Alyson Rudd speaks to Barbara Gowdy about her the thorny issues surrounding her novel

ALYSON RUDD You have written about difficult or taboo topics before. Are you drawn to them because you like a challenge or because such areas are fascinating simply because they are so controversial?

BARBARA GOWDY A great deal of fiction, much of it terrific, is told from the point of view of somebody who resembles the author: a well-spoken, cultured, competent, insightful, basically good person. But there are millions of people who don't fit this description. What about their stories? I have, in fact, created well-spoken, cultured characters. When I choose not to it's because I want to stretch my limits - my ability to empathise and invent. Writing about a 37-year-old, small-appliance repairman who loves little girls certainly stretched my limits. Even writing from the point of view of African elephants, which I did in The White Bone, was easier to the extent that the feelings I invested the characters with were ones I myself had felt.

I felt that the character of Nancy was absolutely crucial. Did her part grow as you wrote the book?

When I decided to include Ron's perspective, I knew two things: he couldn't be a monster, and there had to be somebody or something between him and Rachel, some psychological or physical obstacle. That obstacle became Nancy. I always intended that she should be kind, but her wiliness and courage arrived during the writing. She is my favourite character. Unlike the ubiquitous, fictional character I describe above, she is neither cultured nor well-spoken. Everything she knows she has been obliged to learn first-hand. I see her as heroic. She is one of those people who has hit rock bottom and managed to climb out with her gentleness and optimism intact.

If you had to describe a real Ron to the authorities, what would you say?

First of all I'd tell them that the chances of his physically harming Rachel are slight. He loves her. It hurts him to see her unhappy. In all likelihood he is giving her everything she needs, short of her freedom. I'd tell them that Rachel is no stranger to him. He has been watching her for some time and has convinced himself that she needs his protection. In his view, he is her saviour. On the other hand, he isn't entirely deluded. He knows that he harbors dangerous feelings and is consequently at war with himself. It is a war that he badly wants to win.

Is Ron a victim?

Ron is no more a victim than any of us. His mother died when he was 11, and although that was hard, he got through it. In the book I imply that some erotic play he and a little girl engaged in shortly after his mother's death stunted his sexual appetite, but I don't press the point. For whatever reason, Ron is aroused by little girls. It is his great burden. When I was cooking Ron up, I had Lewis Carroll in mind. Carroll refers in his diaries to having “unholy thoughts” about little girls, and yet, as far we know, he never acted on these thoughts. Ron exercises a similar restraint in that it is his covetousness he surrenders to, not his lust. To my mind, Rachel is, or becomes, the least helpless of the characters. Yes, she has been abducted, and, yes, Ron holds the physical power, but as the one who is loved rather than the one who loves, she holds the psychological power, and she quickly senses this and exploits it.

You have said that women praise Helpless more highly than men. Why do think there is a gender divide in reaction?

In North America the reviews from women have been almost universally positive. Women critics see it as a good thing that rather than being a monster, Ron is a human being faced with a terrifying moral dilemma. A majority of men, on the other hand, regret Ron's lack of heartlessness. One male reviewer said that he was steeled for “violence, tragedy, abuse and degradation”, only to have his expectations disappointed. I was taken aback. It has been suggested to me that men prefer a two-dimensional bad guy whom they can gleefully blow away as if he were a video-game villain.

Many book groups will squabble over your final sentence. How do you define love?

Love is putting the other before oneself, isn't it? Ron believes he is putting Rachel before himself when he abducts her. But he comes to see that this isn't the entire truth.

The Key questions

Does the use of the present tense increase tension or feel over-stylised?

How convincing are the protagonists?

Is the author overly cautious or cleverly sensitive?

Why does Gowdy create a victim, Rachel, who is so breathtakingly beautiful?

June 28, 2008

BARBARA GOWDY, LIKE Jodi Picoult, is not afraid to tackle controversial subjects. Helpless is about Ron, a vacuum cleaner repair man who is sexually attracted to young girls. That might sound unpalatable - but Gowdy has produced a surprisingly tender and elegant novel.

The book is not full of evil, sadness or repugnant acts but instead jammed with love, misplaced loyalty and gentle sadness. There must be many men such as Ron in the world. Some become monsters but others try their best not to give in to their feelings that they know are considered abnormal.

Ron paints himself as a saviour. He kidnaps a child, Rachel, but all the while he is convinced fate gave her to him and that he is her knight in shining armour. He is, on one level, a disgusting pervert, but Gowdy presents him as a gentle giant with a curious past. And Ron is loved. He has a girlfriend, the hapless Nancy, who clings to their relationship even though it is far from what she wants it to be.

Ron is convinced that Rachel's mother is neglectful and that her daughter is being abused by the family's landlord. Rachel is particularly beautiful and precious and Ron thinks she needs protection. Poor Nancy thinks Ron might want them to become parents, a proper family, and is considering adoption.

I read it having been told that nothing terrible happens and yet Helpless was still a tense, page-turner. It is comforting to know that there will be a version of a happy ending, but it remains nail-biting throughout.

July 28, 2008

I have been accused of ruining Helpless. However, I stick by my decision to reveal that nothing terrible happens in this novel. Few people would have taken the plunge to read it at all had they not been reassured that it would not be overly upsetting. To read Helpless wondering if the beautiful Rachel would be raped or murdered would surely be a miserable exercise.

This is a book about affection, need and warped love. It is not really about Rachel, who is, for me, too perfect, too sweet and nor is it about her mother who I found I did not really like very much. It is about Ron and Nancy, two misfits trying to squeeze something out of a life that offers them little. Ron can hardly believe he has kidnapped the child he has adored from afar and convinces himself he has rescued her from a pervert.

Imogen, in London, thought the ending was “rushed and ultimately unbelievable”. Well, it is rushed and it probably is unlikely that a kidnapper would offer such loving advice on the release of his victim. But I found the ending to be beautifully composed and curiously uplifting.

Star Letters

"An intense and thought-provoking book. I think Gowdy is saying that we all have the potential to become victims, and that is perhaps why Ron released Rachel, so she wouldn’t stay one. She is beautiful because all our children are. To sully that beauty is to sully a part of our own souls" Mary, Wasaga Beach, Canada

"I do think you rather ruined the book by saying from the start that nothing terrible happens. I had read it earlier, and it was not knowing the outcome that made it so compelling. I loved the book and found the characters well-drawn, but the ending felt rushed and ultimately unbelievable" Imogen, London

Helpless by Barbara Gowdy
Abacus, £7.99; 320pp Buy the book

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