Author Jen Michalski is intrigued by the spaces where empathy and imperfection coexist. Her latest novel All This Can Be True is a stunning result of this fascination – an emotionally resonant sapphic drama that delves into love, betrayal, and the contradictions – the secrets – with which we all live.
The novel’s title, drawn from a line in the book, isn’t just a thematic gesture; it’s a declaration of intent. All This Can Be True invites its readers to hold conflicting truths side by side; to see that empathy doesn’t require approval, and that complexity — especially when it comes to love, parenthood, and identity — is not a flaw but a fact.
We spoke with Michalski about the process of writing flawed characters, the role of reader projection, and the delicate balance between imagination and respect when portraying identities outside her own…
I’d like to discuss the metaphor in your book about people containing multitudes, which is what the title “All This Can Be True” is derived from. How do you, as a writer, highlight human flaws, their contradictions and their ironies?
As I get older, I’m more interested in the gray areas of people. I know that our public climate is so polarized now, politically, and we jump so easily on people being hypocrites about one thing or another. But it’s like a stalemate, because we realize that everyone is a hypocrite in some way. There’s really no solving that argument, and it’s really frustrating. I’m interested in seeing that — we all make mistakes, and we’re all human, and all these things can be true. I’m drawn more now to the grace portion of my life. I try to see people through their mistakes.
And what was it like to write such raw characters making such common yet life-altering mistakes?
So, there’s a lot about adultery in this book; there’s some that’s known right away and there’s some that happens later. And obviously people have strong feelings about that. Even in just random Goodreads reviews, people will either pick up the book or put it down because they’re like, “Oh, I don’t like the cheating thing.” But I’m more interested in, well, there’s a lot of cheating that happens in society and there are a lot of movies and shows that are predicated on it even. So I’m fascinated. There’s never a good reason to do this, but it happens enough that I ask: why does it happen? Is it because we feel obligated to stay with people because they father our children or because you don’t want to break up a family unit? Or you’re too scared to have the bottom drop out from you? And what are the actual reasons why people cheat?
And what answers did you come up with?
It’s not because they want to hurt other people, it’s because they often feel cornered and desperate and can’t think of a better solution. Cheating is more an alternate reality people create for themselves to hide from their own realities. And it’s not that they’re scared of confronting them; it’s just there are a lot of people involved and a lot of people get hurt. And that’s what I’m interested in – the layers.
Also, I see images or things and then that becomes something I explore in writing – I just had this image of this woman lying in bed and waking up to a phone call. And it was the hospital telling her that her husband had woken up from his coma. And then in my mind the camera pans and there’s a woman in bed next to her and you’re just like, “Whoa, how did this happen?” And then I just worked, well, I’m like, “Well, how could that happen?” And it worked back from there and it became the story over time.
So, your story here literally started with an image in your head of a woman waking up to a hospital call about her husband’s coma?
Yes. It started with that image. I worked backward from there. My novels often come from different ideas I combine. Initially, I wanted to write a COVID-inspired thriller, but it evolved into a domestic drama about stroke and relationships.
Was *All This Can Be True* originally conceived as a double-narrative book?
It was initially only from Lacey’s point of view. But Quinn’s story is compelling too – she has a deeper arc, especially after losing a child, and so I integrated her perspective after feedback from first readers like my writing group and Jennifer Pooley. It helped structure the novel’s timeline, especially with multiple points of view.
Did you find exploring characters’ gray areas – like Quinn’s big secret and Lacey’s affair – morally more fun?
Yes. I have empathy for characters making poor decisions. I see my books as reflections of human nature — more about what they reveal about the reader than about me. People’s reactions often project their own prejudices.
Readers often project their views onto your characters. Has this been true for readers of All This Can Be True thus far?
I find it interesting that readers see themselves in characters. For example, someone wondered how many Lacies are out there. My goal isn’t to push an idea but to show that these variations exist — especially with Pride Month, emphasizing human diversity.
What about your research process for embodying characters different from yourself?
It’s like Frankenstein — composites of people I know or have heard about. I think: “How would this person think?” or “If I were a man, how would I act?” I aim for empathy within my limits, respecting the boundaries of experience.
How do you handle writing characters of different backgrounds or identities?
Carefully. I use traits from people I know, mixed with imagination, always trying to think about how they’d process situations. Fiction allows some creative license, but I aim to be respectful and empathetic.
How do you approach writing such diverse characters while incorporating such realistic dialogue?
I imagine if it were my family, with their traits and tendencies, and ask how they’d react. Writing is like a test kitchen — putting characters in boiling water to see what happens.
I like that metaphor because it’s so true.
Early on, I learned a lot from mystery and thriller writers — they focus on pacing and plot, which is essential. Literary fiction often emphasizes interiority but can lack momentum. I prefer a balance — immediate stakes, surprises, hooks.
Your ending surprised many readers. Was that intentional?
Yes. I wanted to create something unpredictable. The original ending was bleaker, but readers connected more with the version where characters’ lives evolve, even if it’s not perfect.