The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire #32: Sadiya Ansari
"I wanted to create a strong narrative that felt seamless, rather than what I might do in journalism — quoting people, and writing in a more detached way."
Since 2010, in various publications, I’ve interviewed authors—mostly memoirists—about aspects of writing and publishing. Initially I did this for my own edification, as someone who was struggling to find the courage and support to write and publish my memoir. I’m still curious about other authors’ experiences, and I know many of you are, too. So, inspired by the popularity of The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire, I’ve launched The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire.
Here’s the thirty-second installment, featuring , author of In Exile: Rupture, Reunion, and My Grandmother’s Secret Life. -Sari Botton
Sadiya Ansari is an award-winning Pakistani Canadian journalist based in London. She has reported from North America, Asia, and Europe, is the co-founder of Canadian Journalists of Colour, a 2021 R. James Travers Foreign Corresponding Fellow, and the 2023–24 Asper Visiting Professor at the University of British Columbia.
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How old are you, and for how long have you been writing?
I am 38 and I've been writing since I was 5.
What’s the title of your latest book, and when was it published?
In Exile: Rupture, Reunion, and my Grandmother’s Secret Life came out August 13, 2024.
What number book is this for you?
One!
How do you categorize your book—as a memoir, memoir-in-essays, essay collection, creative nonfiction, graphic memoir, autofiction—and why?
The book unfolds in alternating chapters. There are chapters from my perspective that are part memoir, part investigation, taking the reader on both the reporting and emotional journey with me as I uncover the hidden parts of my grandmother’s life.
And then there are chapters that hew closer to creative non-fiction that unfurl my grandmother’s story, recreating the events of her life based on interviews, letters, photos, and then rooting that all in the cultural and historical context of that time, including how Partition transformed her life.
What is the “elevator pitch” for your book?
My grandmother, or Daadi as I called her, lived with my family just outside Toronto for the last 10 years of her life. Daadi was such a devout Muslim, and a fearsome matriarch, so when an aunt told me when I was 10 years old that Daadi had left her seven children for nearly two decades, I couldn’t really reconcile the woman who yelled at me during Quran lessons with someone who coloured so wildly outside the lines. The book retraces her life, including the 15 years she lived in a small town in Pakistan, 1000 kilometres away from her children, even after she left her second husband.
My grandmother, or Daadi, was such a devout Muslim, and a fearsome matriarch. So when an aunt told me when I was 10 years old that Daadi had left her seven children for nearly two decades, I couldn’t really reconcile the woman who yelled at me during Quran lessons with someone who coloured so wildly outside the lines. The book retraces her life, including the 15 years she lived in a small town in Pakistan, 1000 kilometres away from her children, even after she left her second husband.
What’s the back story of this book including your origin story as a writer? How did you become a writer, and how did this book come to be?
My mother was an early childhood educator, and she taught me how to read and write when I was quite young. Reading was the one of the only things in my childhood that brought me absolute joy, so creating my own stories is what naturally followed from that.
I didn't really know how to become a professional writer, so I became a journalist because I thought that's a practical way to learn craft — with a naive optimism that I could make it work as a career while the field was in the throes of digital transformation. When I moved from news to magazines, I realised I loved writing essays, and when I had something to say in my own voice, it was something that came really naturally. I was working at a women's magazine, away from more traditional news journalism, which helped me see Daadi’s story in a totally different light. And decided to pursue it initially as a feature article, and then somewhere along the way, I decided it was going to be a book — I literally just started saying I was working on a book so I would be shamed into following through.
Over seven years, I interviewed two dozen people, went back to Pakistan twice, travelled to the US and the UK for interviews, and just kept collecting photos, letters and whatever other material I could get my hands on. I worked on it on the side of my desk until 2020, when I received my first few grants to work on it, and that accelerated everything. I’m so grateful to Canadian arts councils and to the Berlin Senate, who supported my work.
What were the hardest aspects of writing this book and getting it published?
In terms of craft, one of the most difficult things was figuring out how to navigate writing creative non-fiction as a journalist. I wanted to create a strong narrative that felt seamless, rather than what I might do in journalism — quoting people, and writing in a more detached way.
And that gets into the hardest part with the subject matter: honouring multiple memories. I had to triangulate and verify the stories I heard to decide on a narrative, but of course, the version I ended up with is not going to sit well with everybody.
Another difficult part throughout the journey of selling and now publishing the book is seeing how, at times, it has been categorized as a niche book about culture, rather than a story about womanhood. The conversations we're having now about wifedom and motherhood and choice are conversations that women have always thought about, and for whatever reason, we don't necessarily consider that our grandmothers had the same longings to live outside the trappings of a traditional, patriarchal set-up. Women’s agency is really at the centre of the story — for both Daadi and me.
How did you handle writing about real people in your life? Did you use real or changed names and identifying details? Did you run passages or the whole book by people who appear in the narrative? Did you make changes they requested?
Throughout the interviewing process, I didn’t offer the use of pseudonyms, which I think helped ensure the integrity of the work. But during the fact-checking process, I did give everyone the option of using a different name and most of my family felt really strongly that it’s a story about them and their names should be attached to it.
But I also don’t attribute things like I would in journalism, so there are fewer risks for the interviewees — i.e. I rarely write something like “aunt X told me this.” I was creating a narrative from all of the material, including interviews, and that can protect someone because they don't feel like they're solely responsible for this thing that they said.
I did change three names — my grandmother's second husband, his first wife, and his daughter. I interviewed his daughter, and most of what I heard about her father wasn’t very flattering — essentially he was an abusive man. But his daughter wasn’t actually raised by him, so it’s not something I could really fact-check with her. In the end, I decided to change their names because it's not really fair for his daughter to have to carry that legacy when he’s been dead for over 30 years.
I gave my parents a draft to read at a point where things could still be changed. It’s really a story about my dad's family, and he was my research partner throughout it all, so I wanted him to feel good about it. He had a few minor points, but other than that he was proud at how it all came together — which was a huge relief, of course it doesn’t always go that way.
With the rest of major interviewees both inside and outside the family, I worked with a fact-checker to go through what they told me that ended up in the book. It had two functions — to confirm facts but also to let them know which parts of our conversation ended up in the book since these interviews happened over such a long period of time. Mashal Butt, my fact-checker, was amazing — she spoke all three languages I needed, and I really trusted her to handle the calls with the sensitivity required.
There were a few changes requested at this point, and they were all pretty minor. I made most of them to make my family more comfortable — they shared a part of their lives with me that they otherwise have rarely spoken about for half a century, so I had to respect that and give them some agency in the process.
Another difficult part throughout the journey is seeing how, at times, it has been categorized as a niche book about culture, rather than a story about womanhood. The conversations we're having now about wifedom and motherhood and choice are conversations that women have always thought about, and for whatever reason, we don't necessarily consider that our grandmothers had the same longings to live outside the trappings of a traditional, patriarchal set-up. Women’s agency is really at the centre of the story — for both Daadi and me.
Who is another writer you took inspiration from in producing this book? Was it a specific book, or their whole body of work? (Can be more than one writer or book.)
I took inspiration from many fiction writers both in South Asian and in the diaspora, but one book in particular stands out to me: China Room by Sunjeev Sahota.
It's about an 18-year-old from the UK who has addiction issues, and he gets sent to the family farm in Punjab to dry out in the summer of 1999, discovers the story of his great-grandmother, Mehar, who lived under suffocating patriarchal conditions. The book is told in split perspectives, from Mehar in 1929 and her great-grandson’s in 1999. It's completely absorbing and explores some of the most complex expressions of misogyny – Mehar’s mother-in-law’s cruelty.
In terms of non-fiction, reading Saidiya Hartman’s Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments absolutely blew me away. The way she took archival material and created this vividly rendered world centring the experience of young black women in New York and Philadelphia in the beginning of the 20th century opened up new possibilities on what non-fiction could look like for me.
Reading Melissa Febos’s Body Work ahead of tackling the first draft was so helpful — it was a reminder of why we need to tell women’s stories and what we lose when we don’t look at history through ordinary women’s lives.
What advice would you give to aspiring writers looking to publish a book like yours, who are maybe afraid, or intimidated by the process?
I’ve had many people ask me how I was able to unearth this story that my family spent six decades trying to bury, and the honest answer is to start asking questions and find someone in your family who wants to answer them. As people enter the third act of their lives in particular, they let go of a lot of the cultural baggage that kept them silent, and it can be liberating for them to share their side of the story. So the advice I would have is just to start — some people will say no to talking, but it’s so worthwhile to keep trying for those waiting to say yes.
What do you love about writing?
What I love about writing is how ideas crystallise through the process. While you can sit with material like research and interviews, only in the act of writing does all of that get transformed into narrative that you are able to express themes, characters — an entire world. It’s kind of magical.
What frustrates you about writing?
I get frustrated when the narrative path isn’t clear. I outlined chapters before I started writing In Exile and some arcs were obvious to me, others were elusive. Of course, I’m used to that from writing long-form journalism, and sometimes the solution is to amplify the lack of a tidy arc — real life rarely produces a neat narrative and you have to respect that.
What about writing surprises you?
Writing makes me a better observer, and if I’m tuned into my surroundings, sometimes I have these moments where a really beautiful descriptive passage, or interesting metaphor will pop into my head, and I scramble to put it into my notes app. Those moments always surprise me.
Does your writing practice involve any kind of routine or writing at specific times?
While writing the first draft of In Exile I had a strict routine. I knew the best bits would come during revision, but I wanted to lay the foundation with no distractions.
My daily routine was clearing my head with yoga and a bit of journaling, and then getting to my desk. I’d take a break early in the afternoon to run or do some errands, and then write until 7 or 8 pm. Routine is totally key to keep me on track.
I’ve had many people ask me how I was able to unearth this story that my family spent six decades trying to bury, and the honest answer is to start asking questions and find someone in your family who wants to answer them. As people enter the third act of their lives in particular, they let go of a lot of the cultural baggage that kept them silent, and it can be liberating for them to share their side of the story. So the advice I would have is just to start — some people will say no to talking, but it’s so worthwhile to keep trying for those waiting to say yes.
Do you engage in any other creative pursuits, professionally or for fun? Are there non-writing activities do you consider to be “writing” or supportive of your process?
I love visual arts but I don’t engage in them — I’m the kind of boring writer whose hobbies are reading and writing.
But I did make an effort to visit a gallery every Sunday when writing the first draft. I was living in Berlin when I wrote most of the book, and the three months I took off were in the dead of winter — 3:30 pm sunsets and perma-grey skies did not help the dopamine depletion that’s an unfortunate side effect of unearthing family secrets. So I made a real effort to ensure I did things that could help my brain get excited, explore new ideas and see new connections.
Running has also been a companion — I would run mid-day a few times a week to break up the day, and it always has the added benefit of creating a space to process complex thoughts and emotions.
And lastly, I love “procasti-baking” — I think it counts as a creative pursuit, and just making something helped me get out of my head for a few hours and reset.
What’s next for you? Do you have another book planned, or in the works?
Fiction is next for me. I'm just playing around with an idea to see whether or not I can sustain it for a novel-length narrative, but I feel good about it.
Fascinating
I find the following to be so true: "The conversations we're having now about wifedom and motherhood and choice are conversations that women have always thought about..." I write memoir that often references my mother and grandmother, and sometimes I have to imagine and speculate about their (especially my grandmother's) frustrations and desires.