(before the novel reaches bookstores)
The novel will be published in a month. It has not yet had its official launch. It is not yet in bookstores or libraries. But the manuscript has been alive for quite some time. My beta readers have already read it. People with whom I have discussed the screenplay, the history, and the characters for years. People who stood beside me while the story was taking shape.
And certain questions keep returning.
How much of the history in the novel is real?
Very much so. And above all thanks to Gaetano Benčić. He researched archives in Venice. He discovered more than 300 historical documents. Files, records, traces that became my foundation. Without that work, there would be no structural backbone to the story.
We know about Martin Vellović.
We know about Mate Corazza.
We know about Prefect Vuković.
We know about Marija Zelenkovich.
We know about the letter to the Council of Ten.
We know that a Venetian cavalier was sent to investigate the situation.
Upon that solid historical foundation, I added emotion, relationships, inner worlds. Fiction. But the construction stands firmly on real documents.
Was it difficult to turn a screenplay into a novel?
Yes. Very much so. It truly surprised me. It would have been much easier to write the novel first and then adapt it into a screenplay — as most authors do. But as I’ve said before, I often work the other way around. First there was the screenplay. First there were frames. Images. Cuts. Dialogue.
When I think, I still think in frames. Even while writing the novel, I see light, space, movement. But a novel is something different. In a novel, you enter consciousness. Inner life. The subconscious of a character. What a camera cannot capture. And that was challenging.
I had to learn a new process. Allow myself more freedom. In relationships. In descriptions. In reshaping the story. In emotional depth. A screenplay is structure. A novel is breathing.
And in the end, that freedom became the most intriguing part for me.
Are there relationships in the novel that were considered “forbidden” at the time?
There are relationships that are complex. Subtle. Without names that today we easily assign to them.
One of the questions from my dear beta reader, Mrs. Anka Poropat, was:
“Will Martin find peace?”
What moved her most were the relationships between the characters.
There are emotions in the novel that cross the boundaries of what was expected. Affections that had to remain hidden. Friendships charged with deeper tension. But this is nothing “modern.” Casanova, for example, had homosexual experiences and wrote about them. Eighteenth-century Venice was far more complex — and in many ways closer to our time — than we often assume. People felt just as intensely then as they do today.
The only difference is that far less was spoken about it. Intrigue, smuggling, betrayal — these have not changed much over time. The second novel, The Secret Order, explores this even further.
Is there an element of mysticism in the novel through Antonia and her clairvoyance?
Yes. And that was a part I researched extensively.
Antonia’s clairvoyance and telekinesis are not written as folkloric sensation, but as phenomena that, even at the time, were subject to explanation. I studied medical records from the late 18th century, including research from the Medical Faculty in Padua in 1796. There were already laboratory processes and early scientific attempts to understand such conditions.
That part fascinated me deeply. In the novel, it is explained in greater detail how such phenomena were perceived at the time. I wanted this layer to stand on solid ground — not just intuition.
How do Domar and Loris know each other? What connects them?
Their connection is rooted in trauma. Their relationship is complex and carries a silence that is not immediately explained. In The Black Oath, we only sense its depth, but the full explanation unfolds in the second novel — The Secret Order.
Developing their dynamic — the unspoken tension between them — was endlessly fascinating for me. It kept me questioning and analyzing for a long time.
Why did you connect Casanova with Marko Antonio Mattei, the Venetian cavalier?
The connection is historically and logically grounded.
Casanova left a powerful mark on Venice. In 1796, he was living in Dux. It felt natural to ask: if a Venetian cavalier arrives in Istria on a special mission, would he not seek out the man who had become an icon to many young Venetians? Especially considering that Casanova himself had spent time in Istria.
I did not hesitate much. It felt like a necessary axis and a logical progression. That historical strand required the most research and took the most time. But it also gave me the greatest satisfaction. Learning about that era — its mentality, its political tensions — became a parallel world of its own.
Are the food, wines, and recipes in the novel authentic?
Yes. I paid particular attention to that aspect. Recipes from Padua, Venice, and Istria, as well as wines from Istria and Italy, were all researched according to sources from the same historical period. I wanted gastronomy to be part of the historical truth.
Because food is also a document of its time.
And besides — around food, the greatest secrets are revealed. People relax. They surrender. Don’t they?
Who is your favorite character in The Black Oath?
That is the hardest question for me.
I am connected to each character in a different way. At times, I was Marija Zelenkovich, deeply living through her passion and unhappy love. At times, I was Fabio. At times, Martin. At times, Mate Corazza. Even the Prefect fascinated me.
It is difficult to ask an author to choose. Every character in The Black Oath has a turning point — a moment when something within them breaks and transforms. I believe the novel is full of such moments, which is why it reads in one breath.
And perhaps that is why I cannot choose just one.
Is this a novel about history — or about the human being?
History is the frame. The human being is the center.
I was interested in how great political and social upheavals affect the individual. The story unfolds during six to seven months when Napoleon occupied Italy — a period filled with circumstances, questions, and consequences. What remains when titles, positions, and hierarchies fall away? Fear. Love. Ambition. Doubt. The need for redemption.
History provides the backdrop. But the heart of the novel is the human being.
How personal is the theme of redemption in the novel?
Very. Redemption is not only a religious concept. It is an inner need to forgive oneself. To find peace. To close a circle. Each character carries a burden. Each searches for a way to endure or overcome it. And I often say, with a smile, that this trilogy was also my own personal redemption.
How emotionally attached did you become to the characters?
More than I expected.
There are moments when a character stops being a construction and becomes a person. They begin to react differently than you planned. They find their own voice. Their own life.
In those moments, you realize you are no longer fully controlling the story — you are following it.
Was the trilogy planned from the beginning, or did it evolve gradually?
That is an interesting question, because the basic structure existed from the very beginning. I knew where I wanted the story to go. I knew the final point.
But the path changed. Characters demanded space. New locations emerged. Some scenes grew. Others disappeared. New historically grounded questions opened up. The structure was clear, but the emotional journey was alive. Although the initial idea was to write only one novel, everything led to a second, then to a third — the final one — which closes the circle.
Now I believe that was inevitable. And necessary.
Did any character surprise you during the writing process?
Yes. There is always someone who initially appears secondary, then begins to claim their space — and you give it to them. And they surprise you. They become more important than you planned.
Those are the moments when you know the story is breathing and finding its own path. That is what I love most about writing.
Was the research a burden or a pleasure?
Both. It was demanding because I wanted precision. But it was also fascinating. Studying archives, political structures, everyday life, mentality — it completely drew me in.
Without that process, the novel would not have the weight it carries.
And finally — the question that has stayed with me the most:
“Will Martin find love?”
I cannot answer that yet. But I can say this: The doors are open.
And what unfolds in The Secret Order and The Lost Relic goes even deeper.
