Sunday Morning at Cafe Noir is a domestic suspense novel written as one woman’s intimate conversation with herself as she tries to make sense of her life. Where did the idea behind this novel come from?

The idea of this novel came from observations of how some individuals talk in a mobius-meandering manner that almost never arrives at the initial destination. I combined this with the insight that for some these digressions are the waterfall that drowns out the primal scream of their mental anguish. I also wanted the entire book to be the unnamed narrator speaking directly to the reader – unnamed to represent how women are objectified and oppressed by systemic inequity.

Café Noir becomes much more than a setting—it feels like a place where the narrator can finally begin to confront herself. What role does the café play in her emotional journey?

Café Noir is a safe space for the narrator. Though she is surrounded by dozens of people including her husband Douglas, she is alone. Though she is drowning in her own thoughts, she is alone whether she is staring out the window or into her bowl of oatmeal. At the same time it is an uncomfortable space because there are no cleaning implements for her to distract herself from the emotional turmoil that has become the soundtrack that constantly plays in her mental background. Ironically, for the narrator, Café Noir is also the only place where she knows any degree of peace – no one to talk to so she has no need to talk about anything and everything except that which keeps pulling her under.

The novel raises difficult questions about justice, revenge, survival, and guilt without offering easy answers. Was it important to leave readers wrestling with those moral complexities?

The desired impact of the book was to confront the reader with the fact that there are no easy answers to the things that we barely survive. Many forms of media suggest that poetic justice is the answer, but in reality we have been changed and no form of justice can undo the depths of that change. Much like humanities’ quest for the better life, the more changes we bring to the world, the more we have to face unexpected consequences.

If readers leave Sunday Morning at Café Noir reflecting on one central idea beyond the suspense itself, what do you hope stays with them? 

Though we intensely crave revenge in the seclusive depths of our soul, it never satisfies, it never compensates, and it never restores what was lost. 

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