The Books

Book FAQs

Is Edenton a real place?
Yes it is. It’s located in the northeastern section of North Carolina.

Is life there the way it is described in the novel?
Yes. Edenton is a small town with a strong sense of community, a place where it seems that everybody knows everybody.

Why didn’t you make Taylor a full-time fireman instead of just a volunteer?
Because in a town that small, there’s no need for full-time crews. It wouldn’t have been realistic.

Why did you use parentheses when Kyle spoke?
I had a choice there. I could have written Kyle’s dialogue straight, as if he enunciated words in the same way that other characters did; I also could have written it in a form of dialect. Neither option seemed satisfactory, because Kyle’s problem wasn’t only that he had trouble speaking, but the words he did speak were spoken poorly. Conventional phrasing alone wouldn’t have captured that. Had I written in dialect, it probably would have proved unnecessarily distracting. My own feeling is that dialect should be used sparingly in literature. Instead, I opted to write it straight, with how it actually sounded put in parentheses.

The opening scene was different from any other opening scene you’d written to date because it was highly suspenseful. Why did you do it that way?
The three requirements of a love story are originality, universality, and plot and characters that are interesting enough to hold the reader’s attention. By originality, I mean that all elements have to be original, including such relatively minor points as how the characters first meet, what they do on dates, how their relationship unfolds, etc. Originality doesn’t simply preclude what other authors have written, it also precludes what I’ve written in previous novels, as well as what audiences have seen in other mediums, including films and television, which is the reason this genre is so challenging. At the same time, each story must be universal enough that people could imagine it happening to them. Since the search-and-rescue scenario was both original and interesting, this was how I chose to have the characters meet. It had the added benefit of creating suspense and drama in the opening pages.

How much research did you do with regard to firefighting?
Enough to write about it as accurately as possible.

Help! After reading your novel, I realized that I know a child like Kyle. What can you recommend that I do? Where can I find information?
Denise worked with Kyle in exactly the way that my wife and I worked with our son. Since I’m not a doctor, I can’t tell you what you should do with the child you know, nor can I diagnose him as definitively suffering from Kyle’s condition, CAPD. I can only tell you that our son is fine now—but his recovery required a great deal of time and effort (hours per day of home therapy). If the child you know is diagnosed with CAPD, further information can be found on the Internet and in most comprehensive child development books; I would recommend reading as much as you can about the disorder.

Are the two books that Denise mentions in the novel real books?
Yes. Let Me Hear Your Voice by Catherine Maurice and Late Talking Children by Thomas Sowell were among the most helpful books I consulted when formulating the best way to work with my own son. Although my own methods and routines departed significantly from those discussed in the above-mentioned titles—every child is different—I recommend them both.

Why did Mitch have to die?
Taylor needed something to push him into finally accepting the truth about himself. Denise leaving him wasn’t enough to do that, nor was the realization that he wouldn’t see Kyle anymore. To keep Taylor’s character coherent, it had to be something terrible and dramatic. Mitch’s death, sad as it was, led to Taylor’s rescue.

Have film rights to The Rescue been sold?
Not at this time.

Did you use the “Apple method” discussed in The Rescue with your son, Ryan?
Yes, I did. If you want more information, you can read Three Weeks with my Brother. I devote quite a few pages to the specifics.

Discussion Questions

 
1. Near the beginning of the novel, Nicholas Sparks writes, “Youth offers the promise of happiness, but life offers the realities of grief.” Do you think this is true?  In what ways have the “realities of grief” shaped Denise Holton’s character?
 
2. In the beginning of the novel, Denise has given up nearly everything in her life to take care of her son. Do you think she’s made the right choice? Why or why not?
 
3. Denise blames herself for Kyle’s developmental problems. Why? Do you think hers is a common reaction of parents with learning disabled children?
 
4. For all his wonderful attributes, Taylor McAden is flawed. He himself acknowledges that his former girlfriends felt he had “something inside they were unable to reach.” What is that “something” and why is Taylor so reluctant to let people in?
 
5. Both Denise and Taylor had fathers who died while they were children. Do you think such childhood losses affect a person’s adult relationships?
 
6. Denise wonders if fate or “something else” brought Taylor and her together. Much later in the book, she says, “My mom used to believe that people were destined for each other.” Discuss whether you think that meeting the person you love is coincidence, fate, or “something else”?
 
7. Denise defines herself primarily as a mother. Yet after falling for Taylor, she realizes she is also a woman who “longed to be desired . . . to be loved.” How difficult is the balance between these roles? Does having a child with special needs makes it more difficult or even impossible for a woman to sustain a romantic relationship?
 
8. Like most people, Taylor has nightmares and he often has the same nightmare repeatedly. Why do you think this is and what do Taylor’s nightmares suggest about him?
 
9. Denise recognizes the “warning bells” that signal Taylor’s fear of a committed relationship. What are they?
 
10. When Taylor doesn’t call her, Denise experiences something just about every woman has gone through: sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.  Denise never thought she’d do that, so why does she?  What do you think she should have done at that point?
 
11. When Taylor doesn’t show up to drive Denise to work, she is not only hurt but she also has to scramble to get to her job.  Do you think she made a mistake by becoming dependent on Taylor?  At what point in a relationship should a person become dependent on another—and to what degree?
 
12. What do you make of the fact that Taylor fails to show up to take Kyle to the ballgame?  Do you believe that he “forgot”?  Why does he show up with a present the next day?
 
13. How significant are good friendships for the characters in this story?  What role do they have in changing Taylor? 
 
14. Toward the end of the novel, Judy tells Taylor that she doesn’t feel she was a good mother in the past. Was she right? How does that affect the way she treats him now?
 
15. The theme of the novel is love as rescue. Who is saved by love in the novel?

Inspiration

Despite the fact that all of my previous novels were originally inspired by members of my family, I’d have to say that The Rescue is my most personal novel to date. It was, at times, painful and challenging to write because of the memories it conjured up.

That is because The Rescue was inspired by my second son, Ryan.

Years ago, when he was five and a half, my oldest son Miles had to have his tonsils taken out, so we brought him to the doctor the day before surgery, so the doctor could tell him what was going to happen. He didn’t want my son to be frightened by the doctor’s mask or what was going to happen. Toward the end of the talk, the doctor bent over and said to my younger son, “Hey Ryan, how are you?”

Ryan didn’t answer, but that didn’t surprise my wife or me and we sort of laughed it off. “Oh, he won’t answer you,” my wife said, “he’s our little mute child. He doesn’t talk at all. This one over here (pointing to Miles)—he never shuts up, and Ryan can’t get a word in edgewise.” The doctor nodded with a smile, and a few minutes later, we finished up with the consultation. The doctor then asked if he could see Ryan in the office for a few minutes.

“Sure,” we said, figuring that the doctor was going to show him one of those models of a skeleton or something like that. A few minutes later, the doctor returned with Ryan, a serious expression on his face.

“I don’t mean to alarm you,” he said, “but I think your son is autistic.”

Until that moment, neither my wife nor I had considered that something might be seriously wrong with Ryan. Because the words had come out of nowhere, we were staggered by what he’d said.

I don’t know how many of you are parents, but those are just about the most frightening words a parent can possibly hear. Do you want to know what my first thought was as I stared first at the doctor, then my wife, and then at my son?

Rain Man.

The movie with Dustin Hoffman, where he plays an autistic character. The one where he lives in an institution.

Was that, I wondered, going to be the future for my son?

My wife and I left the office in a daze and spent the next few days trying to come to grips with what we’d been told. Before we’d left the office, the doctor told us to have our son evaluated and we made the appropriate calls.

It took six weeks for the evaluation to take place. Six weeks of worry, six weeks of stress, six weeks of absolute fear. Getting the results added another couple of weeks, and when they were done, we sat in the office with another doctor.

“Based on the evaluation, we’re pretty sure he is autistic,” he said.

“Is he going to be okay?” we asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know, but you should know that a few things didn’t check out, so we recommend getting another evaluation.”

Six more weeks of worry. Then two more weeks to get those results.  When the doctor sat us down again, he essentially said, “Oops, sorry. We were wrong with our first evaluation. Your son isn’t autistic. We think he has what’s called Pervasive Development Disorder.”

“Oh,” I said, “Well. . . is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know. But we do recommend getting another test, this time on his hearing, so we can be sure nothing is physically wrong with him.”

We did. And it took another six weeks before the doctor sat us down again.

“Oops, sorry,” he said, “your son doesn’t have Pervasive Development Disorder. The problem with your son is that he’s profoundly deaf.”

We looked at him. “Then why,” I asked, “does he turn his head when the air conditioner clicks on?”

“Oh, he does that? Well, let’s get another test. . .”

We did. And two months later, we sat down again.

“Well, you’re right,” the doctor said, “your son can hear. But the problem with your son is that he’s profoundly retarded with attention deficit disorder. . .”

That’s how our year was spent. On and on, evaluation after evaluation, without answers, without a plan of action, without knowing what was wrong with our son or whether it was going to be okay.

This was all happening in 1996, and 1996 was a pretty eventful year for me. 1996 was the year my father died. In 1996, I was still worried about my sister’s health, and 1996 was the year The Notebook was published. Needless to say, there was a lot going on that year.

When The Notebook was published, I went on a tour that lasted a little longer than three months and my wife was home alone with our two children, so for Christmas that year, I bought my wife a gift I thought she would love. I got her a trip to Hawaii—without me.

“Without me?” you ask. You have to understand that she’d been home alone for three months, and we didn’t have any family members nearby who could watch the kids. If she was to relax—and she deserved it—I’d have to watch the kids. It was the only way she wouldn’t worry, so she went off to Hawaii with a friend.

Though it pains me to say this now, our marriage was a little rocky that year. Looking back, it’s easy to see that we were under a great deal of stress, but at the time, it wasn’t so clear. While she was in Hawaii, we had an argument about the state of our relationship and my wife called me to the carpet.

“Look,” she said, her voice cracking, “let me tell you what I’ve been going through this year, okay? I wake up every morning and worry about Ryan. I wonder if Ryan will ever have a friend. Or go to school. Or drive a car, or have a girlfriend, or go to the prom. I wonder if Ryan will have to live with us forever. No one can tell us what’s wrong with him or whether he’ll ever be okay and all that’s happened is that Ryan has fallen another year behind other kids his age. I think about these things all day long, they’re the last things I think about before I go to sleep, and I wake up in the middle of the night crying about it. That’s what my life is like now.”

After she said that, I felt terrible. It wasn’t like that for me. I’m not a mother and though I loved Ryan, I guess I’d just assumed he’d be okay. Needless to say, I apologized to my wife and then I said:

“As your husband, I’ll make a vow to you. I promise to cure our son.”

Big words, but I meant just that. Since all of this had started—it had been a year since we’d been in the first doctor’s office—I’d read everything about child development that I could lay my hands on. During that time, I came up with a plan that I thought might just work.

The next day, I bought a small table and chair (the chair had a seatbelt) and I strapped my son into the chair. I opened a picture book, held out a small piece of candy, and pointed to the first word and image.

“Apple,” I said. “Apple. Apple. Apple. Apple. Apple. . .”

After two minutes of that Ryan was bored.

After five minutes, he’d started to cry.

And I said, “Apple. Apple. Apple. . .”

After eight minutes, he was mad.

At ten minutes, he was screaming in fury, a temper tantrum times ten.

And I said, “Apple. Apple. . . “

He screamed and screamed and screamed.

After two hours of endless screams, for a little piece of candy, my son would say “aaaa.”

After four hours of that, my son would say, “Ap.”

After six hours, my son said, “Apo.”

It was one of the greatest moments of my life. It was the first time in a year that I knew my son could learn. Such a small thing, but until that point, neither my wife nor I knew whether he was capable of that. And then, for the first time in what seemed like forever, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. A tiny light, but a light nonetheless.

The next day, I strapped him in and worked with him for another six hours. That night, I called my wife in Hawaii and apologized again. I put my older son on the phone and he talked to his mom, then I got on the phone again. “Oh, by the way,” I said, “Ryan has something to say to you.”

Remember, Ryan didn’t talk.

I put the phone up to Ryan’s ear, held out a tiny piece of candy, mouthed what I wanted him to say, and he said to his mom:

“I wuff you. . . ” (I love you)

It’s been a long and challenging road, but Ryan is fine now. My wife and I had to work with Ryan extensively (hours daily) to teach him to talk. He has what’s called Central Auditory Processing Disorder (CAPD), which is something akin to “dyslexia of sound.” He didn’t talk because language is jumbled for some reason, though no one knows the reason. He’s learned to adapt, however, and now he speaks well, has friends and attends school, just like every other kid his age. He also gets straight As.

Writing Notes

The novel’s main character, Denise Holton, was a blend of my wife and myself. Her hopes and fears about her son Kyle are accurately portrayed and drawn from our own experiences. This was my most personal novel, in many ways, and the most challenging to write.

The challenge didn’t stem from the portrayal of Denise’s relationship with Kyle. Instead, it had to do with the pacing and structure of the novel. When I was halfway through the writing of the novel, I was struck with a major case of writer’s block.

The problem had to do with the relationship between Denise and Taylor, and for a long time, I didn’t know how to handle it. In the novel, the progression of their relationship from their first conversation at the corner store to falling in love covered approximately seventy pages. That part was fine. But from there, because of Taylor’s internal conflicts, I had to dissolve the relationship. I understood that part, too. The problem was that I had to dissolve the relationship in roughly the same number of pages as the relationship had taken to build, and to do this even though neither character wanted it to happen and while both of them still loved each other. At the same time, it had to seem perfectly natural and plausible.

It was a tremendous challenge. The buildup and dissolution had to be about the same number of pages because of pacing and its effect on the overall quality of the novel. If the dissolution happened too quickly, the reader would question whether Taylor and Denise had ever been in love or if it was simply an infatuation. Had there been an obvious reason for the dissolution, Taylor’s character would lack coherence and it wouldn’t be consistent with the central crisis in his character, “the inability to commit.” Had either of them wanted it to happen, Taylor’s character wouldn’t make sense.

I remember reaching that point in the novel, my hands hovering over the keyboard, and simply stopping. I figured I’d think about it for a day or so and the answer would come.
But the day turned into a few days, then a week. Then a couple of weeks. Then a month. Then another month. By then, I was getting worried. Nothing I considered would seem to work and I’d thrown out hundreds of ideas.

My agent was the one who finally helped come up with the answer. How we solved the problem was to work backwards in the story. The last step in the dissolution was the break-up, that was obvious. But what was the immediate preceding event that led to it? Taylor hurt Kyle’s feelings in some way, though he hadn’t meant to, and Denise can’t live with that. What did he do? He’d promised to take Kyle to a baseball game for his birthday and didn’t show up. Why didn’t he show up? He swears it was an honest mistake. But Denise knows it’s more than that because? A few days earlier, Taylor didn’t drive her into work either. Why didn’t he do that? Because. . .
We worked it all the way back to the point in the novel where I was stuck, and once I had the general idea of how it was all going to happen, I was able to start writing again. I finished the novel within a few weeks.

On a lighter note, most of the names mentioned in the novel are names of friends of mine in the town where I live. For instance, Taylor McAden comes from the names of the Taylors and the McAdens. Carl, Rhonda, Kim, Ray, Melissa, Bart. . . all names of friends. Denise was named after the producer of Message in a Bottle, and she is also a friend.