We chat with author Ruth Bonapace about The Bulgarian Training Manual, which is a comic novel that tells the story of Cristina Acqualina Bontempi (a.k.a. Tina) in her quest to find her true parents and jeans that fit.
Hi, Ruth! Can you tell our readers a bit about yourself?
Sure. I’m a Type-A person, happiest when I’m busy with lots of projects: writing, going to the gym, cleaning out closets. When I need to clear my head, I get back to nature, hike in the woods, dig in my garden. It’s amazing how tiny twigs can be so calming! I’ve got three kids, live in New Jersey and we have a labradoodle named Teddy who naps next to me when I write.
When did you first discover your love for writing and stories?
I can’t remember not reading: books, cereal box ingredients, anything. In seventh grade, I wound up in detention for cutting class to work on the school newspaper. But I never thought I could write a whole book until about 10 years ago when I went back to school for an MFA. It was so scary, like Alice going through the rabbit hole, yet we lived to tell the tale.
Your debut novel, The Bulgarian Training Manual, is out now. If you could only describe it in six words, what would they be?
Barbie on Steroids. Chicklit on Acid.
What can readers expect?
You’ll be tossed into a strange eco-system of the familiar and the fantastical. Picture Dorothy in The Wizard Oz, headstrong, struggling with grievances and dreams unfulfilled. That’s my narrator Tina, but with a fondness for four-letter words. Through circumstances almost as weird as a flying house, she ends up in Bulgaria, makes new friends, accepts a daunting mission, and is transformed by the journey. But Tina is funnier and wilder than Dorothy, more Snooki from Jersey Shore than Kansas schoolgirl.
Where did the inspiration for The Bulgarian Training Manual come from?
I started going the gym daily during a low point in my life, needing someplace to escape and get the endorphins going. Something I could control when life seemed out of control. I discovered this strange world of muscle magazines and guys talking about esoteric “supplements.” A trainer showed me photocopied pages from an incredibly complicated workout that supposedly originated in Bulgaria. I never forgot that, and knew I’d use it somehow in my writing.
Some of the funniest parts of the book, aside from wise-cracking Tina, is its takedown of the wellness and fitness industries. Why is that so ripe for satire?
In its worst forms, it promises an easy secret to health, longevity, good looks, great body and so on. Instagram and TikTock are filled with gurus and ever-new fad diets: micro, macro, keto, grapefruits, algae, legal and illegal drugs. So why not throw in a little magical realism, and have fun with the craziness of it all?
Was there any part of the research you particularly enjoyed?
I loved reading the texts of the wrestlers and powerlifters from the late 1890s, early 1900s, before the proliferation of gyms or even television. It was a fascinating world where muscular women were ostracized as freaks and relegated to the circus. I managed to sneak this into my novel while, I hope, preserving its raucous nature.
While the book is a hilarious romp, it’s also at times tender story of family and self-discovery. Why?
I didn’t want just a haha funny book or a 300-page snark. I wanted to show Tina’s hidden fears, the tender wounds and doubts we all carry. One of my favorite scenes is when she sits down on a wet stoop and the water soaks through her jeans. It’s one of those moments when you feel overwhelmed by sadness. You think it can’t get any worse, then your dog chews up your new expensive shoes – or you sit down on a wet stoop.
Anything else we should know?
There are nerds in my book. Literally. They arrive in the second half and, without giving away the story, help save the day.
What’s next for you?
I have a few books percolating, all very different. One is a dark, historic novel, possibly YA, that grew from my research for The Bulgarian Training Manual. And the other is based in the same neighborhood, but with different characters.
