Beth Golay

She was basically creating a playmate for him as an eight-year-old because she was tired of him bothering her.

And so she created this playmate who would always say yes to skating or to climbing trees or to running or swimming or what have you.

But this relationship went on for a decade.

She had to be rebuilt every season.

And Rory figured out how to continue to build her so she wouldn't fall apart when the seasons changed.

But as Rory's classmates observe and as Day herself observes, there's that imbalance of power going on in their relationship.

And even as Rory is aware of it and thinks about it often, Day's consent is sort of glossed over, isn't it?

You know, another ethical concern that the book dips into is that of the elements of nature that are killed in order to create new life.

And I don't want to give any spoilers here, but talk to me about the idea of sacrifice of the natural world for an artificial world.

I read in your short bio that you wrote your thesis about Victorian vampires.

But there are echoes of a different monster here.

Maybe not the monster, but the creator, Victor Frankenstein.

So to me, your novel also serves as a cautionary tale about the responsibility of creators, dangers of unchecked scientific ambition, the need for love and companionship.

Can you touch on these ideas?

And do you see your novel as a cautionary tale?

As I was reading, I felt a turn in the book.

You know, I witnessed when Rory's definition of home changed from where he grew up and where Day remained.

But then, you know, he began to refer to school as home.

And for much of the book, Day anxiously awaited Rory's return, but then she began to dread it.

Can you talk about where this shift occurred?