In The Rest Is Memory (Liveright, Dec.), National Book Award winner Lily Tuck tells the story of Czeslawa Kwoka, a Polish Catholic teenager who was sent to Auschwitz.

What inspired you to write this novel?

I always read the obituaries in the New York Times, not because I’m morbid, but because they strike me as interesting little histories. Ten years ago, I read the obituary of Wilhelm Brasse, a Polish Catholic Auschwitz camp photographer who took over 40,000 photos of inmates there. One of his photos was of a young girl named Czeslawa Kwoka and the image was so moving to me and she looked so beautiful and innocent that I cut out the photo and kept it in a box with other favorite things I’d saved for later reference. Years later, I took out that photo and started writing about her history in a fictional, but very respectful, way.

How does this novel differ from your other works?

It is darker than any of my other books. I also like writing about things I don’t know anything about, like Polish history, for instance, or 19th-century Paraguay in The News from Paraguay. I feel strongly that as I write, I learn something new. I think the way I wrote The Rest Is Memory was slightly different—mixing fact and fiction together.

Readers of Holocaust fiction aren’t accustomed to seeing Catholic characters.

I think my biggest worry is that some Jewish readers may be upset to see other ethnicities included as I’ve done. Both of my parents’ ancestors were Jews and I’m an immigrant myself. I live alone and I’m home a lot, so I write every day pretty much. For this book, in particular, there was lots and lots of research.

What do you hope readers will take away from the novel?

The importance of learning more about what happened to the Poles during WWII, which continues to be important for new generations. I gave the book to a few people—former editors and close friends—this summer, and also to my 18-year-old granddaughter, who is just starting college. She certainly understood the book and was really glad she read it. I’m glad I’ve written it; I think it’s an important book—more important than writing about love affairs.