A Conversation with Constantia Soteriou
Thank you so much for taking the time to speak to me! As we’ve already talked about, this book is very important to me, so I’m really honoured.
Just to start, at the heart of your book is the Ledra Palace Hotel in Nicosia so, for those who don’t know anything about this landmark, could you tell us a little bit more about the hotel, its significance, and why you chose to use it as the central pillar of Brandy Sour?
Yes, of course. The Ledra Palace Hotel is located in the centre of Cyprus, in the centre of Nicosia. It was a building that, in the 1940s, was aiming to be the diamond of the Middle East. It was a very luxurious hotel of its time; it had central heating, bathrooms, and running water at a time when this was not only a luxury for people in Cyprus, but it was an unknown thing in the region. They even brought furniture and material from abroad – it was really modern, and it attracted the local establishment. Anybody who was anybody was there. Before Cyprus’ Independence, the country was a colony of Britain, so members of the British Army were there, members of the church were there, and Turkish and Greek Cypriots who were lawyers or judges were there. You know, everybody who had money would gather there, and we also had a lot of visitors from around the world.
But I actually started writing about this hotel because I think that Cypriot writers have a curse; we write all the time about the Cypriot problem. And I’ve done that too – I wrote a lot about how women experienced the war in Cyprus – but during the time when I was thinking that I should stop being a Cypriot writer who always writes about the Cyprus problem, I was asked to write a short story about the Green Line (the line that separates the north occupied part of Cyprus and the South, which is the recognised Republic of Cyprus). So, I began to think about what division means for me, and this hotel came into my mind because, as I said, it was a diamond of its time, and it’s located on this very significant land boundary.
It was very special looking into the history of the hotel and, the more research I did, I realised that it was the reflection of modern history of Cyprus. Really, everything that was important took place at that hotel: The dinner for the establishment of the Republic of Cyprus took place there; one of the deadliest, bloodiest battles in 1974 took place there; an exchange of prisoners of war happened there. It’s a landmark that really reflects Cypriot history.
Brandy Sour is a collection of short stories – could you tell us more about why you chose that particular format and why do you think they are the perfect form for what you wanted to write? Were you ever tempted to build them out into a novel?
Well, it started as just one short story, but when I started writing about it, I found out more and more information, and I wanted to write more and more about the hotel. I started finding out about the people who lived at the hotel and well-known figures who visited, like Princess Margaret. There were people who were known and important to history, as well as so many unknown persons who went about their everyday life in the hotel. So, I really wanted to write about their stories and their relationship to the building, so I started writing stories inside a story, each describing a specific moment of the hotel’s history.
Brandy Sour is, to an extent, a merging of fact and fiction but the ‘official’ narratives and the political details of the conflict tread lightly on the book – is this because you believe that fiction is ultimately more powerful than politics? And if so, why?
Yes! Well, you know, growing up in Cyprus, history is so dominant – it’s everywhere, it’s inescapable. And, you know, when you’re growing up, you follow an official narrative of what happened in 1974 and who is good and who is bad. But, when you’re a writer, I think you have a duty to find your own truth, and this should go beyond what you have been told at school or what you’ve been taught growing up. It’s really funny because writing a book is fiction, but it’s not really fiction in the sense that it carries your own truth – your own realities, and the things you discover and believe to be true.
Trying to write about something as painful as the war and the division while trying to be inclusive, is really tough. So, to go back to your question, you’re using fiction to talk about these painful events and you’re using fiction to write about realities, but you’re also trying to smooth things out because, at the end of the day, I want to send the message that this is going to pass. And if you ask me, this is an important message of peace.
Yes, totally. And that message is so much more powerful in the way that you’ve done it because, obviously there is a collective experience of a war in the background, but the reader actually sees a much wider view of history through many individual lives. How did you go about choosing these characters and building all the voices?
Yes, I liked what you said there about widening the view of history. I always try to write about the history of ordinary people because I think the little details of the lives of ordinary people can create a bigger picture for the reader. This is, I think, what makes what I write about real; it’s hopefully what somebody who reads my book, who has no knowledge of Cyprus, would feel a connection to.
I did a lot of research about the more well-known people that spent time at the hotel but, while I was doing my research, I also came across a lot of stories about ordinary people who either visited or worked at the hotel, and their stories were just as important. Some of the people I wrote about are real people, but some are based on people I’ve come across throughout my life and their stories. I really wanted to focus on those who either had an influence on the hotel, or those for whom the hotel made a mark on their lives.
You mentioned imagining someone in London reading the book so, I just wondered, for those who might not know much about Cyprus, what do you hope they take away from Brandy Sour?
Oh, my God, this is a tough question.
Sorry! You did mention a message about peace, do you think that’s part of the message you’d like to send?
I think so! I think that people, particularly in the UK, know a lot about Cyprus and what happened in 1974, but I belong to a new generation of Cypriot writers that try to put distance between what happened and be more critical towards the events of 1974. So, I try to talk about my country in order to give a glance of the pain that we suffered, but also to talk about the fact that this was a promising country that could have emerged to become a significant place and a wonderful place to live. And there were times when this country was that place; there were so many people who were happy and who experienced that sense of hope, but this promise was somehow lost with nationalism. So, I’m trying to send a message of reconciliation, a message of peace, a message of hope.
You know, I’m now a mother of thirteen-year-old boys and I see history repeating itself in the sense that they grow up listening to the same thoughts and ideas that I grew up with. So, I just hope that my country will be united, and I really hope that a peaceful future lies ahead of us.
Just to touch on your writing style, I wanted to ask you bit about your strong focus on the senses – it’s such a beautifully sensory book. You’ve got the drinks, the food, the scents, the flowers, and the heat… Was creating this sensory atmosphere always an important element of your writing? And did you enjoy bringing Cyprus to life through your words?
Definitely. I think this is something I use a lot in my books; the food, the scents, the drinks… And the whole atmosphere, as you say, because this is what Cyprus is all about in my mind. I have so many memories of my mother cooking and telling me stories that were always related to food and drink in some way.
This idea of the different drinks running through the chapters came about when I went to Platres to find more information about the architect in the book. At the time I was there, there was a lavender festival and, as I was walking around the village, the smell of lavender was following me, and it was very comforting. I felt so nice about it – it just felt right. There were people drinking hot tea or iced tea, talking about how they would use the lavender in food and drinks, so I just pictured this man drinking tea and feeling comfort and distraction from his pain.
Also, I read somewhere that scent is the one sense that evokes memories the most. And it was just so nice to write about the people in the book and to really think about a specific drink and its scent that they would connect with. I love it.
I totally agree! My favourite is jasmine, it will always remind me of Cyprus.
Back to your style of writing, it felt very contemporary, light and lyrical, so I was wondering if you had any stylistic influences? I particularly loved the way you repeat certain sentences throughout the chapters.
Thank you! You know, I do read a lot. I’ve always been a reader. I think that if you want to become a writer, you have to read as many books as you can. I read a lot of Greek authors, but also international authors, and I’m actually really enjoying reading Northern Irish authors at the moment. I think that, because they write a lot about The Troubles, it feels somewhat relevant in terms of subject, but I also really admire their style. I really enjoy reading modern women writers who say so much in just a few words.
Yes, definitely. This is a bit of an odd question but, as your book is popular in the UK and will be published in other places, how do you feel about the sense that people will think that you’re talking on behalf of an entire country? Do you feel any pressure about being a voice speaking from an often-forgotten country? Because even though Brandy Sour isn’t overtly political at all, there is a sense that you’re portraying a version of truth about your home, so I wondered if that felt overwhelming?
I think this is an important question, but I don’t feel that I speak on behalf of the whole country. It wouldn’t be fair to say that because, although I may have some ideas or political views, they might not be similar to many people; however, I think I speak on behalf of people who will think like me – people who want to be critical about our history; people who want to stand before history and find their own truth, and that includes Turkish Cypriots; people who want to see a bright future; people who are not nationalists. If I speak for anybody, it would be that group of people.
But I understand what you’re saying because there aren’t many Cypriot books that are translated to English, so I realise that this is a unique opportunity. I feel so lucky that Foundry Editions, which is such an amazing publishing house, chose me to be their first Cypriot voice to represent. I love their vision about publishing new voices of the Mediterranean and, actually, I think that what they liked about my book was that, as you said, it doesn’t talk directly about the war. It talks about the joy of life. It tells a different story of Cyprus – as a country that’s not just a touristic destination and not just a place that experienced a war. I know those aspects are true, but I wanted to present a different picture in my book; I wanted to show people who enjoy their lives, who drink, who eat, and who lived a full life in their country.
So actually, going back to your previous question, if there was a message I was trying to send, it would be that there are so many different aspects to Cyprus to understand. There are the people, the history, the traditions – and it’s not monolithic. I hope my book gives a glace of this – of the many faces of Cyprus, let’s say.
Totally agree! Okay, one last question – do you judge a book by its cover?
Oh my God, I do! Yes, I do. And I think it’s a normal thing to do. Sometimes I see a picture or a small detail on a cover that might not speak to anybody else, but it speaks to me.
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