The Sorrows of Gathering follows a gifted architect accused of murder and the childhood friend determined to defend him as they confront buried grief, prejudice, and the power of love and compassion. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?

Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird played a seminal role growing up. I knew I wanted to write about what seemed to be the last major prejudice — homophobia — as well as its relationship to misogyny. When I discovered surprisingly, that Massachusetts had, back in 1982, reinstated the death penalty, and, of course, the AIDS crisis was beginning shortly thereafter, I found the context for my story. The politics of the Reagan Era also resonated resoundingly in our contemporary world.

Nolan is a deeply compassionate man who has endured profound loss. How did you approach portraying the ways grief reshapes his understanding of love and connection?

Like so many, I’ve endured great loss in my life; it’s inevitable. And, if such loss doesn’t destroy you, it makes you far more sensitive to and appreciative of the ephemeral nature of life as well as its many blessings. One aspect of the novel people haven’t yet picked up on is that I subvert the standard tropes of a mystery and murder trial. Firstly, the body discovered at the opening is a hanging — not a murder. And secondly, Nolan is charged with murder, but there is no body. I have a very low threshold, even with cozy English mysteries, for the body count piling up. Life is too damn precious, and we should never become inured to death.

The novel moves between World War II and the early 1980s. How did you decide which moments from the past would most meaningfully illuminate the present?

The World War II period also involves the Renaissance, in the person of Leonardo. I’m fascinated by how what seems out of date speaks to the present. In a sense, art is the true Time Machine, and novels can transport us to another place and time, one where we can achieve greater understanding and, hopefully, compassion for the present. The Renaissance, as I mention in the novel, is the world throwing off the shackles of the Catholic Church and Feudalism; it’s the segue to the modern, supposedly enlightened, world. And we’re talking about similar controlling, dogmatic, destructive mindsets whether we’re talking about the fascism of Hitler or the prejudice of racism, sexism, and homophobia.

Architecture, theater, music, and philosophy all contribute to the novel’s rich texture. How did these disciplines influence your storytelling and the emotional lives of your characters?

My career as a theater director (and professor) has necessitated my being a polymath, a Renaissance man, and every day continue to build upon my liberal arts education. Except for rap and pop music, I’m pretty good at Jeopardy. I don’t go down the rabbit hole and have a siloed discipline or vision. My art, my creation, is that of a humanist who believes it is the humanities that help us discover and cultivate our empathy for others.

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