Cassie discovers she can go back and change the past. Now, she should be able to find a way to fix the life she accidentally obliterated. And with time on her side, how hard can it be ...? Author Holly Smale chats about her inspiration for the story, writing an autistic character and time travel.
Who inspired the character of Cassandra Dankworth, and why did she feel like the right character for a time travel novel?
Cassandra is me, although I appreciate how boring that is as an answer. I’ve used myself for characters before, but I was always tapping into a much younger version of myself. That meant there was a distance – a massive gap – which felt like protection and objectivity. With Cassie, that distance was removed. I had just been diagnosed as autistic, and I knew I wanted to write an autistic adult character. I also knew that to do that with integrity, I had to be as honest as possible. So I put myself on the page, and it was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done as a writer (my sister describes her as ‘almost painfully accurate’).
As I started exploring plots, I instinctively took my ‘time travel’ idea out of the back of my head. The more I played with it, the more I realised that Cassie and this plot were made for each other. The reason I had been ‘looping’ so intensely after my breakup – obsessing, repeating, examining, essentially stuck in time – was because my brain is autistic: that’s the way I’m wired. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that the narrative plot perfectly reflected what it’s like to be autistic. Cassie repeats, she loops, she shies away from change; she likes firm structure and routine, and knowing what’s going to happen. She revisits conversations and tries, again and again. She struggles to move on, and is essentially stuck in her own head. Time travel is a way of showing that on a grand scale, but also on a narrative one. Plus, I love high concept novels and time travel is always super fun: my primary focus is character, but I don’t think you should have to choose between an epic plot and a protagonist to fall in love with. I want to have fun with the big What If? questions, but through a slightly different lens.
You mention that Cassandra is autistic and so are you – why was it important to you to write an autistic character, and was there anything you hoped to achieve with it?
I have spent a lot of my life, looking for people like me in books and on TV and finding very little. When you grow up knowing you’re ‘different’ – and not knowing why – that failure to see people like you in fiction can have a very strong impact on your self-esteem, and in your validation as a loveable human. There are still so few autistic characters in fiction who are actually written by autistic authors, and even fewer who are female. It felt important to put a genuine voice out there, and to combine it with a fantastic, funny, uplifting and imaginative story.
Obviously my main target – as with any book I write – is to create a fantastic story that can transport people for a few hours, and hopefully make them laugh (and cry). But this one has an additional element to it. I found that the people close to me ‘understand me infinitely better’ after reading the book, which touches on what I wanted to ultimately achieve. I really wanted to get under the skin of what it feels to be autistic; not just how we often seem to others, but how we think, how we feel, what we say versus what we mean. There’s a big gap, and we’re hugely misunderstood. The Cassandra Complex has changed the way people in my life treat me: they are more thoughtful when we’re in loud or bright places, they’re more sensitive to my emotions and responses, and also less sensitive to the things I accidentally say that could be deemed rude. They appreciate me more, and understand me better. And if Cassie can do that to the people in my own life, I think she has the power to have an impact on how strangers treat and understand autistic people they don’t know too. The beauty of books is the ability to create empathy and understanding: to allow people to step into someone else’s head and understand why they are the way they are, from the inside out. If Cassie helps just one person to celebrate autistic people – to treat us with more compassion, kindness and love – then it will be a wonderful thing. And if just one autistic person reads the book and feels seen, I’ll have done my job.
What were the most challenging aspects about writing The Cassandra Complex, and why?
I think there were two fundamental challenges with the book. One was obviously the time travel element. I had to try and make quite a complicated concept feel simple, natural and fun to read, because – while I wanted to play with time – I really didn’t want my readers to become confused about where Cassie was or what she was doing, or feel bogged down by a narrative concept. That meant I did a lot of planning, and structured the book really carefully in advance. I had to make sure the timelines matched (or didn’t match) and keep track of all the details. The colour of her jumpsuits became quite a source of confusion – I had to plot them all out on a calendar! So the time travel element, and everything that entailed, was probably the first challenge.
“The Cassandra Complex is ultimately a true love story: not just a romantic one. It’s a celebration of the different kinds of love that can change our lives, and make us feel connected not just to other people but to ourselves.”
The second biggest challenge was being completely honest with Cassie’s voice. As a writer, there’s a natural instinct towards hubris: you want to make your characters as likeable as possible, so that you look good. Especially if they’re based on you. It’s incredibly difficult to dig deep and find the parts of yourself that you dislike, that you’re ashamed of and that you’re embarrassed about, and then to put them on the page. It can feel very exposing. But – I learnt this with my children’s books – vulnerability is what makes your characters feel alive. It’s what makes readers connect to them. So I had to continuously put my ego aside and allow Cassie to do and think things that aren’t always comfortable, because that’s what it is to be a human and without that a book just falls flat.
It also reflects what it is to be autistic. There seemed very little point in creating a character who struggles with being ‘unlikeable’ – as a lot of autistic people are – without showing moments where she is, indeed, unlikeable. That in itself is difficult. I wanted to create a positive autistic character, and there’s a real fear that if you show too many flaws, you’ll end up hurting autistic people in real life, or make us look bad. But the reality is that we’re not looking for flawless representation, we’re looking for something that feels real. Authentic. Multi-dimensional. That feels so much more important than just creating a flat, positive role-model.
Time is obviously central to the book, but it’s dealt with on a really small scale. Why is that?
I’ve always loved time travel as a concept – and I love sweeping, changing-the-world-type narratives – but what fascinated me was the idea of using time in a more intimate, domestic way. I wanted to look at time in smaller fragments: five minutes, ten minutes, and the enormous impact these tiny edits can have on our lives. I enjoyed the humour of using it to do silly things – unburn toast, rewind a film – because we’re humans, and I think that most of us would ultimately use time like a lazy remote control. In keeping time travel ‘small’ for the main part, it also allowed me to play with the idea of regret, of wishing you were different, of trying to connect with other people on an intimate, personal level. Of doing things that you love, over and over again. Of taking the time you need to do the things that make you happy. Time becomes a warm, intimate thing, and that was such a beautiful idea to me.
Love feels like a big theme in the book, whether it’s romantic, familial or friendship. Was this important to you, and how did it inform the plot?
I think Cassie’s key need – the thing that drives her – is a deep, desperate need for love and connection. I don’t think she’s unusual in that. Her inexperience in romantic love might be less common, but also very much reflects my own. I, like her, have never had a serious romantic relationship, or been in love – despite really wanting it – and it felt important to explore that honestly. As an adult woman, it can come with a sense of shame, as if you’ve failed adulthood in some way. You can crave intimacy and love, but also struggle with it – feel isolated and lonely, while also isolating yourself – and that felt like a topic worth exploring.
So romantic love is key in the book: the search for it, and the need for it. But love is everywhere, and I think that’s what Cassie ultimately discovers. There’s the potential for love and connection all around her: in the relationships with her work colleagues, her flatmates, her sister. Those connections – and the strength we gain from them – are vital, and a lot of Cassie’s healing and growth comes from the connections she makes with the people around her.
I guess The Cassandra Complex is ultimately a true love story: not just a romantic one. It’s a celebration of the different kinds of love that can change our lives, and make us feel connected not just to other people but to ourselves. Time travel ultimately becomes the way she makes connections, and love is the silver thread that ties it all together.
You have spent the last decade writing for children and teens. What was the transition from one to the other like? Was there anything you had to change?
Honestly, I love writing for children but writing The Cassandra Complex felt a lot like having the training wheels taken off my bike. I was suddenly allowed to write as an adult, and – given that this is what I am and have been for some time – it meant I could slip into my natural voice, which was felt incredibly comfortable and natural. I could swear, which gave me a lot of joy (a little too much joy – there was so much exuberant and unnecessary swearing in the first draft that I had to do a lot of trimming). I could even write a sex scene, albeit an extremely awkward one. So I’d say that while my writing process didn’t change, the language I could use and the concepts I could explore did. And that was really exciting, as a writer: it gave me a sense of real freedom.
In terms of my audience, I’m never really thinking of them when I write. I find that if you’re too busy thinking of who is going to read it, you tend to write with less honesty and less joy. So I didn’t think of my readers while writing, but I’m certainly thinking of them now! It’s going to be so lovely to meet a different demographic of readers, and I’m really looking forward to connecting with adult readers all over the world.
The Cassandra Complex by Holly Smale is out now.
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