About

My mother abhorred everything that could be described as “romantic” – books, movies, conversations, relationships… She just couldn’t stand reading, watching, or talking about it. And observing it… she just didn’t believe it. In retrospect, it’s clear to me that the roots of this emotional shortcoming lay within her own experience of romance: she was deprived of it in her youth by the familial prejudice and then ended up in decades of marriage marred by so much infidelity, Eros himself would’ve given up on Love…

Naturally, in my youth I had to hide from her my penchant for artistic expressions of romance: If something sentimental brought tears to my teenage eyes, I just hid in my room… Or behind the critical analysis of “serious” literature and theater… My academic studies… Then, my professional career…

Of course, as an adult I didn’t have to keep any cultural secrets anymore. And I didn’t… If nothing else, I’ve become quite assertive in my opinions… I would even say – opinionated. With everyone, except her: I literally cannot remember a single occasion when in my rare conversations with her I’d mentioned a romcom… Even my feelings for my ex-husband she discounted to his smoldering good looks…

The effect our mothers have on us! I guess, subconsciously I remained concerned about a possibility of disappointing her with my sensitivity to romantic themes practically my whole life… Because: not until more than two years passed after her death – with a 30-year career in accounting and finance behind my back – that the very first idea of a romantic novel has germinated in my head… I finally felt liberated to flesh it out, to put it out there… And not just the saga of the frivolous destinies I ended up calling Fireworks and Other Illuminations, but also the multitude of thoughts and, yes, opinions that reflect my emotional and intellectual relationship with romantic culture…