For 25 years, New Hampshire journalist Laura Knoy hosted the state’s most well-respected talk show, “The Exchange,” on NH Public Radio, interviewing everyone from presidential candidates to regular working people.
At Sunday’s Monadnock Lyceum at the Peterborough Unitarian Universalist Church, Knoy reflected on 25 years of telling New Hampshire’s stories and on how she came to write her new novel, “The Shopkeeper of Alsace.”
The historical novel is based on the true story of Sarah Seibert, a Jewish woman who survived two world wars and led her family through the Nazi occupation in the Alsace region of France.
Mel Allen, former editor of “Yankee” Magazine and author of “Here in New England,” introduced Knoy saying she “possesses the gift of empathy, curiosity, and the art of being a true listener.”
“Laura Knoy let us know celebrities, writers, artists, performers, and politicians. If you wanted to win the NH primary and let voters know you, you wanted to sit with Laura Knoy on ‘The Exchange’,” Allen said. “But she told me that some of her best stories were of those who did not live in the headlines. Those who struggled with addiction, for example, but also teachers first responders, conservationists, and even a Yankee magazine writer.”
Allen said that “for many listeners, Laura was more than a radio personality – she was a friend.”
“Our lives include conflict, sorrow, and joy, and with Laura as our guide, we heard these voices, and as we listen, we feel a connection,” Allen said.
After reminiscing about some of her most high-profile political interviews, including John McCain, John Kerry, Barack Obama, and Al Gore, Knoy talked about her decision to leave radio to tell a story she had first encountered as a college exchange student in Strasbourg, France, in the 1980s.
“I’m always surprised when people say history is boring, or that they hated history, because for me, history is all about people and their stories. We are a storytelling people since our earliest days as cave people sitting around the campfire. I’ve seen those cave paintings in France; we have always told stories, and that speaks to me, both a journalist and an author,” Knoy said.
Knoy related the events that led her to write “The Shopkeeper of Alsace.”
“In Strasbourg, I met a woman, Annette, who mentioned she had been a ‘hidden child’ in the war. But by the time I decided to go back and learn her story, she had died. You always think you will have more time,” Knoy said. “So I will tell you, if there is someone whose story you want to hear, go home today and call them up and ask them.”
Although Annette died before Knoy could write her story, she learned from other family members that there were recorded accounts of Annette’s memories of the war and of her mother, Sarah Seibert.
“I was a journalist, and I felt like I should do something with this story. I was visiting Annette’s daughter, and she said, it’s not too late; there is an uncle and he remembers everything. She also said there were cassette tapes; if you’re a journalist and you hear there are cassette tapes, you get that prickly feeling; there is a story there,” Knoy said.
Knoy joked with the audience about how many rejections she got while trying to publish “Shopkeeper.”
“I got 65 rejections. 45 of those 65, I totally deserved. I realized I needed more feedback, and I recognized the value of critique and feedback and editing,” Knoy said. “And then the rejections got nicer.”
Knoy said she received feedback from many agents and publishers that there was “too much World War II on the shelves.”
“Then I realized, this was a matter of opinion, because there are people who just love this genre. And I was right, because people are constantly writing me and saying, ‘Thank you for writing this story. I really appreciate this story. ” Knoy said. “This was my friend’s story, and I said, I was not giving up.”
Knoy eventually found a publisher, Bedazzled Ink Publishing Company, who told her, “This is exactly the book we need right now.”
Knoy noted that Sarah Seibert’s grandson, Jean Michel, was present at the Lyceum.
