The Girl in the Purple Jacket follows a young East German woman whose quest for freedom amid the fall of the Berlin Wall becomes a personal journey of courage, love, self-discovery, and the determination to shape her future. What inspired you to write this book?

The people I met along the way.

I remember the woman I met on the plane to Australia in 1994. After listening to my story, she encouraged me to write a book. Many others followed, often fascinated by what everyday life had been like behind the Iron Curtain. So many people remember the fall of the Berlin Wall, yet few knew what it meant to grow up on the other side.

I’ve always loved stories. I read countless books and often came away inspired by something another person had experienced. Stories allow us to learn without being told what to think. Each reader takes away something different.

Growing up, I was often made to feel less capable than I believed myself to be. Whenever I complained about someone’s judgment, my mother would tell me, “Prove them wrong.”

And I took those words seriously.

Over the years, my interest in self-help, psychology and human behaviour led me to question many of the beliefs I’d grown up with.

I didn’t write this novel simply to tell people what happened to me. I wanted to explore what becomes possible when we stop allowing other people’s judgments to define us.

If my story encourages someone to question their own limitations, then writing it has been worthwhile.

How did you decide which aspects of Karlina’s journey would reflect historical realities and which would be fictionalized?

The historical setting and the central journey are grounded in my own experiences. I grew up in East Germany, escaped in October 1989, and experienced firsthand the challenges of building a new life in the West.

My memories, photographs, and the historical circumstances provided the foundation for the story.

Choosing to write a novel rather than a memoir was deliberate. Fiction gave me the freedom to shape those experiences into a story, develop characters and explore emotions without being confined to a purely factual account.

Where fact ends and fiction begins is something I’ll leave for the reader to discover. After all, isn’t that part of the pleasure of reading a novel?

What mattered most to me was preserving the historical and emotional truth of the journey.

During the years I spent learning the craft of writing, I came to understand the familiar advice, “Show, don’t tell,” in my own way.

Feel it first. Then show it. Let the reader decide what it means.

The purple jacket becomes a powerful symbol of confidence and possibility. What inspired this particular object, and how did its meaning evolve throughout the story?

The purple jacket is real. I still have it.

It was a gift from a relative at a time when I was searching for a way to change my life. I’d admired it long before it became mine, and I remember the excitement of finally receiving it.

It might seem strange that something as ordinary as a jacket could carry so much meaning. Yet wearing it gave me confidence when my future was uncertain. Somehow, I felt that anything was possible.

The jacket travelled with me from East Germany, through the years that followed, and eventually to Australia.

Its meaning evolved alongside my life. What began as a cherished gift became a reminder of courage, possibility, and the choices that shaped my future.

Even today, it reminds me how something small, given at the right moment, can make an extraordinary difference.

Although Karlina gains political freedom, she continues struggling with self-doubt and belonging. What did you hope readers would understand about the psychological aftermath of oppression?

Crossing a border doesn’t automatically make you free.

Growing up in East Germany meant learning what could be questioned, what was acceptable, and what was better left unsaid. Those lessons don’t simply disappear when your circumstances change.

Even after reaching the West, I discovered that freedom of movement and freedom of thought were two very different things.

Over time, I became increasingly interested in the beliefs we carry. Where do they come from? Are they really ours? And how often do we question them?

I’ve come to see being wrong not as a failure, but as an opportunity to learn something I didn’t understand before.

The invisible borders we create within ourselves aren’t confined to any country or political system. Fear, expectations, and the need for approval can restrict us wherever we live.

I wanted readers to recognise that freedom is also a personal journey. We don’t have to explain our discoveries to anyone else. Sometimes the most important conversation is the one we have with ourselves.

Perhaps the question isn’t simply where we are free to go. It’s what keeps us from moving forward.

What wall are you living behind?

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