In Conversation With Grace F. Edwards
Author of The Viaduct

Acclaimed fiction writer Grace F. Edwards, known for her Mali Anderson mystery series, is back with The Viaduct, a hard-hitting suspense story set in Harlem during 1972. Edwards vividly chronicles the tumultuous times of Marin Taylor, a Vietnam vet who survives being stabbed only to then endure the kidnapping of his newborn daughter by a violent stalker. We talked to Grace about what helped shape her latest twister.

So how did you come up with the idea for The Viaduct? How did it feel to write from a male perspective?

The Viaduct was a work in progress before I started writing the Mali Anderson series. Writing from a male perspective isn't difficult because I've had the occasion to listen to five brothers and two ex-husbands. I was always in the company of men, so I just listened and picked up the rhythm of their language.

As a kid growing up, a couple of my uncles used to play cards, and I would sit and listen to their language as they flipped the cards on the table and bet their money. There was a lot of loose talk. A lot of bragging. A lot of betting. They were only betting nickels and dimes, but it was still highly charged to me.

On the occasion when I did sit in a bar like the Lenox Lounge, Small's Paradise, or The Red Rooster, I would listen as well. Most of the time, after the third drink, the lies were exaggerated. I was just fascinated.

Writers are like spies. You listen and you catch a fragment of the conversation. I just absorbed it. Even just riding the subroadway, I would take a seat near the loudest-talking guy on the subroadway and just listen to what he had to say to his friends, and that helped a lot.

Mali Anderson is a character who you've described as having middle-class sensibilities. In contrast, Marin and his family struggle financially, worrying about how they'll make ends meet after Marin loses his job and is attacked. What inspired you to write about a more working class family?

Growing up in Harlem during the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, I was familiar with the struggle of working- (and nonworking-) class families forced to make hard choices daily simply to survive. My friends and I had a lot of fun as kids, but underlying all of that, our parents went through very difficult times. We were all in the same boat and it was sinking fast.

But despite the hard times, most families were cohesive, generous, had a sense of humor, and knew how to have a good time. I wanted to focus on the strength Marin displayed.

We were struck by how tender and loving a relationship Marin has with his wife, Margaret. How do you think men and women will react to the couple's intimacy?

Yes, Marin and Margaret do have a wonderful relationship that didn't disintegrate in the face of adversity. I think readers will react positively to the love, reliance, and trust these two have for each other.

Relationships today seem so fragile. The least amount of stress and sometimes no stress at all cause couples to break up over situations that haven't even reached crisis levels. Sometimes they're just bored with each other and have decided that the grass is greener on the other side of the hill, so they go there. But there are strong, stable relationships among black people, and that's really what I wanted to show.

You also write much of the book from the perspective of Conroy, a miserable criminal who plots vengeance on Marin for killing his brother. How would you describe his perspective?

Conroy is a character whose world vision is severely limited. He's just a con artist. He is unable to accept responsibility for his actions and seeks the easy way out of difficult situations.

Conroy is the exact opposite of Marin. Marin suffered a devastating loss in the kidnapping of his child, but he didn't weaken. He didn't crumble. He had a sense of resolve that he knew he was going to track his daughter down. In contrast, Conroy allowed his mother to remain in that condemned building and made excuses about why she was till there. He was just a rather selfish person. I think he believed in a certain magic where all of his problems would be solved if he had all of this money.

Your novel compellingly details the emotional fabric of Harlem lives while keeping suspense and action at the forefront. Many of the novel's key scenes happen on Harlem's viaduct at St. Nicholas Avenue. What does the viaduct represent for you as a storyteller? How does it fit in with your view of Harlem?

As a kid, my friends and I skated the length of the viaduct, a steel-and-stone structure at 155th street spanning the distance from St. Nicholas to Seventh Avenue. The object was to try to stop before we hit traffic (or before traffic hit us). As a nine-year-old, this was difficult, dangerous, and exhilarating.

As an adult, I see the viaduct as a feat of engineering, a beautiful structure, and an enduring piece of history. Harlem is like the viaduct. It's old, but it's still there. It's imposing, a thing of beauty. The landscape has undergone massive changes, losing landmarks like the Savoy Ballroom and Connie's Inn. But Harlem is still Harlem-tough, beautiful, impressive, like the viaduct.

A final question for fans of Mali: Should we expect another installment in the series? And if so, what will be the premise?

Mali is currently on hiatus. The next mystery has a female sleuth (not necessarily Mali) probing the death of a young actress in a community theater group. Suspects abound, and the villain is not who you might think it is.


Read more about The Viaduct