I am deeply and profoundly affected by the life and death of Diana, Princess of Wales. I decided to pay tribute to her by putting her in my novel.
From Unrest. "My office was three blocks east of the World Trade Center, on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. I tried to remember the last time I had felt such horrific grief similar to what I’d been feeling the last two weeks. Probably when I heard about Moshdeh and Ali. My grandmother’s death. Then my grandfather’s. How Beauty and Betty had been sold. And, to a lesser extent, after Princess Diana’s car crash in that Paris tunnel—a kick in my stomach when I first heard news of it. Horrendous disbelief. Numb shock as I stayed up late into the night to watch the news coverage on some cable news channel, only to hear Brian Williams in his black tailored suit—so crisp it appeared a second skin—announce she had, in fact, died, that early August morning. She had been such a good mother. So beautiful. I remembered that after I’d flipped off the television set in disgust and looked up to the heavens to ask, why? I’d crept into Liam’s room at 1:15 in the morning to watch him sleeping in his crib; my tears had drenched his pajamas as I bent to kiss him."
Remembering my fairy tale princess this anniversary year, her boys and all the people she deeply affected. Like me.