What are the boundaries between the stories we tell--to ourselves and each other--and truth? Are facts, and reality for that matter,  just too unimaginative for us to cope with, so we rely on stories to survive?  James Scudamore takes on these ideas in his compelling debut novel, The Amnesia Clinic, which was recently (after our conversation) longlisted for the Dylan Thomas Prize.

Anti is English, quiet, asthmatic; risk averse. He lives the typical expat life with his parents. Fabian is Ecuadorian, charismatic, always up for an adventure and reckless. Orphaned by a car accident that killed his father and his mother (although her body was never recovered,) he lives with his equally flamboyant Uncle, who entertains the boys with outrageous stories of shrunken heads and adventures in the countryside.  

The boys acquire his passion for outlandish tales and soon begin conducting their relationship entirely through the medium of storytelling.  The stories grow more imaginative, and although they think they know the boundaries between reality and fantasy, those lines begin to blur, especially as Fabian's buried pain over his mother's assumed death rises to the surface. The boys decide that she is in fact alive and at an amnesia hospital on the coast, for those who have lost their memory. That's why she hasn't returned. They set out to find her. On the journey the boys meet many fascinating characters, including an innkeeper who rents rooms in exchange for a good story.  As they become further enthralled in their imaginative world, dangerous consequences await them.

James and I discuss the ideas in the novel, how the story came to him, and the role Ecuador itself plays in the book.

We met on one of the hottest days this summer in London, near London Bridge. Because of the heat, we had to keep the doors open and the fans running, so the strange noises you hear are trucks rumbling past on the street below. Last time it was planes. I'll see what I can do to get train noises in the next one.  Enjoy.