Carolyne Topdjian on reimagining gothic horror for the modern reader
Carolyne Topdjian’s The Black Moth offers a compelling blend of suspense, atmosphere and psychological depth. The novel is the sequel to her first, the acclaimed The Hitman’s Daughter, and continues to explore the story of Mave and Holden, whose troubled pasts are interwoven with supernatural elements, creating a layered narrative with psychological complexities. The tale is marked by vivid prose and unexpected twists that draw readers into its eerie world. Topdjian doesn’t rely on gratuitous gore; instead, she ensures that every horror element serves the story’s emotional impact, deepening its themes of trauma and fortitude. In The Black Moth, Topdjian offers a gothic experience that is as much about her characters’ inner workings as it is about the external forces haunting them.
Anouche Agnerian (A.A.): Can you walk us through your process for developing a gothic horror story? Do you start with a concept, a character or a setting?
Carolyne Topdjian (C.T.): A strong sense of place is integral to gothic storytelling. Think of The Fall of the House of Usher, Rebecca or Jane Eyre, or more recently, White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi. For me, some of the most memorable gothics treat setting as a richly layered character. For the Mave Michael series, I conceptualized Château du Ciel as a living, breathing creature in its own right. I’d like to think the Château has an inner and outer voice conveyed through mood, history and visuals. Once the hotel materialized as my foundation, my gothic heroine, Mave Michael Francis, walked onto my “set,” and the plot’s treacheries developed from there.
A.A.: How do you develop your characters and settings to create the eerie atmosphere typical of gothic horror?
C.T.: Much of this happens unconsciously and intuitively for me. I’m an existentialist by nature, so I tend to go deep and dark! It’s instinctive more than anything else. In fact, I don’t think I ever set out to write gothics on purpose. Even from a young age, I always gravitated toward creepy, atmospheric stories. It was only much, much later, as an emerging novelist looking to market my work, that I was able to find a label for what I loved, read and wrote: the gothic.
A.A.: How do you balance the need for mystery with the need for coherence and resolution?
C.T.: It’s a personal preference to leave some aspects of the plot or character to the reader’s imagination. Those are the types of stories I especially love—when we’re given a satisfying answer for the black-and-white mystery, yet left questioning the deeper gray layers that brought us to that “wow” conclusion. It’s a delicate balance, for sure. Process-wise, I’ll draft a series of hints and a resolution that satisfies, excites and intrigues me. Then, I’ll turn to the objectivity of my critique partners for feedback. Depending on their comments, I’ll revise. When it comes to coherence in a mystery, the input of smart, trusted early readers can’t be understated.
A.A.: A secret and disturbing past is a theme that you return to in The Black Moth. What draws you to this specific subject?
C.T.: I think what attracts me most is the dual thrill and need to reckon with the wrongs of the past. Not only do dark secrets make for an excellent page-turner, but when done correctly, they’re cathartic. Obviously, as an Armenian of the diaspora, I carry around a lot of unresolved cultural baggage about history. Along these same lines, disturbing pasts mirror all our lives. It’s Jungian, Freudian, Biblical, ancient stuff of Greek tragedies. Regardless of our individual lived cultures and experiences, troubled—if not dark—pasts are a recurring theme of human nature that we’re still grappling with worldwide.
A.A.: How can gothic horror comment on social or contemporary issues, such as the role of women or the power of the past?
C.T.: Gothic horror, inasmuch as all horror, always boils down to an exploration of the scariest parts of our human psyches and experiences. It’s a wonderful tool for negotiating our most unspeakable, monstrous acts—past and present included. What makes the gothic especially useful is its tendency to highlight the familiar and strange—the uncanny. Rather than terrorize us like a straight-up horror might, the gothic infects us, slowly, quietly. It’s eerie. It has the ability to make us, as readers, uncomfortable in a way where we recognize the strangeness of reality in fiction. So, the genre’s potential to comment on social-political issues is limitless.
A.A.: The black moth symbolizes transformation of bad things into good things—new beginnings, hope, renewal. Also, mysticism, or a messenger from the dead. Or confronting shadows and hidden powers—like Mave’s untapped mediumship. Which one of these did you have in mind?
C.T.: I love this! I’m inclined to answer that each of these symbolic meanings is equally important in The Black Moth. In all honesty, I never looked it up. I can’t even remember how this symbol developed in full. It began as a passing line in book one, where Mave gazes into Holden’s eyes and likens them to the wings of a black moth. Beyond this, its application was very much organic and subconscious.
A.A.: As a gothic novel, The Black Moth relies heavily on setting to create an eerie atmosphere, and your settings seem to be meticulously researched. Have you ever visited a real old château that inspired you?
C.T.: Absolutely! Château du Ciel is inspired by two real-life hotels. The first is an old resort in a small Greek town, which I’ve visited on more than one occasion. I learned it’d seen its heyday with a surge of tourism in the 1950s, and since then, had grown rundown. The elevator in particular enchanted me. It played this loud muzak track that was bordering on eerie, and it would cut off abruptly as soon as you reached your floor. It was a strong inspiration for the elevator in Château du Ciel.
The second hotel is closer to home. In my early twenties, I lived in Ottawa, and for a spell, I worked as a shopgirl in the Château Laurier’s gift shop. While it’s far from rundown, till this day, the Château Laurier is known to be haunted—and that’s not all. It housed a famous resident artist in the 1970s and 80s (though, granted, Yousuf Karsh was never murdered), and it featured a train station from the now-defunct Grand Trunk Railway. The station is now boarded up. In other words, add a little wear and tear, shake and combine, and these hotels had the perfect ingredients for a gothic setting.
A.A.: Do you ever consult with experts in certain fields, such as historians, psychologists or paranormal investigators, to enhance the authenticity of your novels?
C.T.: One hundred percent. Speculative plotting or not, often, I’ll need to research and informally interview people in order to convey authentic, credible details—nuances that only a real-life expert would know. For example, for The Hitman’s Daughter, I had to ask a Fairmont hotelier and manager about the ins and outs of emergencies—from security procedures to what happens when a guest croaks in their room, especially if police are unavailable for hours, days. Such events, though common, are kept under wraps for obvious reasons. No one wants to sleep on a mattress where a corpse once lay!
A.A.: How do you balance the need for research and accuracy with creative freedom and imagination?
C.T.: I always prioritize what the story needs, and typically, that’s dictated by the plot or the characters themselves. Basically, I remind myself that writing a novel is a work of fiction, first and foremost. Though historical research can be appealing, it stops being useful if it keeps me from actualizing the story to its fullest potential. So, creative freedom is a must. The rest, I consider flexible.
A.A.: Do you have a favorite character from your works? What makes them stand out for you?
C.T.: I love so many characters that it’s impossible to choose just one! Obviously, Mave Michael is a standout for me. She’s strong yet vulnerable, a real contraction sometimes. On the one hand, she’s lovely, warm-hearted and innocent given her sheltered upbringing, and on the other, she’s jaded and conditioned by Cain to be savvy when it comes to the cruelty of the world. Another favorite character is Holden Frost. Holden is designed to be a dark and daring underground book boyfriend. And Cain. I love Cain. If nothing else, it’s thrilling to write a complicated anti-hero.
A.A.: Objects and artifacts often play a significant role in your novels, holding secrets or serving as plot devices, e.g., Holden’s mask in both novels, the letters in the red book. But you use these objects also to reveal character and backstory—hence, serving for both plot and character development. How do you balance the need for a strong, driving plot with the necessity of character development?
C.T.: I really appreciate you picking up on just how much characterization is interwoven through these objects. They have a dual function as thematic motifs and devices for storytelling. In fact, I think it’s a misunderstanding, if not a myth, that commercial fiction lacks character development (or that literary fiction lacks plot development, for that matter). I’m sure there are exceptions, but if you ask me, strong storytelling always incorporates both elements seamlessly. Whether plot is highlighted over character, or vice versa, makes no difference in the end. A good story is a good story.
An editor once told me that literary fiction is the main course, while commercial fiction is the dessert. Well, you know what? Pastry chefs work just as hard and have just as much talent and skill as savory chefs. I just happen to have a sweet-tooth—and I hope my readers do, too.
A.A.: What draws you to the gothic horror genre, and how do you see yourself contributing to it?
C.T.: It’s the existential crisis of gothic storytelling that most resonates with me. When you strip down the genre and all its subcategories, these stories tackle a big, dark question: “Who and what are we in the world?” The sublime power of life versus death, technology versus man, real versus surreal, human versus nature—at its core, the gothic is an exploration of our deepest anxieties. Our real world is on fire, figuratively and literally. How do we survive this madness? I hope, by writing gothic stories, I’m negotiating some of these grievances and traumas that we’re facing as a species.
On a more personal and political level, my other motivation has to do with helping reshape literary tropes that reflect our societal values. In particular, I tackle the patriarchy in my plots and rewrite the damsel in distress cliché that’s typical of the genre. In recent years, feminist gothics have been breaking barriers in the industry.
A.A.: Can you talk about your relationship with reading and writing growing up? Did you always know you wanted to be a writer?
C.T.: For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved to daydream, imagine worlds and craft stories. I told many tall tales as a kid, but I definitely wasn’t a strong reader or writer. As a young Armenian girl who immigrated to Canada from Lebanon, originally, English was my second language. I was slow at it. Reading was a chore. I was in ESL classes until grade three or four. I also didn’t grow up in one of those homes full of books. Meanwhile, at school, I didn’t connect with a lot of the curricular readings.
But the public library did it for me. I discovered R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike as a tween, and then Stephen King at age 13—whose titles I devoured as a young adult. The rest is horror history.
All my novels feature protagonists who are smart, adaptive underdogs. They’re outsiders fighting for survival in a world full of monsters. For those familiar with the Armenian people and our history of ethnic cleansing—a horror that continues till this day—that’s my ancestral blood pouring onto the page, no question.
A.A.: How have your personal experiences influenced your writing? Are there any specific events or emotions that you draw upon in your work?
C.T.: I can’t say it’s a conscious effort. It just happens, like a fingerprint or a signature. All my novels feature protagonists who are smart, adaptive underdogs. They’re outsiders fighting for survival in a world full of monsters. For those familiar with the Armenian people and our history of ethnic cleansing—a horror that continues till this day—that’s my ancestral blood pouring onto the page, no question.
A.A.: How do you think your writing has changed or evolved over time, and how do you see your writing evolving in the future? Are there any new themes, genres or projects that you’re excited to explore?
C.T.: Right now, I’m between novel projects, so I’ve been tackling short stories and flash fiction—always a fun challenge. I love learning and honing my craft. Speaking of which, this year, I was super grateful to be awarded two incredible grants. The first, from the Mississauga Arts Council, gave me the opportunity to work with Kristen Bird, a bestselling mystery/thriller author and editorial book coach.
The second grant, awarded from the Canada Council for the Arts, allowed me to conduct in-person research over the summer at Frozen Head State Park, Tennessee. Frozen Head is the historically rich setting for my latest manuscript, a suspense novel titled Blood Runs Silent. Though still under development, so far, I’m thrilled for how this project has come together.
Apart from that, I have an Armenian gothic novel on the back burner—the story of my heart, you might say. It’s incredibly salient in 2025, considering all the geo-political wars we’re witnessing, so I’m hoping to eventually find a good home for this manuscript, too.
Anouche Agnerian
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- Carolyne Topdjian on reimagining gothic horror for the modern reader - April 23, 2025
