When most people think about Swedish-American fiction, Willa Cather might come up. But for young adults, there really isn’t much out there. In The Number 7 (Merit Press, 2014) debut author Jessica Lidh combines a contemporary coming-of-age story with historical fiction, allowing her to expose a little-known controversy from World War II about Sweden’s “neutrality” and the role it played. Louisa, her 16-year-old modern-day protagonist, discovers an unusual channel into her Swedish family’s past and slowly begins to unfold a story that may begin a healing process in the present. SLJTeen caught up with Lidh to talk more about The Number 7 and her writing process. First of all, thank you for reminding me that the history we are taught is not all the history that is. Tell me about the research you had to do on Sweden during World War II to ensure you were presenting a historically accurate portrayal. I was first made aware of Sweden’s neutrality when I was visiting the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC. At the time I was dating a Swedish boy, and I vividly remember him pausing at a map of Europe during WWII. The countries were color-coded by occupation and Sweden was white. Unoccupied. Neutral. He made a point of explaining to me how embarrassing it was for him to see that. So when I sat down to write a story about a phone call from the grave, I wanted to tell a story of embarrassment and shame, but also one of redemption. Gathering firsthand accounts was so important to me. I visited the American Swedish History Museum in Philadelphia, and I asked any Swede I knew to share his or her story of growing up in Sweden in the 1940s. I had to ask delicately, though, because even today it’s still a very sensitive topic. Louisa is someone I would like to hang out with—her self-deprecating sense of humor, intelligence, and curiosity really shine through. One of my favorite early moments in The Number 7 is when she explains her use of “the deficients”—words like "fine," "good," or "nice." Louisa’s the girl I wish I had been in high school. She’s much more confident in herself than I was. She’s also observant, and she’s acutely aware of the people around her. With the deficients, I wanted to show how many of us struggle to fully express ourselves, especially when we’re hurting. Adolescence is already so hard without the tragedy of losing a parent, so it’s extra tough for Louisa and her sister, Greta. No one teaches them how to deal with their mother’s death in a healthy way. Louisa thinks it’s easier to mask her feelings by lying when someone asks how she’s doing, and Greta thinks it’s best to just stay silent. But it’s this type of avoidance that ends up nearly destroying their family. Memories are very important to Louisa; she even has a numbering system for these, particularly those of her mother, who has recently died from breast cancer. How does this contrast with the way that her father and sister Greta deal with their memories? While Louisa’s father tries to convince her it’s better to move forward, Louisa recognizes there’s no escaping the past. The same memories that remind her dad of loss bring Louisa joy. She keeps memories of her mother on a numbered list in her pocket, but Greta chooses not to share her memories with anyone, as if she’s afraid someone might take them from her. It’s not until the family openly talks about how much they’re suffering that any of them start to heal. The American Swedish Historical Museum in Philadelphia, PA, holds many surprises for Louisa, including an introduction to fika. Tell SLJTeen readers a bit about that Swedish tradition. Fika is one of my most beloved Swedish customs. Its translation means “coffee pause” or “coffee break.” Unlike America, where coffee is often an on-the-go beverage, fika is a time to relax and enjoy company. It’s a form of communion in a way. Workers and students alike will take a break to sit and savor a coffee and cinnamon roll with friends. I try to replicate that atmosphere of “pausing” when I’m writing and expending a lot of creative energy. Fika is as much about the mindfulness as it is about the coffee. There are two parallel stories in The Number 7—Louisa and her family working through the grief which followed her mother’s death, and that of Louisa’s ancestors in Sweden, debating the Nazi takeover of much of Scandinavia and their position on the war. Did you write one of the stories before the other, or did you write this as it appears in the book, in alternating chapters? I wrote the parallel stories at the same time, and it was surprisingly easy shifting back and forth through a period of roughly 60 years. The Swedish story line was well-mapped in my head, so it was Louisa’s narrative that I needed to uncover. As she was searching for her own role in her grandfather’s story, I too was looking for the connection. As she began discovering this man she never knew, her character began slowly revealed herself to me. There is a lot of nostalgia in this book. Louisa and I are suckers for family. Her journey to find her grandfather became my homage to my own grandparents, with whom I feel so intricately interwoven. My story is their story, and their story is mine. Being at a new school is always a cause for anxiety. It is compounded for Louisa as she becomes very friendly with one of the high school’s most sought-after guys, Gabe, as well as one of its coolest dudes and barista, Chris. When I first sat down to write the romance, I had a precise picture of which boy Louisa would choose in the end, but further into the story, the decision became less clear. I too ended up falling for both boys. So I hated having to write one of the boy’s eventual downfalls because I really liked him. I felt sad for him because he’s one of the characters whose struggle continues past the end of the book. He doesn’t get the happy ending. Readers will know right away from the book cover that a phone plays an important role in this book. (No fancy dresses or headless girls here!) Was this inspired by your own rummaging through an attic or basement? Prior to graduate school, I managed a shop located in an old repurposed farmhouse. It was filled top to bottom with Swedish antiques. One dark and rainy day, when the shop was absent of customers, I discovered a rotary telephone sitting casually on a stack of old books. Something about the unplugged phone gave me the heebie-jeebies, and I was terrified that the thing would just start ringing and I would be compelled to answer it. Who would be on the other end? I wondered. I ended up buying it to find out. The Number 7 was my answer. LIDH, Jessica. The Number 7. 272p. Adams Media/Merit. Dec. 2014. Tr $17.99. ISBN 9781440583063; ebk. ISBN 9781440583070.