“Always begin a tale with breath—stories are living things held between the teller and her audience.” This line, from Victor Forna’s “Kɛrozin Lamp Kurfi,” feels like it’s at the heart of this story, in which the protagonist is in conflict with the Storyteller, each of them trying to influence the narrative and how it all turns out. A story can be a cage, or it can be the key to freedom. “Kɛrozin Lamp Kurfi” is about the love of a mother and how far she will go for her child, but it’s also about storytelling itself and the power of narrative.
Victor Forna is a Sierra Leonean writer based in his country’s capital city Freetown. His short fiction and poetry have been published or are forthcoming in homes such as Fantasy Magazine, PodCastle, Lightspeed Magazine, Strange Horizons, Nightmare Magazine, and elsewhere. He is an alumnus of the 2022 AKO Caine Prize Writing Workshop. He tweets @vforna12.
Marissa van Uden: Thank you so much for joining us, Victor. “Kɛrozin Lamp Kurfi” is my favorite kind of speculative fiction, the kind with complicated characters and layers and that leaves the reader thinking. Could you tell us a bit about where the premise for this story came from: which elements came to you first, and how did it evolve from there?
Victor Forna: Thank you for having me, Marissa.
A friend gave me the first glint of this story, having a conversation about the magic of writing and how some novels almost seem to hold hostage their readers, in a good way, until the end, and my friend wondered aloud if I could write a tale about characters imprisoned in a story world. A reconstruction of the “reader trapped by a book” idea. I loved the concept. I became haunted by it, by the possibilities it could hold. My search for layers to grow the narrative ensued.
I knew I needed characters.
All good stories need heart.
I come from a big family, and I find myself, most times, exploring familial relationships in my fiction, with my favorite being mother and child(ren) sucked into peril. I inevitably saw a mother and child carrying this idea forward. A mother enters a story world to save a trapped son.
However, even after the glimpse of these characters, I still couldn’t write a word. I still needed a way to create the meta tension between the story and the characters in it. I needed a story structure.
My father tells me stories all the time. Stories he makes up and stories he was told (or witnessed, you can never tell with that man!) in his childhood. And one morning, his stories became endless. He went on and on, about the origin of bubu music, about a magician called Raka Makasi and his sworn nemesis S.K, and about different kurfi, on and on, like aging people so often do. That moment gave me everything else I needed to start writing this story, including some references I later used. Including the Storyteller, and the idea that my trap shouldn’t be pages or novels, but oral storytelling, which is also a core component of the Sierra Leonean childhood.
I knew the story needed to start with breath. In. Awt. As we used to say when we were young, before a narration began. (Though some would argue it goes: Hil. Aw. But what is truth to beauty?) The story evolved from there, from breath, character and structure and theme and plot born, glint ignited … the rest of the story flowed out of me like magic … but, as a pantser, so many surprises awaited me.
And I would love to dedicate this piece to my friend and to my father. One for the question. One for giving me the answer.
MVU: I’m so glad we got to hear of this wonderful origin story and dedication. The characters in this piece are held hostage to the stories they’re in, lacking freewill but slowly learning tricks to take back some control. In real life, many of us are raised with narratives that lock us into certain roles or viewpoints, and some are brave enough (or curious enough) to break free. Did you draw from any personal experiences or were you inspired by any real-life stories in writing these characters?
VF: I wrote this story about a year and a half after I graduated from university and plummeted into the universe. Before your question, I had never linked these characters with my own personal experiences or my thoughts on purpose and freewill at that time. But the subtle cord is clear now. Nothing comes from a vacuum.
I am in a country and culture where following your dreams/passion has never been part of the narrative. Dreams like writing or music or sports. There are paths set before you, not only by family, but also by the dire systems around you. It’s a matter of survival, staying on those paths.
Though change is in the wind these days, pursuing a career outside those locked paths is still a form of bravery. A bravery I am yet to unlock, though like my characters, I am learning tricks to take back some control. Or, at least, keep a balance.
And I know quite a few people who have lost themselves in the cages of their assigned stories.
It had mostly happened in my subconscious, but I did draw from personal experiences and real-life stories of people around me in creating these characters and their want for freedom and, for some, the necessity of staying in the cage.
This story seems rooted in reality in ways beyond even me.
Thank you for asking this question.
And this goes up and above my little spot in the world: I hope, someday, we all learn how to retell ourselves. And find the courage to.
MVU: I especially adored this line: “We run between the finger-apart houses, searching for plot holes and freedom. We enter alleyways that lead to dead-ends, sentences beyond them yet to be born.” There is such a sense of movement here, and of mysteries yet to be uncovered. As the storyteller, was there anything that surprised you while writing this piece?
VF: I had so many surprises writing this! As I said before, pantser here lol. Much was uncovered along the way. Even with the initial elements grounded in my mind, internal and external factors influenced the movement of this story. But the things that surprised me the most were:
The narrative structure and how much it took from me to maintain it and not implode. And how well it worked out in the end. It grew beyond me and asked for so much experimentation. I enjoyed the challenge, however.
The final choice the Protagonist makes. My thoughts about the end when I started the story were nothing like what happened there. I only figured it was what the story demanded when we stood face to face with the void. It startled me. But maybe it was inevitable. What wouldn’t we do for love?
MVU: One of the characters says “Everyone we mourn is alive in stories.” It brought home how storytelling is one of the ways we give our loved ones longer lives. What kinds of stories do you hope your loved ones will tell about you after you’re gone? How would you best like to be remembered?
VF: Let them turn me into a mystery when I die. Or a ghost tale used to scare the kids into eating less sweets. Or laughter from the old. Let them whisper of my wishes and hopes and pains like mystic smoke. Or tell of all my humanity, the broken parts, the wholesome, the bits of the universe I touched, and the bits I never looked at twice, be real. Or let them lie, let them tell the most fantastical lies about me. I used to talk to birds. I used to be a monk with blue hair. Let them remember me the way they remember a distant story, or a star, ever-gone, ever-here.
Remembered as a writer. Remembered as a dreamer, head in the clouds. Remembered as a colleague. Remembered as the boy who played his guitar for gods and devils. Remembered as a thief. Remembered as a knight. Remembered for stories. Remembered as a sad old man. Remembered as a juju man. Remembered as a joke. Remembered as a fool. Remembered as wise. Remembered as a friend. Remembered as an uncle. Remembered as a brother. Remembered as a son. Remembered.
MVU: What a beautiful answer! I hope all of these wishes, and more, come true.
I loved your story “In The Woods Somewhere (or Stories Never Leave)” in Podcastle. That story is very different but it has some parallels to this one, such as the merging of fiction and reality, and storytellers in conflict with each other. What draws you to writing this kind of confrontational storytelling, and is it something you’re excited to explore more of?
VF: I am glad you enjoyed my story.
My love for experimental fiction draws me to these types of narratives, and the challenge they always bring, and the worlds of possibilities they open.
Also, oral storytelling in Sierra Leone and throughout Africa, has always blurred the line between reality and fiction. We are only here to carry the torch.
And I have also always adored stories about stories, in the way of Neil Gaiman or Wole Talabi. Such pieces have always fascinated and inspired me.
Stories come to me in strange ways, but, yes, I hope I get to explore more of these kinds of storytelling and see what I can understand about stories and the universe from them.
MVU: Have you ever been given a piece of writing advice that felt like it trapped you in a certain way of thinking, and if so, how were you able to break free of it?
VF: “Writing short stories should be seen as only a stepping stone toward writing a full blown novel someday.”
I believe the place of short stories is beyond that. This isn’t some learning stage, and short story writers should have just as much respect. These are recent thoughts. I always wondered if short stories were enough, after advice like the one stated. But I think I am free of the idea now, or on my way.
MVU: I’m so glad to hear that, and I am 100% with you. Short stories are their own artform and should be honored as such.
Can you walk us through your typical writing day? Do you have any habits or rituals to help you get into a creative state?
VF: And now to the hardest question of them all. I don’t think I have any habits or rituals for creativity. And maybe that is my ritual? I write anywhere, anytime, the muse is my master. I steal time before work to force out a couple paragraphs, I steal time from office hours, I steal time from socializing, I steal time from life. Deadly introverted, so I’m mostly by myself and can stay in bed for hours forcing out words. But I have no holy places where the words come to me. I have no holy movements. As much as writing is a god to me, I try not to give it too much power. Though I meditate when I have blocks. I read for inspiration, and listen to music too. Film also helps. But at the end of the day, for me, it has always been about stolen hours and pushing myself against the blank page.
MVU: Ah, I’m so envious of that! Writers who can grasp time from anywhere are wonderous beings to me. Thank you again for spending this time with us! Can you share anything with our readers about what you’re working on next?
VF: And thanks for the well-thought-out questions.
I am not working on anything new at this time, on a little break. But I have stories forthcoming in September from Lightspeed Magazine and Isele Magazine. The piece from Isele is an experiment, merging fiction and reality once more, but using a structure different from the one employed in “Kɛrozin Lamp Kurfi.” I also have a gross and sad story out later in Nightmare Magazine that I hope will scare and break the hearts of readers. Good bye!
