Gail Marlene Schwartz isn't afraid of the hard stuff

When Gail Marlene Schwartz posted a section from her debut novel Falling Through the Night on Substack, I knew I’d found a woman unafraid to “go there.” I fell in love with her characters immediately-unhinged, messy, complex but never far-removed from the love that bonds them to one another. I devoured the novel in under a week and wished upon finishing I could invite all her characters over for a home-cooked meal. And while that didn’t happen, I did get to spend an hour with their sparkling creator and I was equally nourished and enlivened by the occasion. Gail’s passion to explore personal experiences, particularly in relation to motherhood and mental health, through the lens of fiction is so infectious and playful that I’m near convinced to veer from non-fiction myself. Author Siri Hustvedt once said, “Writing fiction is like remembering what never happened,” and Gail’s vast remembering calls in a theater of archetypes who bruise and then embrace, unravel and then mend, each written with such humanity and care that it’s easy to feel an emotional recognition, our own unfinished stories remembering and rewriting possibility in tandem.
Falling Through the Night just won the National Indie Excellence Award in the LGBTQ Fiction category for 2024 so a hearty congratulations is in order. I’m including a synopsis below that may help orient you throughout our conversation, though you certainly don’t need to have read the book to follow Gail’s hard-earned and enduring reflections on identity, friendship, disability, mental health, family and fulfillment.
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Audrey Meyerwitz wants to fall in love and have a family. But for this queer 30-something insomniac who’s struggled with Generalized Anxiety Disorder since childhood, it’s a goal that’s far from simple. When best friend Jessica, a recovering alcoholic, helps introvert Audrey with a profile on SheLovesHer, Audrey takes that scary first step toward her lifelong dream. Through online dating, immigrating to Canada, and having a baby with Down Syndrome, she struggles and grows. But when Audrey unearths a secret about her mother, everything about her identity as a mother, a daughter, and a person with mental illness ruptures. How do we create closeness from roots of deep alienation? With humor, honesty, and complexity, Audrey learns that healthy love means accepting gains and losses, taking off the blinders of fantasy, and embracing the messiness that defines human families.