N.D. Wilson is the author of the 100 Cupboards trilogy,
which tells the story of Henry York, a young man who discovers 99
portals to fantastic, magical worlds hidden in his bedroom wall. The
series, which has been praised by readers as being “delicious, dark and
insightful,” counts both children and adults among its fans.
The final book in the trilogy, The Chestnut King, is available in stores now.
Just to catch our readers up a bit, could you share with us the premise behind the 100 Cupboards series? What about The Chestnut King, specifically?
boy (Henry York) is forced to stay with his eccentric aunt, uncle, and
cousins in a town that shares his name–Henry, Kansas. Behind the
plaster in the little attic room assigned to him (in his dead
grandfather’s archaic farmhouse), he discovers 99 small, mysterious,
and mismatched doors. It is in the opening of these (frequently
unpleasant) doors that Henry’s adventures begin.
your plot snapshot. But more esoterically, these are stories about a
repressed and stifled boy who discovers the magic of this (our) world.
In that discovery the doors to adventure are opened to him, and he
discovers the magic in himself, his past, and his future.
As for the Chestnut King specifically, Henry arrives at his full inheritance through taking responsibility for, facing, and ultimately conquering the evil he unwittingly released into the worlds through the opening of the cupboards in
Book 1. Pretty Intangible answer there–but who really wants spoilers?
Is it necessary to have read the first two books in the series to enjoy The Chestnut King?
someone would have read the first two, but–being so entangled in the
stories myself–I couldn’t say how the third book would strike a reader
solo. I should force it on some poor innocent and find out.
The
three books have followed Henry from his start as an uncertain and even
sheltered boy to an explorer of worlds and a caster of magic. Is there
much of your own childhood in Henry?
are a lot of superficial similarities, but I was never as sheltered as
Henry is at the beginning of his adventures, and I will never be as
powerful as he is at the end. But I did spend some time in my
grandparents’ attic, and I put a fair amount of work into my fastball.
And, of course, I know what it is to be uncertain and nervous, to be
forced into facing fears and attacking obstacles (even though those
obstacles never involved world-hopping).
In your official
bio for Random House you imply that what is fantasy is truly a matter
of perspective, and that our own lives would appear to be the stuff of
fables to the fantasy heroes we read about. Not many adults get through
life with this sense of wonder intact. How do you continue to maintain
this gift, and would you consider it a prerequisite for a successful
author of literature for young people?
can’t say exactly why I still see the world the way I do, but I’m sure
it has a great deal to do with how my parents explained the world to me
when I was young, and the fact that I am now busily explaining it to my
own children in the same way. And reading the right books always helps
(mainly C.S. Lewis stuff–The Discarded Image, Narnia, That Hideous Strength, etc.)
strong sense of wonder isn’t necessary to become a ’successful’
children’s author, but I do believe it is necessary to become a great
one. (Which is not to say that having a strong sense of wonder alone
will make you a great author.) All too often, authors (and especially
fantasy authors) are panderers of pleasant childhood lies and
escapes–they manufacture and publish things that will inevitably be
outgrown and left behind. The same people expect a teen or an adult to
grow more cynical and hardened in their literary tastes. But why
wouldn’t they? I would too if I felt that I’d spent my childhood being
lied to. When I’m young, show me how to marvel at storm clouds, but
don’t tell me that they’re made of cotton candy. Show me how to
overcome great obstacles, but don’t tell me that it will be easy if I
simply believe in myself. Show me that a life well lived will be hard,
it will hurt, it will require sacrifice and courage and loss; make me
yearn to throw myself into the fight, knowing that I might end up
bruised and battered, with stitches on my jaw and gaps for teeth. In
the end, I will be old and broken. But I’ll be grinning, ready with a
tale or two to tell.
motif of the young man who discovers that he has an otherworldly talent
or special heritage is a truly perennial one, from the tales of Perseus
to a certain boy wizard. What is the appeal? How did you take this and
make it your own for the 100 Cupboards series?
spin the motif by using the language of seventh sons (and green men)
from Celtic and European mythology, but then I hybridize it with the
stories of the Hebrew prophets. For me, Henry York is far more like
Elijah or Moses than Potter. He’s not a wizard. He’s someone externally
expanded in his own nature completely beyond his control (like and man
with wings suddenly tearing out of his shoulders). One of the things
that I love about the prophets is that it’s never fun to be one. It’s
rough, dangerous stuff, working outside the normal abilities of man–in
the realm of angels, but limited by flesh. It feels like those bearded
men in the wilderness could explode or burn up at any moment. Some of
them do. Some of them go crazy. All of them seem crazy.
for the appeal, I think we all have a ’special heritage’ and a special
role on this spinning ball of water (and in this universe). That
knowledge is written deep in our natures and in our subconscious minds.
But claiming that heritage in our corrupt weakness is difficult. We
love to see it done, and we yearn to do it ourselves.
Witches
and mysterious kings are just a few of the exotic characters in your
work. Is it difficult to gauge how scary a character should be without
going over the line and frightening your readers?
But I blame my editor for all the scary scenes. Actually, having young
kids of my own, I can stick on my parent hat and ask myself if I’d want
to read some questionable bit to my kids right before bed. My wife is
also extremely useful in this regard. I read something aloud and watch
for tell-tale eyebrow arching. But, just to lean back against the
question a little bit–I do want to frighten my readers. Just the right
amount . . .
It’s impossible to discuss a book about young people finding a door to another world in their home without invoking C.S. Lewis’ Narnia
series. Has Lewis’ work been particularly influential? When did you
discover those books? What about the rest of the Inklings? Have you
learned anything about your craft from Lewis and Chesterton?
has been very influential, too much so for me to even measure. His
stuff textured my imagination at a very young age. But, if I step back
and squint at my own stuff, I think that his Space Trilogy might have
had even more impact on me than Narnia (if that’s possible). The
myth-mixing is richer, the scale is larger, etc. As for the other
Inklings, Tolkien was almost as formative as Lewis. I read Charles
Williams a little later, and most of his influence is indirect (through
influencing Lewis). Chesterton is a different thing entirely–his way
of seeing the world really rubbed off on me later (or affirmed what was
already percolating). While his novels are awfully undisciplined, his
voice, his playfulness, his tone are all things that I’ve imitated. To
throw out two more unrelated Brits, P.G. Wodehouse and Raymond Chandler
are both prose masters that have left their sticky fingerprints all
over me (Wodehouse as much as Lewis).
a pretty young age, I actually decided to write under N.D. as a way of
tipping my hat to my favorite superiors–C.S., P.G., G.K., J.R.R.
How
has being a father to children of your own affected your work? Do you
feel like you have a better sense of what it’s like to write for a
younger audience?
It keeps my imagination in the right place for this kind of writing. As
my kids grow, who knows what will happen to my novels.
It
seems like there’s been a renaissance in literature for young people.
It’s more popular than ever, and now even adults are reading it. Why do
you think that this is so? Have you heard of both parents and children
reading your books?
have heard from lots of adult readers. I wouldn’t be surprised if my
adult/child reader ration was at fifty-fifty. I think a big reason for
the current boom is a result of the aroma of good children’s fiction.
The kids’ market provides an experience (and flavor) to the adult
reader that is not really available in the broader respectable adult
market. A lot of adults (from college or upper high school on) have
been fed ‘important’ books. Issues books. Hard books. Depressing books.
Can you blame them for wanting to go back to the kitchen table for
something hot and fresh (that involves gravy) to be followed by
homemade apple pie and ice cream? A lot of adults are simply looking to
reawaken wonder and feed long-starved imaginations.
The book’s ending implies that The Chestnut King won’t be the last time we enter the world of 100 Cupboards. Have you given any thought to the next volume?
know, from the beginning this was always a trilogy, though Random House
resisted calling it that. Now the trilogy is wrapped. The Chestnut King
was the last hurrah (as far as I can see into the future at the
moment). I am currently working on a new adventure/fantasy series
called “The Ashtown Burials”. Book One (The Dragon’s Tooth)
should be pubbing on the Fall ‘11 list from Random House. And there’s
also this little gem of a picture book that I’m working on (The Wisdom of Ninja Boy). I’ll miss Henry, but I’m looking forward to new characters and new adventures.
