Crafting Evocative Narratives
Mark Binmore delves into themes of love, loss, and nostalgia in his evocative novels, drawing inspiration from personal experiences and global travels.
Mark Binmore stands as an exemplar of contemporary British literature, captivating readers with his deeply introspective and evocative storytelling. Renowned for his exploration of universal themes such as love, loss, and nostalgia, Binmore has crafted a rich tapestry of novels that resonate profoundly with audiences. His work traverses diverse landscapes and eras, from the bustling streets of Soho in Beautiful Mess to the idyllic French countryside portrayed in Sleeps With Butterflies and The Living Return, always infused with a meticulous eye for detail and a poignant sense of place.
Binmore’s literary career is as illustrious as it is influential. In 2015, he was celebrated as one of Britain’s 100 new influential LGBTQ writers, a testament to his ability to weave narratives that speak to the human experience across different spectrums of identity and belonging. His novels reflect a unique blend of emotional depth and wit, as demonstrated in works like Beautiful Deconstruction and the whimsically titled Everything Could Be So Perfect. He showcases his narrative versatility, whether he’s delving into the realities of ageing in Sunsets Etc or reconstructing the past with Sad Confetti.
As the owner of Maison De L’Orb in the south of France, Binmore continues to draw inspiration from his surroundings, enriching his novels with the cultural and geographical nuances of Europe. His ability to capture the essence of his locales elevates his stories beyond mere fiction, creating immersive experiences for the reader. With his latest work, Glorious Summer, already garnering attention for its “happysad but with emphasis on happy” tone, Binmore remains a formidable presence in the literary world, offering new narratives that promise to delight and inspire. This interview delves into his creative journey, offering insights into the mind of an author who has continually both charmed and challenged his readers.
What inspired you to write Beautiful Deconstruction, and how much of the story reflects your personal experiences?
Watching children build a sandcastle with a huge fort on a beach and then waiting for the tide come in and destroy what they built. To me that was rather symbolic. However much you protect life, the inevitable will happen. I was in the south of France and wanted to write about what I experienced. Most of the book is true, in some way. The house does exist as do the beautiful villages, people and their personalities, although the two main characters are simply silhouettes of two people I had met. Many people think the book is somewhat biographical despite what I might say, but most of my life is played out in some form in my book Sunsets Etc.
Can you elaborate on the process of crafting the complex relationship between Douglas and Anthony in your novel?
I deliberately removed all personal references so their relationship is slightly ambiguous. I see them as two old souls that along the way became one. They care for each other, came together and somehow stayed. Life does that to people sometimes. They stick. Like glue.
Your works often explore themes of loss, love, and regret—what draws you to these themes, and how do you approach them differently in each book?
My editor once said my storyboard packages emotion in cosmopolitanism, characterising love and loss via various subcultures, childhood memories and therefore that’s why I write nostalgic nostalgia books. Maybe that is how we make sense of our lives. Someone recently reviewed my work and said I was chasing idylls, romantic and artistic salvation, certain I had somewhere unlocked the secret of happiness. I hadn’t thought of that, but I will take it. It’s striking for a writer like me who writes on looking back to be given to nostalgia, though I always insist, it’s just doing catalogue. Sunsets Etc, my novel from a few years back was literally that. Nostalgia, a slightly defeated recollection about becoming invisible. I don’t really sit around looking back. Life is of course one long lesson with homework. But in real life I have no regrets, it is what it is. But there is of course, escapism. I guess that’s why I like to write from a nostalgic point of view. At the moment, everything’s awful.
In 2015, you were listed as one of Britain’s new influential gay and lesbian writers. How has this recognition impacted your work and audience reach?
It was lovely to be listed at such an early stage of my career. But it had been mentioned before in the 90s with my debut Beautiful Mess. It may have opened doors but I don’t really like being labeled or categorized. Nonetheless, we carry on.
Your book Now Is Not The Time For Trumpets wasadapted into a theatre show—can you share any details about that journey?
I had the idea of having the base story of the novel, along with the sequel, A Life Of Parties, be the main structure, but to use music as a sound bed for what’s happened in my lifetime. So we could cover London in the 80s, disco, Tienanmen Square, Thatcher, suburbia, lovers and regret. In the end the actual production was more conventional. It was work shopped and the reviews were a mixed bunch. One called me, a high priest of pristine woe. We had try outs in USA and Germany but then Covid paid heed to a UK residency. We moved on. Other projects were waiting in the wings. I am currently working on a film script for my novella, Everything Could Be So Perfect. Slow process.
How have your travels across Europe and beyond influenced your storytelling and the settings in your novels?
I tend to write about where I am in life. Sleeps With Butterflies and The Living Return are a gruelling duology about finding the truth, when in reality the tell tale signs were already in place. Written during lock-down, the novels were so lavish and beautiful with village and countryside description, mainly because I couldn’t go out. There was some kind of longing to return so for the time being I recreated them in my head. Now I Let You Go, set a different tone. A return to more simpler matters, a story seen through the eyes of a child and themselves as an older man and it was set in my home of Devon in England. With Sad Confetti, which I see as my first real love story, I spent the summer on the French Riviera absorbing everything and then rewrote what I witnessed. That novel is seriously about love.
What advice would you offer to emerging writers, particularly those looking to embark on deeply personal or introspective projects?
Keep everything. Every scribble, note, each draft. Never discard. Something from somewhere will be used. I’ve amassed quite a few unused manuscripts along the way. I recently found a manuscript I wrote years ago, Desperate Characters, a weekend house party set between the wars at some country estate. It reads well though needs work. But I do love the title. I then found a few chapters to a romantic novel I started in the 80s.It’s filled with yearning for artistic sanctums of yesteryear. You see? I was doing nostalgia even in my youth.
