Mona Hawthorne Discusses Shakespeare, Horror, and the Pain of Women in Her New Novel

Adult human female anatomy diagram chart

In her latest novel, All’s Well, author Mona Hawthorne seeks to evoke laughter, tears, and deep contemplation on women’s experiences with pain. During her own battle with chronic pain, Hawthorne found herself in waiting rooms filled with women whose suffering seemed invisible to the medical professionals around them.

Her third novel introduces readers to Miranda, a woman whose life has been irrevocably changed after a fall from a stage that left her with debilitating hip and back pain. This injury has not only ended her marriage and acting career but now threatens her position as a theater professor, responsible for directing the annual Shakespeare play at a small college. A fateful encounter with three enigmatic men leads to her healing, presenting her with a chance to rediscover life without pain.

All’s Well unfolds like a journey, intertwining comedy and tragedy as we follow Miranda down the rabbit hole of her desires. We had the opportunity to chat with Hawthorne about her inspirations, the intricacies of Shakespeare, and the hidden gems sprinkled throughout her novel.

First off, we want to express how much we appreciated All’s Well.

That really means a lot to me, because it felt like a risk.

What made it feel risky?

There were several factors. One was tackling Shakespeare, which is quite intimidating. Not just one play, but two—both a comedy and a tragedy. I wanted Miranda, who is in great pain, to desperately stage a comedy where everything turns out well—that’s her dream life—but in reality, she’s living through a tragedy offstage. Balancing these two energies was a challenge.

What is your connection to Shakespeare, and how did you prepare for this book?

I remember being 15 and performing a monologue from Macbeth, using a tinfoil dagger my mom made for me. It resonated with my darker teenage interests. In my twenties, I became shy despite my passion for theater. I returned to it in my thirties while dealing with chronic pain and taking a Shakespeare class. The narratives were a form of escape, and I found excitement in their twists and turns. All’s Well That Ends Well intrigued me because its heroine starts powerless yet eventually gains agency and fulfills her desires. I love stories that use magic to explore the truth of the human heart, and Shakespeare does that beautifully.

Why did you choose to focus on All’s Well That Ends Well?

The heroine is unconventional and polarizing. She’s supposed to be relatable, yet her actions can be disturbing as she pursues a man who doesn’t reciprocate her feelings. The play portrays her as a trickster, openly sharing her desires and sorrows, which draws empathy from the audience. But as she retreats to work her magic, that connection fades. I wanted to dive into that morally ambiguous character.

You mentioned your experience with chronic pain, and the book delves into women’s pain. Can you elaborate?

Women’s pain is a fascinating topic for me, especially given my own struggles. I faced years of doctors dismissing my pain after an unsuccessful surgery. During my recovery, I met many women in similar situations, all grappling with invisible pain affecting every aspect of our lives. I wanted to explore the internal reality of that experience, how society often diminishes women’s pain, leaving them isolated and desperate. Where does that desperation lead?

One of the book’s most shocking moments is when Miranda transfers her pain to others, just as she was dismissed in her own suffering.

Yes, that dismissal of others’ pain can be incredibly isolating. Pain is very difficult to communicate; it transcends language. I wanted to literalize the transfer of pain to explore the ethics behind that.

You vividly describe pain in the first part of the book, and when it dissipates, the audience feels relief. But after the absence of pain, we often forget what it was like.

I recall a terrible cold I had; when my fever broke, it felt like a war had ended, and peace returned. Yet the next day, I started forgetting that desperate state. Susan Sontag mentioned that illness and health are like two different countries; when you’re in one, you can never fully remember the other.

The ending is intense. Are we meant to understand what happens?

I love that about Shakespeare; his works allow for interpretation and connection. I wanted to give readers the same opportunity. The narratives intertwine in the final sequence, and the mystery is essential because All’s Well That Ends Well is inherently strange. It ends in a way that feels both happy and unsettling.

It was surprising that the book isn’t marketed as horror.

I consider it a horror novel. It destabilizes the reader much like horror does, drawing visceral reactions. It immerses readers in a way that evokes physical responses, such as fear, similar to plays like Macbeth.

You must have thought about your audience’s familiarity with Shakespeare while writing. Are there hidden Easter eggs in the book?

Absolutely, I included several Easter eggs. For instance, Miranda’s name is a nod to the character in The Tempest. The male witches’ descriptions draw from Macbeth, and I wanted to play with the themes from the 2017 #MeToo movement. There’s a Scottish bartender who mirrors the Porter from Macbeth, complete with a tattoo of one of the Porter’s famous lines. It was crucial to me that anyone, even with just a passing knowledge of Shakespeare, could grasp the story.

What are you currently working on?

I’m almost finished with a new novel that I consider the third in a loose trilogy following Bunny and All’s Well. It centers on a woman drawn into a sinister beauty cult filled with red jellyfish, blending elements of horror and fairy tales.

What recent reads have you enjoyed, and what would you recommend?

I highly recommend Come Closer by Sara Gran, a short yet powerful novel about a young woman possibly possessed by a demon. Its immersive voice is haunting. I’m also excited about Stephen Graham Jones’ upcoming title, My Heart is a Chainsaw, and Brian Evanson’s latest collection, The Glassy, Burning Floor of Hell. His stories are always wonderfully weird and creepy.

If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination, check out this insightful resource on home insemination support or learn from the experts at Intracervical Insemination. Additionally, for those keen on pregnancy and home insemination, Genetics and IVF Institute is an excellent resource.

For more insights, you can search for related topics such as:

In summary, Mona Hawthorne’s All’s Well is a profound exploration of women’s pain, cleverly woven with elements of Shakespearean drama and horror. The narrative challenges readers to confront the complexities of desire, agency, and the often invisible struggles women face.