Naseem Rakha

by Susan Henderson on August 5, 2009

In Naseem Rakha‘s debut novel, THE CRYING TREE, a 15-year-old boy is killed; and as his family unravels, the boy’s mother lives only for the day that the murderer will be executed. Months turn into years, and a single action changes everything, opens the possibility for forgiveness. I loved talking to Naseem about this book, which is already a San Francisco Chronicle Best-Seller and a pick for the Barnes & Noble’s autumn Discover Great New Writers program, and I hope you’ll join the conversation.


I love the sentiment of the Mohandas Gandhi quote you use at the opening of your novel. “Love is the prerogative of the brave.” Can you put that philosophy into your own words and talk about why it strikes you?

While The Crying Tree is obviously about difficult subjects – murder, loss, secrets, the death penalty, forgiveness – more than anything else the novel is about courage, and more specifically the courage to love. The story takes on this theme in many ways, but the most obvious is in the protagonist’s (Irene Stanley’s) decision to forgive the man who murdered her son. Loss sears our souls only if what we have lost we have also loved. To turn around in the midst of the most grievous loss, and decide it is better to have hope in this world, to appreciate its beauty, and to love no matter what the cost, takes, I believe, tremendous strength and courage.

You’ve written about the kind of grief people never fully heal from, the violent death of a child. Every member of this family lost their bearings, felt alone with their needs and their secrets. Even the tree at the burial site wept sap. But something survived, insisted, in each of them. And I wonder if you can talk about this push and pull of the human spirit – to lay down and to stand up again.

One of my favorite movies is Shawshank Redemption. A man is wrongly imprisoned for the murder of his wife, but instead of giving up, lying down as you put it, he finds ways to make his life whole. I think the reason this film appeals to me, and so many others, is that it speaks to our higher selves: that part of us that strives to be more than the sum of our accumulated hurts. We saw that with the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission which helped people rise up from the desperation and anger caused by Apartheid. We see this in Iran as people risk their lives standing against a repressive regime. And we see it in the everyday acts of people that decide to forgo the victimization and pain of their past and move on with their lives. Survival is a natural instinct. The question is will you live this life standing upright, your eyes looking toward the sun, or will you be stooped by the weight of anger, your eyes always looking behind?

Her mission on this day was to stay upright. To bear this thing called a funeral with her mind as closed off to its sights and sounds as possible. (THE CRYING TREE, p. 35)

The boy who’s murdered in this book played the trumpet, music his mother called ‘evidence of God.’ And I love that the image of him in the field, where he played Silent Night even in the summer, became the cover of your novel because the trumpet is used so beautifully throughout. It made me curious: Did you play an instrument as a child? And would you tell a story about you and music that says something about the kind of kid you were?


It is essential to me. Right now I am listening to Shivkumar Sharma’s Call of the Valley. It is classical Indian music. Santoor, sitar, tabla. Music follows me wherever I go. And if it is not on, it is only because I want to listen to the birds, or the wind, or the creak of the house. Or NPR….

I attribute my love of music to my parents. My father – from India, and my mother, from Chicago – shared a passion for music which they the passed on to all three of their children. I grew up going to Chicago’s Orchestra Hall to listen to the Symphony, I took ballet, I played the piano and later the guitar. In fifth grade, we were given an assignment to pick out a piece of music, listen to it, and then write a paper about why it appealed to us.

I remember the moment I picked my piece. I was leaning against our stereo – a big walnut console with speakers on either side – listening to Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. When it came to the second movement – the Allegretto – I was bewitched. It is a simple theme repeated over and over again, building like a wave, or growing like a flower, at least those were the metaphors I used in my paper. I also remember feeling the music as something alive and almost magical. If everyone could sit down and listen to this one piece, I thought, then there would be no war or crime. There would only be this music, and all around it there would be people who understood its power.

I still love the Seventh Symphony. In fact, it was one of many pieces I listened to while I wrote The Crying Tree. Music was essential to certain scenes in the book. A song called Tennessee by Mindy Smith helped me recreate the land, the people, and the love Irene had for her life in southern Illinois. Bruce Springsteen’s You’re Missing helped me delve into that empty space created by Shep’s death. And the closing movement of Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring helped me develop the tone and emotional landscape of The Crying Tree’s final scene.

For anyone who is interested, I’ve created a downloadable playlist on Itunes. You can find it on my web site:

The only thing that interested her was the trial. She wanted answers from Daniel Robbin, and she wanted to be there when he gave them. But most of all she wanted him to see her. She had an idea that when they finally locked eyes, her son’s killer would crumple and cry for mercy, knowing – absolutely knowing – the value of what he’d taken, and how in taking it he had altered the course of life. Not just his and Shep’s, but something far more vast and irreconcilable. And then in this idea of Irene’s a dream, really; a kind of sinking, spinning vision that moved through her days – Daniel Robbin would experience all the agony he had caused and would continue to cause, from now until forever, all of it ravaging him as he had ravaged her son. (THE CRYING TREE, p. 76)

A view from Points Beyond -- the small farm where THE CRYING TREE was written.

A view from Points Beyond -- the small farm where THE CRYING TREE was written.

The mother in your novel lives for the execution of her son’s murderer, but that wait takes years. Almost two decades. And what began as a rage we can all understand, became a hatred that destroyed her and all that she had left. You show other kinds of hate in this book, including the glee of those drunk and singing on execution day. What did telling this story teach you about hate?

Not only did the novel help me understand how addictive and annihilating hate can be, but how society colludes to make hate a pastime. Shock jocks pollute the airwaves with hate, making it easy, even acceptable to pit one group of people against another. Political leaders tend to do the same, setting up litmus tests to determine if your behavior is acceptable. And we know the role religious institutions have played in perpetuating the myth that there is only one true faith. With so much reinforcement, hate has become the easy antidote to any perceived slight or injustice. It makes us feel more in control, more powerful, more right. And, like a drug, it distorts our perspective of reality, interfering with our ability to be productive members of our community.

What I also learned is that when individuals renounce hate they find in its place feelings of balance, perspective, and joy. These are the people you want to sit next to on the bus. They are ones that see opportunity where others do not. They are creative and funny and almost impossible to offend. And more than anything else, these people are free.

The Crying Tree taught me a great deal about hate, and pain, and love and grace. It has also given me a great deal to strive for.

The choice was simple. Take the truth to his grave, or make her choke on it. (THE CRYING TREE, p. 154)

Lake Champlaign Vermont. September 11, 2001 Naseem and 18 month old Elijah watch the sun set on a very sad day.

Lake Champlaign Vermont. September 11, 2001 Naseem and 18 month old Elijah watch the sun set on a very sad day.

What’s gained by seeing our adversaries as human beings? And why do you think the idea of absolution or forgiveness is so threatening?

Forgiveness threatens us because it means we have a choice about what we carry. Some people do not want this choice, and moreover, they do not believe the choice really exists. When people are in pain, forgiveness can seem obtuse at best, and grotesque in the extreme. How can a mother forgive someone who murders her son? How can people who have suffered under apartheid, forgive the perpetrators of this generational crime? How do we forgive racists, or terrorists, or the neighbor who beats his wife? A lover that cheats on the other? A boss that fires an ill employee?

Anger is a legitimate response to these actions. The question is, what does the anger give, and where will it lead? For a decade, a friend of mine lived her life for the execution of the man who murdered her eighteen-year-old daughter. Today this woman considers this man her friend, visiting him at least two times a year on San Quentin’s death row. This transformation was not something she would have predicted, and if it had been suggested early on she probably would have been repulsed. Still, it can’t be denied that by setting aside her anger and dealing with Mr. X as a human versus just a murderer or a monster, both she and the man have gained, and learned and grown.

Forgiveness takes work, and it takes time. But more than anything else, it takes faith. I am not a religious person, but I do have a strong belief in the ability of the human spirit to reach beyond the confines of rage and deal with one another in humane and just ways. In fact, I think our future will be determined by whether we are successful at this or not.

All these years with the DA telling her the execution would provide “closure.” That was their word. As if her son’s life were a book that could finally be shut. (THE CRYING TREE, p. 169)

Naseem in hot air balloon over Oregon's Willamette Valley.

Naseem in hot air balloon over Oregon's Willamette Valley.

Tell me about your journey to getting this book published. Looking back to the days before you had an agent or a book deal, or when this novel was nothing but a few ideas jotted down on the back of a gas receipt, is there anything you learned that you could share with other writers?

I knew what story I wanted to tell, I felt it was an important story, and I believed in this story and its emerging characters. Then, I worked on it every single day from June of 2004 until its final edits with my editor at Broadway Books in January, 2009. Working means that I was either physically in the act of writing, or I was mentally in the act of imagining, or as it often felt, listening. That effort, plus the exquisite and sometimes brutal advise from a solid set of writing companions helped make the book a possibility. I did not think about publishing, finding an agent, or book sale politics. These things were distractions, and as a mom on a small farm, with a big garden and plenty of animals, I had plenty of distractions.

Then, when I finally thought it was in a tight enough form, I attended the Agent Author Seminar. There, I found my agent and four weeks later signed on as a client with Folio Literary Management. Five months later, my agent and I felt the book was ready to be shopped around to publishers. Within a day, the book had an offer. The following week The Crying Tree went to auction. Since then, it has sold to six different countries and will also be offered in audio form.

In all, the process has been fast moving, and relatively painless. My agent, Laney Katz Becker, editor, Christine Pride and my team of marketers and publicists have been outstanding. And their support and excitement for the book is palpable.

My advice to writers is to find a topic that holds your passion. Research it, then dive in. Do not listen to nay-sayers (I had plenty), do not listen to the negative bugger that lives in the left hand corner of your brain. Do not listen to news about the publishing world. Just write. Then, when you feel ready, have people read it. These must be people who know how to pick apart a work, telling you honestly what works and what does not. They should tell you where in the book they were excited, scared, sad, bored, pissed and so forth. And they should be able to tell you why. After that, sit down and polish your work until you know it shines. In the mean time, research agents. Track Publishers Marketplace deals page. Look to see who is selling the type of book you have written. You don’t just want any old agent. You want an agent that is moved by your work, believes in you, has ideas, and is willing to work with you to make your manuscript even better. Finally, do everything with vigor and ardor and a deep sense of gratitude because you are a writer, and that means you have been given the honor to touch a little piece of grace.

{ 28 comments… read them below or add one }

Lee August 5, 2009 at 8:01 am

I’ll be honest, I usually shy away from books with a description of this sentimentality, but your write-up of this Susan, and Naseem’s response to your questions, are all pulling at the right strings, pushing at the right buttons, or striking the right chords.
I hear the phrase, “I can forgive but I can’t forget.”
Forgiveness, as I understand it, is about letting go– not of the memory of your child, or loved one, but letting go of the anger.
People who say, “I can forgive but I can’t forget,” don’t seem to have let go of anything.
This book just moved up quickly on my ‘must read’ list.
Thank you Susan, and thank you Naseem!


Lee August 5, 2009 at 8:06 am

Sorry, I forgot to finish the second sentence in my first post.
I meant to say that I hear that phrase elsewhere, and it always makes me wonder what people are trying to say by making that statement.
Is there self-justification in “forgiving but not forgetting?”
I did not mean to imply that I sensed this sentiment on this write up of “The Crying Tree.”
I am very interested in reading Naseem’s process of resolution.


naseem August 5, 2009 at 10:46 am

It is an interesting question, Lee. From the people I have spoken with, “forgiving, but not forgetting” appears to be the norm. At a recent reading, I met a woman whose young son had downed while under the care of a babysitter. She was nine months pregnant at the time, and she and her husband decided days after her child’s death not to not lay blame. Still, she had come up to me to specifically talk about her own experience of loss — loss she will never forget.

There have also been those I’ve met that say while they have forgiven the person that harmed them, they will never forgive the act. Or, that they forgive the person partially. One even came up with a specific percentage — 79.

I have also heard that the Amish Community that lost five children to a gunman on October 2nd, 2006, are still struggling with issues of forgiveness, despite their open statement that the community has forgiven the man who took their childrens’ lives. This makes sense to me. No one individual can speak for another when it comes to love, loss or forgiveness.

For me the statement that one can forgive but not forget acknowledges that we are human, and that forgiveness is not easy, and never will be.

I can tell you, that when ever I hear someone’s story of forgiveness — I am moved. Often very moved. Last week, while driving to Buffalo I listened to the following short story from NPR’s Story Corp. Perhaps it will help answer your question.


ronlyndomingue August 5, 2009 at 11:22 am

Best wishes for much joy and success to Ms. Rakha. This sounds like a remarkable, redemptive story. And it speaks to me. Years ago, unexpectedly, I assisted a man on death row with writing his autobiography. He had killed one person and paralyzed another. In the newspaper the day after the execution, the survivor–who witnessed the execution–was quoted as saying, “I saw a man go to heaven tonight, I do believe.” I’m still speechless in the presence of that peace, nine years later.


Carolyn_Burns_Bass August 5, 2009 at 11:38 am

Naseem, I’ve watched your progress through Backspace and am so proud of you. The writer’s journey from idea to execution is not unlike the sojourn we release upon our characters. I can’t wait to read THE CRYING TREE.


SusanHenderson August 5, 2009 at 11:42 am

That quote gives me chills… gorgeous.

Was the autobiography ever published?


SusanHenderson August 5, 2009 at 11:44 am

Yeah, it really means so much when you’ve followed the process of drafts and submissions. Let us know what you think of her book!


SusanHenderson August 5, 2009 at 11:46 am

That’s a great point about the Amish story. Saying you forgive, or intending to forgive, is far from the process the heart has to go through.


SusanHenderson August 5, 2009 at 11:51 am

I love these questions, Lee, and they’re good to wrestle with. I think forgiveness is a complex, multi-layered thing, not something you can simply say you’ll do. All the time I hear people saying they’ve forgiven something, and you know they haven’t.


ronlyndomingue August 5, 2009 at 12:18 pm

No, it hasn’t been published. Yet. I haven’t given up hope. The right time will come.


Lee August 5, 2009 at 12:32 pm

I’d be interested in reading that one too.
Fascinating quote!
Equally fascinating that the humuan range of emotions is capable of saying and meaning such a thing.
You read stories of forgiveness related with the bible, but that’s just it, they seem biblical and far removed from our experiences.
Sure Jesus can easily forgive when he’s half-God, but what hope do I, fully human, have?
Thanks for sharing this, it is bursting with hope!


Anonymous August 5, 2009 at 1:43 pm

Thinking about anger-it seems to me that anger, however it arises, is alive, dynamic, transparent, like a window….but when it isn’t given its voice, so that the cleansing effect of it can happen as well; when it is locked inside, unexpressed, or otherwise unresolved, it can solidify into hatred or cynicism, and becomes solid, opaque, like a wall between the person feeling it,and life, and healing, and spiritual growth. As a visual artist, these are the images that come to me when I think of anger versus hatred. Anger requires staying present through the process, and being part of its solution. Hatred is a parasite that causes numbness and decay in its host.


Anonymous August 5, 2009 at 5:30 pm

Fantastic interview, and I’m very much looking forward to reading Naseem’s book.


naseem August 6, 2009 at 9:47 am

There is no doubt that anger can be energizing, dynamic and alive, but in my own experience, it is usually the worst possible position from which to make choices or take action. The call rage “blind”, I believe, because it reduces our scope to see beyond the heat of our emotions.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not against anger.

I get pissed off just as frequently as the next person. I just want to make sure the actions I take as a result of my anger come after the storm, not during it.


naseem August 6, 2009 at 9:48 am

Thank you very much Carolyn. It is an honor to know that people are interested in and care about my work.


naseem August 6, 2009 at 9:51 am

Your story makes me wonder something. What if everyone were assigned to write someone else’s biography? What would we learn? How would we grow? Would we become more empathetic?


SusanHenderson August 6, 2009 at 10:50 am

Hi Kat. Glad you’re here! Let us know how you like the book.


SusanHenderson August 6, 2009 at 10:51 am

I’m enjoying the discussion here. Thanks for raising it.


jessicaK August 6, 2009 at 12:46 pm

Naseem and Susan, this is a beautiful interview from every direction.

Naseem–what courage to write this. About 4 years ago, I wrote a feature for the B. Globe about a 15-year old who was murdered 15 years ago. The mother’s journey and her relationship with the man who may or may not have shot the bullet that killed her son, has continued long after everyone else has abandoned their original quest for truth. Your book is a voice for families who struggle daily, hourly with this pain of a murdered child. As you know, these surviving families are imprisoned in a silence the rest of us can’t imagine.

I’m getting your book this week.



naseem August 6, 2009 at 4:12 pm

I didn’t know you had done an article like that, Jessica. I would be interested in reading it.


ronlyndomingue August 6, 2009 at 4:28 pm

Your idea would make a FASCINATING excercise for groups working on non-violence/peace, restorative justice, etc! The result, however, would depend on the person. Working with F. on his own story challenged me to think differently about race, education, justice, socioeconomics, family systems, you name it. He was a complex, funny, and warm person (yes, really). Because of him, I can no longer reduce someone to an abstraction or category.


SusanHenderson August 6, 2009 at 7:53 pm

You know, I love reading your story of this family side by side with Ronlyn’s story of the man on death row. Just the humanity and the complicated and valid emotions all around. I think that’s what I enjoyed so much about Naseem’s book, how it let the reader stay in that place for so long, how it didn’t let any of the characters jump to easy answers.


terrifree August 8, 2009 at 12:14 am

Hi, I just bought the book and am getting ready to start reading it, im sure it will bring out alot of emotions both good and bad. My son is in prison, so i for sure know that side of it……..Naseem, your picture is beautiful…… 🙂


SusanHenderson August 9, 2009 at 9:51 am

I’ll be interested to hear what you think of it, Terri. You bring a unique perspective.


naseem August 10, 2009 at 5:09 pm

I will be interested in your comments as well, Terri. Also, I have a good photographer…..


michaelmcintyre September 16, 2009 at 4:54 pm


After reading about you here on litpark, I decided to read your novel and I wanted to tell you it is very compelling. I started it this Monday and am almost finished today. Yours is one of those books that I find very difficult to put down, a book that cause you to lose sleep. I find myself captivated by the characters and their secrets. I will definitely be recommending The Crying Tree to my friends.


naseem September 16, 2009 at 8:19 pm

Thank you very much, Michael. It is always an honor to know someone has not only chosen to spend time reading my book and living with its characters, but also to respond with reactions. I am glad you have found it a satisfying read.



Syed aizaz ali March 29, 2021 at 3:00 pm

Dear naseem rakha,
I’ve read “The crying tree” for more than a year now. And as I write this comment I’m not sure that my words will find you or not. I watched your video on YouTube where you read a chapter from my favourite book “The crying tree”i can’t explain the at what spiritually elated level i love your book…I’ve recommended this book to a million friends till now. The way the topic of the book is explained is just on another level. Its not only the verbal explanation but the emotions you made me feel between pages. I loved it. Even with the knowledge that you might never find this comment. I still love you for your amazing work. The crying tree will always be my book. The kind of book I’ll keep with me till the day I die. 19th March was his birthday and a card saying this is still hanging on my writing table.


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