In the most general sense, when I set out to write WHO CAN KNOW THE HEART, I wanted to say something about love. It did not amount to a premise. It was just a thought. Then I situated that thought into a time frame and within a specific dysfunctional American family. The St. James family included a street performer named Wizard (Grandfather Henry), a mother (Soren) who had never been honest with her daughter, and a daughter (Sara) who was as easily attracted to women as men. This led to complex identity issues and the question of whether anyone knew anyone.  At the crux of it all was the theft of mineral rights on the family farm, an unexplained death, and betrayal. The narrative did not take shape as a straightforward plot. Instead, I braided characters into a complicated story line that eventually said something like this about love: there is no accounting for whom anyone loves; sometimes the hearts knows what the mind cannot comprehend; and people heal wounds, not time.  Shining a flashlight into unlit corners, the novel became a cautionary tale that unsettles ideas of love and family and continues to question issues around mining and its impact.