Communes, free love … alternative consciousness? This debut is anything but “light” reading
By René Spencer Saller
Photograph by Stefan Poag
New Light, Annette Gilson’s debut novel, is the story of a New Yorker who drives to St. Louis on an impulse, goes to a party in the Central West End and has a rooftop close encounter with the stars. Things get even weirder when she meets a mysterious neuroscientist and accompanies him to New Light, a commune in southern Missouri, where a charismatic guru coaches her disciples in free love and alternative consciousness. Gilson, who was completing her Ph.D. in literature at Washington University when she began the book, is now an associate professor at Oakland University in Rochester, Mich. She returns to her grad-school stomping grounds on August 24 for a reading at Left Bank Books.
What about the St. Louis area inspired you? I grew up on the East Coast, and the sense of compression there really defined my sense of the country. When I came to Missouri, I felt very strongly the openness and the immensity of the plains.
How did you research the Missouri commune scene? I had heard about East Wind, which I mention in the book. I made an appointment to go down to visit the community, and in preparation I began reading about the Intentional Community movement. All of that resonated with the feelings I had when I got to Missouri, so I let myself explore it. Going down to East Wind was really interesting—they have a functioning communal farm and an interesting mix of practical and idealistic attitudes toward the communal project.
Where did you get the idea for the plot? You might say I had a vision of a woman having a vision. It had to do with driving across the country, seeing how big the U.S. really is. I saw her there, suddenly feeling herself transformed but with no idea as to what her feeling—and the experience that prompted it—meant. All of the rest—neuroscience, visionary life—came out of that.
Any final thoughts about living here? I love and miss St. Louis—in particular because it’s so livable. It’s small enough that you can know a lot of people, but it’s big enough that you don’t feel like you’re being strangled or on display all the time. And I love the way it looks, the architecture, the neighborhoods. I don’t miss the summers, though.
