In January of 2024, I attended an author showcase hosted by A Novel Idea (ANI). ANI is an incredible organization for the Atlanta writing community connecting both emerging and established authors with readers. I had heard Andrew Diaz Winkelmann’s name circulating amongst other author friends, but I didn’t know anything about his debut novel, The Guava Tree, or Winkelmann’s background. I was in for a real treat.
That evening, I discovered that Winkelmann and I share quite a few things in common. We both graduated (though at different times) with an MFA in creative writing from the Etowah Valley Writing Program. We also had the same mentor, John Williams. After listening to Winkelmann speak and later reading The Guava Tree, I found we have even more commonalities.
The Guava Tree is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the life of Winkelmann’s Abuela Ines Diaz whose family first travelled from Lebanon to Cuba and later from Cuba to America. I was immediately drawn to this story; my own Nana immigrated from the Azores to America in the 1920s. Like Winkelmann who grew up listening to his Abuela’s stories, I also grew up hearing my Nana’s stories, but other than what I’ve committed to memory, those stories are lost. Hearing Winkelmann talk about his grandmother’s life and his relationship with her, and how he was able to translate some of her experiences along with his imagination onto paper truly touched me.
But it was way more than a sense of nostalgia that I felt after reading The Guava Tree. Winkelmann’s book made me take a deeper look at what connects us in this country—something we have sadly lost sight of in recent times. My husband is a first-generation immigrant and as I mentioned my grandmother journeyed across an ocean (much like Winkelmann’s characters and family did) to pursue that evasive “American Dream.” While the “American Dream” is a dominant theme that Winkelmann explores in The Guava Tree, there’s a deeper message here and that message is that we are all connected. Winkelmann’s unique background is a testament to the ability to find a common ground amongst cultures that “on the surface” appear to be so dissimilar.
So, I feel very honored to delve further into conversation with Winkelmann about his novel, The Guava Tree, and I hope that our Southern Literary Review readers enjoy our discussion as much as I did.
Interview:
Dawn Major: I think we need to set the stage by talking about your background. Would you please delve some into your family and particularly about your Abuela Ines Diaz who inspired The Guava Tree?
Andrew Diaz Winkelmann: Dawn, first of all, thank you, and the SLR for having me and for being true champions of literature. Now more than ever this work is critical. As far as my background goes, I’m German/Swedish on my dad’s side and Cuban/Lebanese/Spanish on my mom’s side. I’ve grown up around dichotomy and a multitude of cultures, but the culture that was always most prevalent in my childhood, especially with the amount of time I spent with my grandparents (Ines and Rene Diaz), is Cuban. I was enchanted by the stories that they shared about Cuba, this almost mystical island that acted as both a symbol of paradise and a lesson in loss. The idea of Cuba served as reminder that no matter how much one achieves, everything can change overnight, so holding on to that spirit of growth and overcoming needs to be nurtured perpetually.
DM: At the A Novel Idea event, I asked you a very specific question about finding a homeland. I’m not sure if I can recall the exact question, so I’ll paraphrase: It’s often said that authors are perpetually seeking their homeland and they do so in their writing. With your novel, you address your grandmother’s search for a homeland both literally and figuratively. Do you think you were seeking a homeland by writing The Guava Tree and have you found it?
Andrew Winkelmann
ADW: It’s striking how this question has elicited different emotions hearing it now and hearing it a year ago. If I remember correctly, my answer was that I’ve never felt a true sense of home anywhere, I’ve always felt as if the concept of home was fluid, and it was the people and experiences that rooted me versus a physical location. With that said, while my answer is similar, I can say that it’s my wife and kids who are my home. Truly, it’s my time with them that makes me feel a sense of foundation, but otherwise, I could live anywhere and find my home there if I have them beside me. My family has always given so much to their community, from Cuba to Georgia, and I’m a big proponent of that mindset, serving on multiple Georgia based non-profit and for-profit boards that help to better our community. We can all do our part to make our current home, whether permanent or not, better in our own unique ways.
DM: You use symbolism as a literary device and there are several working symbols in The Guava Tree: a keepsake box passed down from Ines’s grandmother to her mother and later to Ines; Ines’s doll, Aleia, named after her grandmother; and of course, the guava tree.
The keepsake box holds sentimental items. It holds memories of Lebanon, Ines’s first home, as well as the memories of her new home, Cuba. At the end, what is most significant to Ines are the memories she takes to America.
Aleia is Ines’s last connection to her best friend, her grandmother. In times of need, Ines hears her grandmother’s voice speak through the doll.
And finally, the guava tree. I couldn’t resist researching the guava tree’s symbolic meaning. Guava trees act as reminders to be thankful for what we have and to share our prosperity with others. Ines’s family are wealthy and successful but they are also very generous with their family and community. The guava tree isn’t just a symbol of material wealth; it also represents spiritual abundance. Like Aleia who connects Ines to her grandmother, the guava tree connects Ines to Old Lady Nayibe, who acts as surrogate grandmother to Ines. And like Ines’s doll, Aleia, the guava tree offers protection to Ines and her family.
Would you expand upon what these three symbols meant to you or share any others I may have missed?
ADW: Of course! This is just the type of conversation that my inner lit geek thrives on. Before I answer the question, though, I do want to point out that none of these symbols were planned. The themes, and the symbols that add texture to them, came about organically as I wrote and edited the novel. While I did flesh them out as the threads began to assemble themselves, it was never done methodically. I can’t recall where I read or heard this for the first time, but writing a novel is much like sculpting a statue out of stone. As you chisel away, one detail at a time, the essence of the work begins to show itself. Creating these symbols and themes really did feel as if I was working to reveal what was already hidden within the story.
As far as the symbols themselves, I’ll reply in the same order that you mentioned them:
Without giving anything away, the novel begins the day Ines and her family are told by soldiers that it’s their time to leave Cuba, and as she packs her family’s things, she finds the box of keepsakes, which transports her back through her memories up until that moment. That journey then explores what losing home feels like, what finding home looks like, and what having the courage to leave everything behind to start over again, like her parents did when she was a child, means to her now as an adult with her own family. The keepsake box is a symbol of all the physical things that will be left behind as well as the memories and feelings that Ines must hold on to when the physical objects are taken away.
To me, Aleia the doll was exactly what you mentioned, a link to her grandmother that overcame oceans of distance (through a little magic or a little imagination, depending on how you read and perceive it). While my grandmother Ines, who the protagonist is loosely based on, never had a grandmother named Aleia, I created both her and Old Lady Nayibe with the elements that connected my grandmother and me. I did my best to celebrate my love for her through these characters and capturing the seed of truth there for everyone else who has had a similar bond.
And yes, the guava tree is the symbol that ties the others together and creates the rippling throughline of home throughout the novel. While the tree itself, with its roots weaving through soil, fixed to live and die in one place, providing shade and fruit to those around it, acts as a symbol for home. The guava fruit also serves as a two-sided symbol. On one side, as you mentioned, it’s a blessing, a sign of abundance, but on the other, it’s a reminder of how easily everything can be taken away. Here’s a quote from the novel, page 11, that describes this:
A man had entered their home and from the moment he stepped over the threshold had taken complete control of their life. He pulled it from her as easily as one would pick a ripe guava fruit from a low hanging branch. Had her life not been worth more? Denser, more unmovable? Or maybe it was when things finally had value that other people came to take them away.
And while this may seem like a gloomy message, to me this reminder allows for a profound gratitude for what we have.
Dawn Major
DM: I really didn’t view The Guava Tree as a magical realism novel, but other readers might disagree. I grew up Catholic with a good dose of superstition. I believe in miracles. I believe people can have visions. When Ines receives premonitions in her dreams or portents of the future, those events didn’t come off as fantastical to me. I did not think there is magic at hand. For Ines, it’s about her deep faith and the power of prayer, which I felt was almost as strong a theme as finding one’s homeland was. At the La Virgen de La Caridad Ines furtively prays and has a vision:
“Ines took one last look at the statue, before bowing her own head, closing her eyes, and praying. Even with her eyes closed, all she saw in the darkness behind her eyelids was the statue. It was as bright as the sun, burning away at the darkness that surrounded it. Ines repeated Michel’s name in her mind, turning it over, sounding different each time. The word became a hum, like music…The face of the statue smiled at her through the darkness…Behind the statue, a world exploded into view, a dark sky filled with flashes of lightning illuminating her surroundings. She was in the ocean. Large waves crashed around her, but her head remained above the surface. The Virgen de La Caridad was larger than a palm tree and at her feet, being rocked in the rough waters, was a wooden boat.”
I’ll stop there so that I don’t give anything else away. But to my point, what genre would you place your novel in and why?
ADW: I agree with you that while there are several elements of magical realism, I wouldn’t describe the novel as such. I could spend hours talking about magical realism (a post-colonial mode of writing that part of my critical thesis for my MFA explored), so I’ll wrap this up quickly before I go off on too many tangents! I believe The Guava Tree to be a work of literary fiction with an emphasis on the feelings that the writing elicits. And while, I also sprinkled in a good amount of adventure, suspense, and romance by way of the plot, the novel falls most firmly into the literary fiction category.
DM: Anthony Bourdain (whom I am a fan of and I mourn his death) said, “I think food, culture, people and landscape are all absolutely inseparable.” He also said, “Food is the perfect expression of love, and cooking is the ultimate act of nurturing.”
You work in the food industry; it’s your livelihood. When Ines first arrives in Cuba, her family is hosted by Old Lady Nayibe. Ines cannot speak Spanish, and even though Old Lady Nayibe could speak Arabic, she mostly refuses to do so. Instead, they communicate through food. Cooking, eating together with family and friends, and sharing recipes is an extremely important aspect of Ines’s family life and culture:
“Ines kept as quiet as she could and watched Old Lady Nayibe cook…She sprinkled pinches of spice into an iron pan and stepped back as eggs popped droplets of grease across her apron. There was cooked ham piled on a plate on the counter, the smells making Ines’ mouth water. Over the sounds of breakfast and Spanish singing, Ines heard what sounded like hundreds of birds chirping from the bushes and trees outside the front door. The old woman clicked off her radio and began to hum with the birds.”
Do you think food and “breaking bread” is a universal language? And how does food culturally and personally connect to you and your family?
ADW: With food being one of three things that humans need for basic survival, I believe the importance of food is baked into our DNA. But outside of our bodies’ need for calories and vitamins to function, food plays a profound psychological, some would say even spiritual role in our world. I do believe that through food we can be connected to our childhood, to our roots, and feel more at home wherever we are. Food can also be a bridge between cultures, allowing us to learn from and share with others. It’s a conversation that transcends language barriers. In the example you provided from the novel, Old Lady Nayibe and Ines do just that, they create a conversation through food before they truly converse with their words.
In my case, I grew up eating Cuban food made by my grandmother (ropa vieja, queso crema con guayaba, and picadillo being some of my favorites) and without realizing it then, it was the way she could share her homeland with me. Even throughout college, I’d make it a point to visit my Abuela Ines once a week to eat picadillo and catch up with her and my Abuelo Rene. Food gave us a space to share our time together.
And as you mentioned, being the fourth generation at a 45-year-old, family-owned, Hispanic food distribution company, food has always been a central part of my life.
But to me, it’s the feelings that the food evokes, the opportunities for connection, and the celebration of culture that makes it more than just sustenance. Through food we can conjure a form of magic.
DM: Throughout her life, Ines keeps a journal. Though I realize that The Guava Tree is a fictional novel, did your grandmother also keep a journal and, if so, were you able to use any of those entries as inspiration for your novel?
DW: Unfortunately, my grandmother did not keep a journal in real life, so any of the stories that are true came from speaking with her or hearing the stories repeated over the years. The first chapter, for instance, was initially a short story I wrote called “The Cuban Dream” that was based entirely on the final moments before my family left Cuba, and this was more or less exactly what happened to them. When I began writing the novel, based upon that short story, I read it to my grandmother, translating from the written English to my spoken Spanish. When I finished, my grandmother was crying and said, “that’s what I felt.” And that’s when I knew I was going to write the novel. While fact was stranger than fiction in some of the stories my grandparents shared over the years, and that my grandmother shared with me when we spoke, what meant more to me was capturing the feelings honestly and without filter.
DM: When my Papa died, Nana came to live with us in Georgia. I love my Nana, but she could be quite strict and everything had to be done just so. I was a little more than concerned how we were going to work out. But Nana had such a joie de vivre (your Abuela seems to possess a joy for life as well) and we both discovered that we were more alike than unlike. Honestly, I began to view her as another sister. Obviously, you have a special relationship with your Abuela Ines. Are you two best friends?
ADW: It sounds like your Nana was amazing! Yes, I saw sides of my Abuela Ines growing up that even most who know her haven’t been blessed to see. She’s a silly, funny, and free-spirited person, and just like you mentioned about your own Nana, we could laugh and have fun like best friends. While she’s older now, and moving around is harder for her, every once in a while, her silliness will shine through, and we laugh until we have tears in our eyes. Writing the novel through the lens of a protagonist based on her made me not only respect and appreciate her even more, but I also feel as if I know her better now, as if I was able know her as she grew up.
DM: It was a pleasure reading The Guava Tree and interviewing you, and I am thrilled that SLR was able to support one of my fellow Etowah Valley graduates. Please share any current events you are going to be attending and we’d love to hear about what you’re working on or planning on working on in the future.
ADW: Like I said before, thank you and the SLR for all the work you’re doing to lift writers and literature. It’s wonderful to have a conversation about writing, and these questions were perfect. At the moment I don’t have any upcoming events, but I do have big news to share that The Guava Tree will soon be translated into Spanish. While reaching more readers is a blessing, having a Spanish version holds a sentimental meaning to me that, ironically, I can hardly express through words. It means so much to me that my grandmother Ines will be able to experience the story that she, my family, and everyone who has had to leave everything behind to start anew, has inspired. There isn’t much more I could ask for.
In the future I’ll continue writing a magical realism novel that takes place in a fictional town in North Carolina. I’d started writing the novel before writing The Guava Tree, so I’m really looking forward to diving back in and discovering that world. From there, I have many projects waiting to be given life at some point down the line.
Again, thank you so much for having me, Dawn. And thank you to all of the readers and writers out there who are making our world better by doing what you love. Let’s keep sharing our unique stories and voices!
More about the author:
Andrew Diaz Winkelmann is a Cuban American businessperson and writer born and raised in Atlanta, GA. Growing up in a multi-cultural family where cuentos of the glory years in Cuba abounded, his love for storytelling flourished. Andrew was writing and selling short stories to the employees at his family’s business (and to his classmates at school) since he was six years old, realizing early on that writing was his favorite form of creative expression.
One of the cuentos shared with him by his Abuelo Rene and Abuela Ines, the story of the day his family left Cuba, is what first became the short story, “The Cuban Dream,” and eventually inspired his debut novel, The Guava Tree.
Andrew works as EVP of Product Development & Outside Sales for Diaz Foods and continues to write fiction (with a second novel in progress). He is passionate about uplifting the Latino community in the United States, having served at the board or committee level of multiple non-profits, and currently serves as the Vice Chairman of HoPe (Hispanic Organization Promoting Education), as a member of Ser Familia’s board of directors, and on the Georgia Hispanic Chamber of Commerce’s board of directors, chairing their strategic committee. He was recently honored as one of 2023’s 50 Most Influential Latinos in Georgia by the Georgia Hispanic Chamber of Commerce and recognized by Simply Buckhead Magazine as one of Atlanta’s Rising Stars in 2023.
He lives in Atlanta with his wife, their two young children, and their Rhodesian Ridgeback.
Another wonderful interview, Dawn. Now I have to add this book to my list!