What happens after love ends
The unnamed narrator of “Thirst for Salt” is in her late 30s, single and childless, when she stumbles across a photo of Jude, her first love, holding a child. The image takes her back to that summer 13 years earlier when she was 24 and he was 42; they both fell hard for each other, but while their passion was equally strong, the way they expressed love and emotion was so different that it created an irreparable imbalance in their relationship.
Madelaine Lucas’ debut novel examines, in intimate detail, the ebbs and flows of their love, how each was shaped by their history and experiences, and the barriers they could not scale to reach each other in the end. Lucas, 33, lives in New York and teaches at Columbia University but she grew up in Australia, where the book is set (though the town of Sailor’s Beach is fictional).
“A lot of the book was motivated by my own homesickness when I first came here,” she said recently via video, adding that she created the framework of the book because “that sense of narrative distance was important — I’m interested in how our memories change because of life experiences and how we grow. My narrator is also longing for a time and place in her life that’s no longer accessible.”
Lucas, whose mother is a visual artist while her father was a punk rocker, started off as a guitarist and songwriter in a band with the man she would marry but decided she needed her own artistic medium and turned to fiction.
Like her narrator, Lucas had a “chaotic, transient life” as a child after her parents divorced when she was a toddler, yet they always “taught me to believe in myself as an artist from a young age.”
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Q “Thirst for Salt” sounds self-destructive, but while the relationship doesn’t last, it’s real love.
A It’s a line from Robert Hass’ poem “Meditation at Lagunitas,” which I originally quoted in the novel. I was drawn to it because it captured this longing for something that cannot ultimately satisfy you — it can be dangerous to continue looking for it. At the same time, I think you’re correct; there’s more complexity to their relationship than that.
Q Sentence fragments. Why use them?
A Early in the writing process, I read Annie Proulx’s “The Shipping News,” and she does that a lot. Rhythm and the sound of language is really important to me — I grew up around musicians and used to be one. So I was interested in how sentence fragments can create a specific dynamic on the page. Also, Australian colloquial speech can be short and abrupt.
Q Jude is often frustratingly inscrutable to her. Was he inscrutable to you or did you know him and keep that from your narrator?
A He was largely inscrutable to me as well — when I started writing I was much more interested in what it would mean to her, and there’s always a part of our lover that will be a mystery to us. That unknowing element is part of love’s fascination. There’s a beauty to that.
But I did have to think about things from his perspective more as the novel continued. I had to think of what the end of their relationship would mean for him and what the loss would be.
Q The narrator is an adult, but did you worry that the reader might see Jude as a predator?
A It was quite intentional that I wanted to show that my narrator has agency and it’s not a predatory dynamic. I showed their relationship as driven by her desire as much if not more than his.
When the book went out on submission I had some editors express disappointment that it wasn’t a #MeToo novel, and I found that problematic. That seemed like a desire to co-opt an important political movement to sell books, but it also frustrated me to
think there was no market for a story about a young woman in a relationship with an older man that wasn’t predatory, that the woman had to always be a victim — I was creating something that was the opposite of that.
Q Jude talks about love with a loose leash and about trust and faith. Could that have worked with someone his age with his experiences? We know he had a kid years later — do you think he adjusted his expectations and behavior?
A Even though I wanted the narrator to have a sense of agency, there’s obviously still a difference in experience and knowledge between someone who’s 24 and 42. Her desire for a love that’s all-consuming and the center of your world and is not sustainable when you’re trying to build a life. Maybe with a woman his own age that sense of freedom could have been more organic.
Q She talks about loving without reservation, so doesn’t that make Jude’s withholding difficult no matter the age?
A What I was trying to get in the novel was the complexity — you can have both things, love without reservation and freedom. Maybe there is something healthy about Jude’s ideas that you should have a choice and not do things out of need or obligation, but there’s a limit to his own awareness in the way he treats the women in his life.
Q How hard is it to capture both the love and the desire?
A I was really interested in exploring a broader picture of desire, an ambient longing for the life not lived. But then snapping back to these moments that had an electric, visceral charge. For me, that came from focusing on heightened sensory detail, like textures.
Q You write, “Love can both end and endure.” Did that idea inspire the book or did the book bring out the idea?
A It’s one of those chicken and egg situations. I grew up with divorced parents who separated when I was around 2 or 3, but their relationship has endured as a long, ongoing friendship, so I’ve always been fascinated by the way relationships can end but parts of them can keep on living. It can be like my parents or it can be in the art we make about love and the stories that we tell. Q Is that endurance different for first love, because your narrator is 24 and at a different point in her life than Jude? Would Jude be thinking about her 13 years on in the same way?
A I like to think their connection was profound for him too because she returned feelings to him that he had not been able to access, that something about that vulnerability of being in love for the first time can bring that out even in a partner that has much more relationship history.
Q Does new love make that disappear or does it usually stay even if it fades a bit?
A That’s a good question and I don’t know that I have the answer. It’s probably different for everyone, and that’s something the novel grapples with. There’s that sense that every time you fall in love it’s like the first time because it’s the first time with that person. But if part of an old love endures it doesn’t discount the value of the new love.