Today, my guest is Evi Routoula, author of London Tube. If you like what you read, leave a comment below and check out her book.
Tell us a little
about yourself?
I was born in Athens on 1968. Ever since I could remember myself, I
wanted to become a lawyer. I managed to do that and I have been working as a
barrister since 1997. Besides law, l love literature, theatre, cinema and
travelling.
What made you want to
become a writer?
I have always been
writing, journals, thoughts, short stories. Writing has always been for me the
best way to express myself.
Could you tell us a
bit about your collection?
It is a collection of short stories, each one of them having
to do with one London tube station. In some stories the station plays a
significant part, in others its importance in the plot is indirect. The stories
have to do with different passengers and how their use of the London Tube may
or may not affect their lives.
Why the London
underground? Why intrigues you about it?
Ever since I visited London for the first time in my adult
life, I got fascinated by London Tube, not only because it is the oldest
underground rail network in the world but also because of its spidery
construction, of its stations, of the little dark tunnels. Toying with the idea
of how many people use it daily and how it might affect their lives was always
an appealing thought of mine. That is why I decided to write this book.
Since you’re from
Greece, what is your connection to London?
My very first trip to London was with my parents at the age
of 10. I deeply fell in love with this city, and I kept coming back especially
when I grew up. I ended up coming to London at least three times per year,
watching theatrical plays, meeting friends and touring around this city that I
like so much. The past year I have been living in London permanently.
What gave you the inspiration
for your collection?
The London Tube and its passengers. The fact that so many
different people with their own stories, troubles, worries commute everyday by
using the narrow dark tunnels underneath London’s magnificent buildings.
Are your characters
based off real people or did they all come entirely from your imagination?
Of course, my characters have elements from people I know,
but they are all fictional. None of them is based on a certain real person.
They just all have tidbits from people I know. The only real character is
Elisabeth I in the Cutty Sark story together with the rest of the historic
personalities that are mentioned there. And the ghost of Black Nun who is
mentioned in the story of Bank. These of course are not my characters I just
use them in my stories.
Of all the characters
you have created, which is your favorite and why?
I cannot really distinguish any, but I must say I like
Elisabeth I a lot, simply because of her ability to maintain the fragile
political games of her time intact and do her will at the same time. A truly
remarkable historic personality.
Who are your favorite
authors? What do you admire about them?
I admire many authors, and I am
sure that I will forget names but I am trying here to mention just a few of
them. Jack London, Jack Kerouac, Charles Dickens, Isabelle Allende, Jennifer
Lash, Jonathan Coe, Jeffrey Eugenides. Among Greeks I like Karagatsis, Costas
Tahtsis, Costas Kyriazis, Maria Lambaridou Pothou. And of course Nikos
Kazantzakis. Each one of them has given me a lot of things to think about and
all of them are wonderful writers.
What is your favorite
writing tip or quote?
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are
mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same
time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn
like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road
Tell us a little
about your plans for the future. Do you have
any other stories or books in the works?
I am planning to write a historic novel about the Byzantine
era. It needs a lot of work and research, but I am enjoying it a lot. I also
plan to write more London Tube stories. There are still too many London Tube
stations for me to explore!
Where can we find you
online? (please cut and paste links):
London Tube:
Seven different stations take part into
seven different stories. Seven stations that play a significant role to the
lives of different passengers. A trip from the beginning of London tube till
nowadays.
Excerpt:
I.ALDWYCH
Mary Chapman rummaged
nervously the pockets of her
camel-haired coat, looking for her small leather purse. She took out a twenty
pound bank note and gave it to the tall thin girl. Mary gave her a shy, sideway
look. The girl was trying to count Mary’s change while at the same time she was
giving Mary the flower bouquet she had chosen. It was a small bouquet of yellow
and pink flowers. Mary was not sure how the flowers were called; gardening had
never been her strong point. For her, flowers were just tokens. Tokens of friendship, love,
passion, mourning. They were reminders of anniversaries, celebrations and
premiers. This bouquet was beautiful, small and modest. She held it with one
hand while she received the two pound coin from the flower-girl. She stuffed
the coin hastily into her purse and she gave another quick look at the
flower-girl. She was not British. This was obvious from her pronunciation and
her general appearance. Another immigrant searching for a better life in a
foreign country. There were so many of them nowadays. They were coming from all
over the world, chased by poverty, by political situations far beyond their
fault. They were constantly arriving in search of a better future. They were
staying in rooms in north and west London with monthly or weekly rent. They
were sharing the kitchen and bathroom with three or more tenants: students,
provincials, other immigrants. They were undertaking any job that they could
find: waiting, cooking, shop assisting. If they did not cause any trouble and
if they were lucky enough they could remain
for the rest of their lives here in this foreign part of the world, they
would marry, have children and always keep on sending money to those unlucky
ones that remained behind. Mary looked
at the girl again, she smiled, thanked her and she left. In her mind she wished
her “good luck” with the life she chose.
Charring Cross tube station was full of people who were hastily walking
in all directions. Mary kept holding the bouquet tenderly in her arms, she got
out of the station and started walking along Strand. It was early afternoon and
the traffic was heavy. At the opposite side of the street some tourists were
posing for photographs in their effort to gather memories. Mary glared at them absent - mindly and a
thought crossed her mind; maybe this was the most important thing in this life,
to gather memories. Time is passing so fast, nothing is left behind. Time has a
magic way of killing everything. Besides, this was the reason for her being
here this afternoon. Because of her memories. Mary was not a London resident
anymore. She abounded the capital thirty years ago. She had chosen the
provincial tranquility of Luton. She was married to a peaceful man. Together
they had chosen a small two-store house near the Luton airport. It was a
convenient nice house with a small back yard. For Mary and her husband that was
the best solution. The cost of living
was cheaper in the countryside and the quality of life much better. They did
not have any children, but they lived in
harmony together, the years were passing by peacefully, a rather calm
happiness. Mary had two dogs, two beautiful labradors and every afternoon just
before dusk she was enjoying staying in her garden in the company of her dogs.
Mary and her husband rarely visited London, just a couple of times per year.
They only went there to see a theatrical play or to buy something that they
could not find in Luton.
Mary kept on walking along Strand while thinking that this day trip was
more of a pilgrimage to her childhood. A pilgrimage to honor her long deceased mother
. A pilgrimage to a tube station that did not exist anymore.
She was sitting comfortably at her living room in her little house in
Luton and she was watching the news on T.V. She couldn’t even remember which
channel, channel 4 or BBC, it didn’t really matter! It was then that she heard
for the first time that the Aldwich tube station of Piccadilly line was going
to close down for good. She froze in her seat, looking aimlessly at the T.V.
screen without really listening. It was much later that she realized that she
was actually crying. When her husband got home, he found her sitting there with
an empty look on her face, holding a glass of whiskey. Then, that evening in that living room, with
the light of the t.v. screen barely
visible in the darkness, Mary let herself travel back fifty years, when she was
a little girl and she told her husband the whole story.
Months passed since that night, but Mary kept feeling restless, she
could not find again her usual calm monotony. She was doing her house work, she
was feeding and playing with her dogs, she was making love to her husband, she
was going to shop the things she always used to, but something had changed.
Something had marked her.
And suddenly, without any previous thought or planning, while she was
squashing an orange, or was it while she was filling the dogs’ bowls with
water, the idea to visit London just popped into her mind, to go there again.
The tube station had been closed for four months, since 3rd October
1994. It was a date she would never forget.
She had it marked with a fountain pen on the calendar that hang on her
kitchen wall. But the place was still there, Strand was still there, Surrey
street was still there. This could not change. And she could go there and see
the area. It would be a homage to her childhood memories.
So, one cold day of March, she found herself at Charring Cross station,
picking a bouquet of flowers and now, her feet were getting her closer and
closer to the place where once Aldwich station used to be.
Mary had never shown any interest in history, events, both local and
international were happening without
having any meaning for her. She had a simple way of thinking, it was very
difficult for her to combine causes and results in her mind. She could never
understand how or why a simple parliamentary rule had the power to cause
hundreds of deaths in a far away unknown land! But she knew one thing well and
that was the history of Aldwich station.
At the point where Surrey street intersects with Strand, Mary turned
right. She was at the centre of the biggest European capital, the streets were
swarming with people and still no one even thought just for a second, to leave
a bouquet of flowers on the cold pavement slabs, in front of the building that
once hosted the Aldwich tube station, that afternoon.
She stood there looking at the emptiness, because she could not see
anything. In this impressive red bricked building, once, many years before
Mary’s birth, many years before Mary’s mother’s birth, there used to be the
Royal Theatre of Strand. How many performances much have been held in there.
How many actors must have been tested, how many of them must have experienced
triumphs and agonies. How many dazzling and successful premiers must have taken
place. How many Kings and princess must have enjoyed, comfortably seated in
their royal box, lines by Shakespeare and Moliere.
