I add discarded napkins and crushed plastic cups to the tray as I circulate around the shop, and my eyes snag on someone hanging back by the window as other people come in, and he looks considerably dryer than the last time I saw him but almost as uncomfortable.
I empty the tray behind the counter and swap it for a tray of mocha madeleines. I hold one of the shells up to my ear, angling it until I pick up on a hint of accordion music like Paris in the spring. Balancing the tray on one hand and licking vanilla sugar off the fingers of the other, I approach the window and give it a rap and hitch the tray higher in invitation. Relief smooths the perpetual snarl of Beaver’s lip.
The madeleines captivate Beaver and that is somewhat inexplicable but I shrug and offer him another and he cradles it to his ear.
“You look like a person who can appreciate a good joke.”
Beaver jerks the shell away from his ear, looking mutinously at the man who has interrupted him.
“A neutron walks into a bar and asks, How much for a drink? The bartender says, For you—no charge.”
“Karl!” I exclaim.
He slaps his knee and his face is flushed from the eggnog and he claps Beaver’s back. “I am passing on my passion for physics to the younger generation. Do you make sense of it? A neutron is a subatomic particle that lacks a net electric charge.”
Sammie and Roman walk through the door and I leave Beaver to the impromptu lecture. I wend my way across the shop, past new customers and regulars gathering to share this experience I helped create, and the fullness of an ending I have wished for since the beginning.
I slide a panel open and gather two mice, and by the time I locate Sammie and Roman again, they are absorbed in a quiet game of chess and I tuck the pair of mice into my pocket for later, looking around to see where Ruby went, and I see her bun first.
Guess who? she mouths through the window, and my eyes widen and I reach to open the door for them.
Mister Philipp is frail but when he sees me his eyes crinkle and his voice is stout as an oak tree.
“I had to come back and see you,” he calls. “The young man who watched over me.”
Ruby’s freckled friend Jane pops out to ask for her help choosing and I put my hand under Mister Philipp’s elbow and match my pace to his and we ease into the shop, past the new customers clustered around the Book and past Lucy telling them her story of how the shop came to be.
Flora bumps into us carrying a dish of plump peach dumplings topped with mint chocolate leaves, and she reddens but Mister Philipp only says, “Aren’t those the prettiest leaves I ever saw. Did you make them?”
At the praise, Flora’s cheeks glow brighter than the peaches and as they strike up a conversation a shadow falls across the window and blocks the sun, and the landlord is standing there on the other side. I step outside and stand next to him and we look at the Book in its case. I do not know what I am waiting for and turn to go back inside.
“I’m glad it’s back,” he says without looking away from the Book. I am not sure if it is meant for me but I stay and listen anyway, and he shakes his head.
“The plan wasn’t to take it.”
My thoughts snap around, skidding through the hairpin turn, and he says, “I don’t know what it was—I saw it and something came over me. Like it was whispering to me, convincing me something better would come if you left. I got rid of it as soon as I came to my senses. I like to make opportunities—love it—but how the hell did I get so damn greedy?”
A calm descends, heavy and sudden as a dropped curtain, and through the window the flame of my oil lamp leaps and dances on its wick. It kindles a thought in my mind—a voice whispering to the landlord, and could Walter Lavender Sr. be the whisper?
Within the shop is without a doubt where my world begins, but I let so many things keep me there—my longing for warmth and connection, my desire for certainty, my fear. It cannot be my whole world anymore, and perhaps that was the true lesson Walter Lavender Sr. knew I needed to learn: out there might be dark places to be afraid of and lonely islands to escape from and terrifying heights to fall down, but what also awaits are more places to see and people to know and friends to make and experiences to share, and what could be more worth the pain than to open up and let yourself be a part of a sweeping story?
This is what he knew each time he clambered into the cockpit and buckled in behind the controls; this is the lesson he would have taught me when the time came, but he found a way to do it all the same—the Book’s flight from the shop, the trail it left, so that I would search.
I consider the Book and the burnished leather gleams an unremarkable brown, soft and serene, giving nothing away.
“I’m also glad your mother signed the ten-year lease,” the landlord says, rubbing his hands together, embers of anticipation settling on his belly. “I really do have a sweet tooth, and money can’t buy a double butterscotch pop anywhere else that convinces my girls to share. See you around.” He grins wolfishly and walks away, and I find that I don’t mind the thought.
The oil lamp flickers when I step inside, and out of habit I go over to check on it. The candle has burned low, and watching the guttering, I am not really sure that the lamp needs to be lit. There is no need to worry about becoming lost when the truth is, what’s lost is bound to be found, by the person who stays brave enough to open their eyes and see. The flame twists and turns, and with a single breath I set it free.
Acknowledgments
The Chinese are fond of their many proverbs, such as Hit a dog with a meat bun and Three monks have no water to drink. For the occasion of these acknowledgments, I turn to this one: A thousand-li journey is started by taking the first step.
To finish, one has to begin somewhere, and this journey, like The Lavenders, has two beginnings. For the first First Step, I owe everything to Mama, who lost her voice reading aloud to me so that I might find my love for stories. You carried me through storms and made a world out of nothing, and I would be happy to be half the person you are.
For the second First Step, I am forever grateful to Kai, who inspired me to write this book. Thank you for taking that First Step with me—not only on this thousand-li journey, but also on the grand million-li journey we are traveling together, my sunflower seed friend.
And to Shirley, whose path I will always follow even when it annoys her—thank you for your bold spirit and wit, and for standing by me, no questions asked. As I watch you make your way, you never cease to amaze me.
When I set out to write this book, I didn’t dwell too much on the destination. I focused on each phrase, paragraph, and page, and now that I step back to take a look, the view is incredible, because of those who saw this journey through to the end. Thank you to those who helped me in the course of my research, graciously offering up their expertise and opening up about their experiences. Thanks to my agent, the inimitable Jeff Kleinman, who possesses an array of superpowers that includes Unbounded Enthusiasm and Tireless Speed and, most astounding of all, the ability to make dreams come true.
Thank you to my fantastic editor, Tara Singh Carlson, who challenged me to dig deeper and see clearer, whose skill in perceiving beyond the surface, to the heart and detail of things, rivals Walter’s. Thank you to Helen Richard, and to everyone else at Putnam who generously put their time, energy, and heart into this book. I’m especially indebted to Carrie Swetonic, Ashley McClay, Emily Ollis, Brennin Cummings, and Alexis Welby, who kept this book from becoming lost, so that it could find its way to you, the reader. I am also deeply grateful to Sally Kim and Ivan Held, whose support has made all of this possible.
Finally, to the Shepherd of all journeys—thank you for watching over mine and illuminating the way.
the luster of lost things
* A Conversation with Sophie Chen Keller *
* Discussion Guide *
A Conversation with Sophie Chen Keller
> 1. What inspired you to write The Luster of Lost Things?
In 2014, while camping on a volcano in Maui, I came across a “Lost” flyer for a camera that contained meaningful family photos. I began wondering whether that camera, with its silicon memory of lost moments, had been returned to its owner. I wondered who responded to flyers like that one. What if there were people out there who made it their mission to look for what others had lost? Why were they doing it? Was there something else people were looking for when they looked for a missing camera? That was when I had my first inkling of who Walter might be.
Aside from that, I knew I wanted my first book to be a celebration of childhood. My memories from then are some of my most vivid: humid summers that went on for ages, imaginary adventures in sandbox castles, PB&Js cut into triangles, bedtime stories that took me to magical places. Those days are lost now, but sometimes, when we start to feel suffocated by darkness, we could use a return to that time when the world was still bright and miraculous, and we could so clearly see the goodness that lived around us and in us.
Walter reminds us to see beyond the surface—the “skin of the world,” as he calls it. The tale he tells is simple and uplifting, and at the same time layered with observations on what it means to live and be human. As you’re experiencing his journey, I hope you’re also savoring the search for the layers underneath, both inside and outside the pages; I hope that what you find will fill you with wonder.
2. The title of the book is very beautiful. How did you come up with it? What does it represent to you?
In one sense, the title refers to Walter’s ability to perceive the light emitted by lost things. It also refers to the idea that there is value in being lost—in the quest to find—although we tend to think of losing as a bad thing, and of good things eventually losing their luster.
3. Do you have a dog? Is Milton based on a real golden retriever?
My family had a golden retriever named Thor, after the Norse god of thunder and lightning. (As it turned out, he was terrified of storms.) Like Milton, he was constantly tripping us, whipping us with his tail, and snapping up unsavory things. But at the right moments, he would adopt this look of Zen-like calm and wisdom, like a huggable Buddha. When I practiced the piano, he’d seize on the passionate parts, howling along with the crashing chords. Some dog!
4. What was it like to write Walter’s voice? Was it difficult to see the world through his eyes? Is his disorder based on a real disorder?
Walter’s voice came pretty naturally. You could say that he found me, while I had to find his disorder in the course of my research; I spoke with parents, speech pathologists, professors, and doctors, who kindly shared with me their knowledge, experiences, hopes, and concerns. Walter’s condition is based on a type of motor speech disorder called childhood apraxia of speech, although the particulars of his case would be unusual. Childhood apraxia of speech is often misdiagnosed as autism, cerebral palsy, ADD or ADHD, an intellectual disability, or a developmental language disorder, among others. It’s actually a separate diagnosis—a neurological disorder where the brain has trouble coordinating the muscle movements required to produce the intended speech. The mind is a vast, complex, and largely mysterious landscape, and in the case of apraxia, some wires have gotten crossed or short-circuited and signals sent by the brain aren’t getting through properly to, say, the lips or the tongue or the face.
5. The novel celebrates the many different kinds of people who live in New York City. Why did you decide to set the story in Manhattan? What draws you to this city?
I moved to New York City at a formative time in life, right after college, and I tend to write about places I understand and connect with on an instinctual level. I haven’t been to any other place where it’s quite so obvious how different people can be, and how similar, too. You’re reminded every day, in the curious combinations of smells and the unfiltered emotions spilling out onto the sidewalk. And you just might discover The Lavenders around the next corner. In my mind, the West Village especially takes on a shade of happy wonder, because that’s where my now husband lived—on a certain street named Carmine—when we first met.
6. Do you have a favorite character in the novel, besides Walter?
Lucy. Without her, there wouldn’t be an enchanted dessert shop to write about! This is Walter’s story, but what we know of Lucy’s speaks, I think, straight to the heart.
7. The Lavenders is an unforgettable place. Why did you decide to set the novel in a bakery? Do you have a favorite bakery? Is The Lavenders based on a real bakery?
Mostly because I like eating and watching shows about food; I figured I would also like writing about food. The novel is about connecting and belonging, and food is something we associate with coming together, or with being transported home, wherever and whenever that might be.
I like discovering new places and trying different desserts, so The Lavenders is an amalgamation of various shops: the whimsical tiles from a chocolate shop in California, the classic brass finishes from a patisserie in France, the sugary sense of brightness from a bakery in downtown Manhattan, the dash of hominess from a Bäckerei in Germany, and any kind of edible treat you could imagine from everywhere—and there you are.
8. Walter has an amazing ability to find missing things. Have you ever lost something that Walter could have helped with? Why did you decide to write about lost items?
When I was eight or so, my mom gave me my first real piece of jewelry, a silver ring with a ruby flower, after my rather insistent pleading that I could be trusted—I promise!—to take care of it. She bought the ring in the morning; I lost it that afternoon. I was upset enough about breaking my promise that I still remember that lost ring today, although what my mom remembers instead is how happy I was when she gave it to me.
The idea of searching intrigues me. That feeling of incompleteness, of looking for something that we believe will make us whole, preserve our idea of self, bring us peace or joy or purpose or whatever it is, strikes me as poignant and vital to who we are and the lives we lead.
9. What do you do when you’re not writing?
I read. I travel. I dwell on things. Sometimes, when there’s a piano nearby, I play it.
10. What’s next for you?
I’m working on a second novel, and that’s about all I’ll say. Since I usually figure out things as I go, I have trouble talking about what I’m writing until it’s been written.
Discussion Guide
1. How does Walter’s inability to speak shape his character? In what ways does his speech change throughout the novel?
2. Did you have a favorite character? If so, who?
3. Lan tells Walter to make a “sunflower seed friend” (here). What does she mean? Does his understanding of friendship change over the course of the book? And does he ultimately make a sunflower seed friend? Do you have any sunflower seed friends?
4. Walter’s ability to find missing items allows him to glimpse inside the lives of others without feeling vulnerable. Have you ever helped someone find a lost thing? Is there an item you personally remember losing? What did this item say about you? Did you find it?
5. Walter lights an oil lamp every day in the hope his father will find his way home. At the beginning of the novel, did you think Walter would find his father? What does Walter end up finding?
6. The Lavenders is a beloved bakery, but the rising rents in the neighborhood threaten it. How does the novel portray gentrification? Have you seen this in your own community? What do you think about the landlord’s decision to close The Lavenders?
7. How does Walter deal with being picked on at school? How does his attitude toward Beaver and Todd change by the end of the novel? Were you surprised by the way Walter treats them later in the book?
8. Many of the characters Walter encounters in his journey are lonely—the rat-man and rat-woman long for a child, Karl misses his wif
e, and Junker wanders the streets of his abandoned city, searching for company. How does Walter help the people he meets? What does he learn about loneliness?
9. Ruby gives Walter the “first gift [he has] been given from someone who is not Lucy” (here). What does Ruby show Walter about the world? How does her friendship change him? Do you recall the first gift you received that came from a friend?
10. Much of this novel is about the power of stories to shape our lives. In what ways does the Book shape Walter? How does he come into his own story? Were there stories you encountered as a child that have shaped you?
11. What is the kindest thing you’ve done for someone else, or that someone else has done for you? Do you wish you had been kinder on some occasions?
About the Author
Sophie Chen Keller was born in Beijing and raised in Ohio and California. Her fiction has won several awards and has appeared in publications such as Glimmer Train and Pedestal. After graduating from Harvard, she moved to New York City, where she currently resides with her husband and a not-so-secret cabinet of sweets.
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