In this riveting thriller, set in London’s Barbican Complex, new mum Simone fights sleep deprivation and a growing sense of danger after an unusual woman comes to stay and doesn’t want to leave.
We chat with debut author Zoe Deleuil about The Night Village, writing, book recommendations, and more!
Hi, Zoe! Tell us a bit about yourself!
I’m originally from Perth, Western Australia, and I’m a lifelong bookworm and scribbler. I moved to London in my twenties and worked as a subeditor, going to writing workshops on the side. Back in Australia, I wrote the manuscript of my debut novel, The Night Village, and it was shortlisted for the Hungerford Award, a prize for unpublished manuscripts by West Australian authors, and then picked up by Fremantle Press. It was meant to be a quiet story exploring early motherhood, but somehow turned into a gothic thriller about families, secrets and an unsettling houseguest. Since then I’ve realised I love writing psychological suspense and am now working on my second book.
Tell us the first book you ever remember reading, the one that made you want to become an author and the one you can’t stop thinking about!
The first story that truly enchanted me was Bluebeard. The locked door, the rising panic of the young wife, that key stained with blood that couldn’t be washed off. It was my first experience of a story creeping right under my skin. I don’t know if it made me want to be a writer, but it definitely made me want to read more, which is the gateway.
When did you first discover your love of reading?
From being given books as a child and having a few at home that I read again and again – that’s so important for building confidence as a reader. When I started school we had a librarian called Ms Storey with a superb reading voice and a way of turning the pages very slowly to draw out the suspense, which mesmerised us kids. Being such a book lover herself, she quietly converted everyone who came into that library.
Your new novel is out now. If you could describe it in five words what would they be?
Houseguests are not altogether straightforward.
What can readers expect?
My main character, Simone, is a sleep-deprived new mother who has moved from Australia to London to launch her career but instead found herself having a baby with Paul, who she has only known for a year. Into this blur arrives Paul’s cousin, Rachel, and Simone can’t work out if Rachel is someone she should trust or fear. This rising unease drives the story forward until by the end she in a very different place from where she started. It’s a novel about the joy and terror of early motherhood, and the complications that can arise when two people who don’t really know each other become parents, all set against a backdrop of London in winter.
What inspired you to write the novel?
A lot of things inspired The Night Village. I read a lot and chat to people and pay attention to the news, storing away things that get me thinking. The starting point probably came from my realisation that new motherhood is a vulnerable time for women and their babies, something that often goes unrecognised. I also wanted to try to recapture what it’s like to be thrust into this strange new land of motherhood, where you’re recovering from pregnancy and childbirth, caring for a newborn, and absorbing a seismic identity shift all at once. It’s a magical, gruelling boot camp, and I wanted to write the kind of book I would have liked reading at that time. And then one day the character of Rachel – who seemed utterly real to me and still does – slipped into the apartment. That’s when it started to become more of a thriller.
What were the challenges you faced when writing it and how did you overcome them?
For a while the story didn’t quite have enough going on, but I didn’t know what it needed. So I found a few readers and one of them pointed me in exactly the right direction. Having other people’s input too early can be confusing, but once you have got to a certain point and can’t go any further it can be good to show a few people; particularly if they are sensitive readers and possess both honesty and tact, both being the operative word.
What were the parts of the novel you loved bringing to the page?
I loved writing about a newborn, and recalling all those moments of learning to care for such a tiny being. Walking around London in my imagination was like time travel – seeing the streets and buildings, feeling that contrast between the cold winter air and the warmth of crowded buses, remembering the quiet of the Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. It was a bit of freedom in my head at a time when I was a stay-at-home mum – so not going very far in real life – a lot like reading.
What’s the best and worst writing advice you’ve ever received?
I remember someone trying to talk me out of being a writer because it was difficult and I’d have to get up at 5 am to write and who would want that for a job? That made no sense to me because I see writing more as a way of being in the world than a cold-blooded career choice. Of course, I’ve had to earn money, but the writing and reading have ticked away alongside my paid work and other responsibilities, and they’ve never felt like work. And the best writing advice is every word of Annie Dillard’s The Writing Life, where she says much the same thing.
What’s next for you?
I’ve started writing another crime novel, this time set in Australia. Right now I’m living in Berlin so I’m also practising my Deutsch on any locals who don’t get out of the way in time.
Do you have any reading recommendations for our readers?
I adored The History of Mischief by Rebecca Higgie – such an imaginative and cleverly structured story. Red Comet, Heather Clark’s biography of Sylvia Plath, was a near-psychic portrait of her short life and full of insights into mid-century America and post-war England. And Breasts and Eggs by Mieko Kawakami is a brilliant translation of the Japanese bestseller. My other reading recommendation is a subscription to a literary journal – they are full of essays and poems and stories you won’t find anywhere else, they look beautiful and every so often you go out to the letterbox and one has magically turned up.
