells sweet and syrupy. Hills and mountains, dense with trees, rise up either side of the valley floor. Being English, I was surprised to find that Californians welcome rain – rejoice in it, in fact. The dry rivers and creeks flow again; the land is kissed and nourished.

When my Napa Valley sojourn came to an end I moved back to England – to London and then Somerset. Like the fictional Lola Drummond, I found myself pining for California, every grey drizzly day, a sad reminder of the life I had left behind.

As I write this I’m back in California as a visitor, not a resident. My love affair with the Napa Valley continues though. It’s harvest time and the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of crushed grapes. This morning I cycled ten miles through vineyards and along wide country lanes bordered by silvery olive trees. The sun shone as it does every day and a cool breeze stirred the leaves. I stopped for coffee at my favourite café and with a sudden sense of déjà vu, I remembered the exact moment when the idea for Learning To Speak American came to me. I had been sitting in the same spot, having cycled the same route and I thought, if a person can’t be happy here, they probably can’t be happy anywhere.