Author Mia Thompson Delves into Shakespeare, Horror, and the Pain of Women in "All's Well"

Mia Thompson’s latest novel, All’s Well, invites readers to laugh, cry, and reflect on the experience of women’s suffering. Through her own battle with chronic pain, Thompson observed a troubling trend in medical settings: women enduring pain were often overlooked by healthcare professionals, treated as if they were invisible.

In this third novel, we follow Miranda, a woman whose life is forever changed after a fall from a stage leaves her with chronic hip and back pain. This agony disrupts her marriage, derails her acting career, and now threatens her position as a theater professor responsible for the annual Shakespeare production. After a bizarre encounter with three magical men seemingly cures her, Miranda discovers what life is like without pain, leading her on a dark journey toward her deepest desires.

All’s Well masterfully intertwines elements of comedy and tragedy, culminating in a narrative that challenges readers to ponder the complexities of pain and healing. We spoke with Thompson about her inspirations, her relationship with Shakespeare, and the hidden Easter eggs in her novel, as well as her upcoming projects and recent literary finds.

Interview with Mia Thompson

To start, we want to express how much we appreciated All’s Well.

That means a lot, especially since it felt like a risk.

What made it feel risky?

Several factors contributed—primarily incorporating Shakespeare, which was quite daunting. I didn’t just draw from one play but balanced themes from both comedy and tragedy. I wanted Miranda, who is deeply in pain, to yearn to stage a comedy where everything turns out well—her ideal life—but simultaneously live out the tragedy offstage. Balancing these contrasting energies was a challenge.

What’s your connection to Shakespeare, and how did you prepare for this book?

I vividly remember performing a monologue from Macbeth at 15 years old, thanks to my mother crafting a tinfoil dagger for me. That experience resonated with my darker teenage inclinations. In my twenties, I grew shy, even as my interest in theater persisted. It wasn’t until my thirties, while grappling with chronic pain and taking a Shakespeare class, that I returned to this world. The narratives offered an escape, filled with thrilling reversals of fortune—particularly All’s Well That Ends Well, which captivated me. The protagonist starts powerless, only to gain agency and fulfill her desires. I love stories that use magic to unveil human truths, and Shakespeare excels at that.

What drew you to spotlight All’s Well That Ends Well?

The heroine is a fascinating, polarizing character. She’s a figure we’re meant to root for, yet her actions can be disturbing. She desires a man who doesn’t want her and goes to great lengths to turn her world upside down. I found it intriguing how she begins as a trickster, openly sharing her desires and sorrows, fostering our empathy, before she retreats into her magical pursuits. Shakespeare challenges us with her morally ambiguous choices, and I wanted to explore that enigmatic heroine.

You’ve discussed your own struggles with chronic pain, and the book dives deep into this theme. Can you elaborate?

Women’s pain is a topic I found myself navigating personally, and it was a harrowing experience. Many doctors dismissed my pain after an unsuccessful surgery, leaving me feeling lost and powerless. In physical therapy waiting rooms, I encountered numerous women with similar struggles—we were all in a shared limbo, living with invisible pain that affected every aspect of our lives. I aimed to depict the internal reality of someone dealing with unacknowledged pain, especially as a woman, and how that isolation can lead to desperation.

A striking moment in the book occurs when Miranda transfers her pain to others, echoing her own experience of being dismissed.

Exactly. There’s a profound loneliness in pain that’s hard to communicate. It transcends language, pushing the limits of empathy. What if I made the transfer of pain literal so that another could experience what Miranda endures? What are the ethical implications of that?

You vividly describe pain in the early chapters, and once it dissipates, the audience feels relieved. Yet, as soon as relief comes, it’s easy to forget the agony.

I remember vividly when I had a severe cold; when the fever broke, it was as if a war within me ceased, bringing peace. But the next day, I started to forget that desperate state. Susan Sontag aptly noted that illness and health are like two different countries—when you’re in one, it’s hard to remember the other.

The book’s ending is intense. Are readers meant to interpret it a certain way?

What I adore about Shakespeare’s works is their openness, allowing readers to piece together narratives. I wanted to provide that same opportunity in my ending. I didn’t want to tie everything up neatly, especially with both the onstage and offstage narratives reaching a climax simultaneously. The ambiguity is key, reflecting the mysterious nature of All’s Well That Ends Well, which has an unsettling yet happy conclusion.

I was surprised that the book isn’t marketed as horror.

I view it as a horror novel. It has a destabilizing quality characteristic of the genre, aiming for visceral reactions. Horror immerses readers and evokes physical responses against their will—much like Macbeth, which can be chilling.

You had to consider readers’ familiarity with Shakespeare while writing. Are there hidden Easter eggs in the book?

Absolutely. For instance, Miranda is named after the character in The Tempest, nodding to her role in the story’s illusion. I also played with the male depictions of witches in Macbeth, tying them to the 2017 Me Too movement, creating three male witches who are quite intimidating. Additionally, the Scottish bartender in the novel doubles as the Porter character from Macbeth, complete with a tattoo of one of the Porter’s famous lines. I aimed to make the text accessible even for those with only a passing knowledge of Shakespeare.

What are you currently working on?

I’m finalizing a novel that serves as the third in what I see as a trilogy—Bunny, All’s Well, and this new work. It follows a woman drawn into a sinister beauty cult involving red jellyfish, blending elements of horror and fairy tales. It’s both enjoyable and creepy.

Can you recommend some recent reads?

I highly recommend Come Closer by Sara Gran, a gripping tale of a young woman possibly possessed by a demon—short yet powerfully written. I’m also looking forward to Stephen Graham Jones’ My Heart is a Chainsaw and Brian Evanson’s latest collection, The Glassy, Burning Floor of Hell, which is delightfully weird and creepy.

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In summary, Mia Thompson’s All’s Well is a profound exploration of women’s pain, intricately woven with elements of Shakespearean drama and horror. Through the character of Miranda, the novel examines the often unseen struggles women face and how those experiences shape their realities. Thompson’s balance of comedy and tragedy, alongside her literary nods to classic works, creates a rich tapestry that invites readers to reflect on their own experiences with pain and healing.