It’s no surprise that international bestselling author Ruta Sepetys has won awards for riveting, emotionally arresting historical fiction that spotlights moments in history that most young readers know little about. In her fifth novel, I Must Betray You (Philomel, Feb. 1), she focuses on Cristian Florescu, a teenage Romanian boy living during the final days of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s brutal communist dictatorship in the late 1980s. Threatened with charges of treason and promised medication to help his beloved, ailing grandfather, Cristian agrees to betray friends and family and become an informer for the Securitate, Romania’s secret police. This page-turning thriller is made all the more poignant and tragic through the knowledge that millions of ordinary Romanians lived through nightmarish situations like his. Sepetys spoke with us over Zoom from her home in Nashville; the conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

How did you come to write about this point in Romanian history?

My father was a victim of communism: He fled Lithuania and spent nine years in refugee camps before making it to the United States. Because of my family’s experience, I felt that I had a general understanding of postwar communist systems. [But] when I was on tour for my first novel, Between Shades of Gray, I was in Bucharest, sitting outside with my publisher, my interpreter, and a few other people. A woman reached for the ashtray on the table, lifted it up, and looked beneath it. I don’t know what I thought—she was checking the brand or something? She said, “Oh, I’m sorry, habit. They were listening, you know. They were always listening.” Can you imagine? They had invited me to speak about victims of communism from another country; they were so compassionate. I started pressing: Tell me more. I became breathless and chilled. The stories that kept coming were about the young people: The bravery, the courage, it was unparalleled. These kids—just with hearts defiant—attacked tanks with their bare hands. And I thought, OK, this is what I’m going to write about.

How do you balance details necessary for worldbuilding with avoiding infodumps?

I am a geek for historical detail—I want more and more. However, the last thing I want to be doing is pushing a moral; young readers are so savvy. So I constantly remind myself: First and foremost, make it human. Something that made a huge impression on me was the impact of Radio Free Europe and Voice of America. If I have a piece of research that I think is important, before I describe it, I create a scene around it. In this case, I’m going to bring the reader into that tiny kitchen where the entire family is crowded around a radio with an illegal antenna. They know that there’s probably a surveillance device in their apartment. Through that radio comes the voice of freedom, a crackly broadcast that makes them feel less lonely. When we care for a character, our hearts opens, and that is a moment of potential progress. A statistic can become a human being if I create an experience that’s immersive to bring [readers] on that journey so they want to know more.

Writing about these traumatic events must take an emotional toll on you.

I don’t question the emotional toll because I’m writing about something I didn’t experience. What right do we have to history other than our own? It’s a big question that I wrestle with. So if I’m going to do this, I have to give 500% to the people who are allowing me to share their story. What would it be like to live in a culture of fear to the point where, many years later, they’re still looking over their shoulders? What was it like to be [in the] Romanian secret police? I don’t want to just condemn you. I have to remain objective, but I can’t remain emotionally distant, because if I do, it’s not being reverent to the people who are so generous [as] to reopen those wounds and share them with me. It does take a toll, but if I can experience those emotions, the work will be more emotionally resonant.

There can be pushback against books for young people about troubling subjects.

We cannot underestimate the hearts of young readers. If we don’t allow them access to these stories, could we be denying them the use of the greatest gifts that they have as humans—of caring, compassion, empathy, human understanding? Studying the past gives context to the present, and if studying the past helps them create hope for a more just future, I can’t think of a better reason. Teachers and librarians [are] hidden heroes: Although a young reader might run into a library asking for whatever the hottest new contemporary fiction is, I doubt a reader comes in saying, “I want to know about the Securitate and the fall of communism in Eastern Europe.” Teachers and librarians deeply understand the power of the young reader. If kids are sensitive to injustice and [have] the energy to become crusaders against it, why would we deny not only them, but our future world?

Do you start with setting or characters first?

My starting point is the history—dissertations and scholarly publications. Then I move on to poetry, memoir, art, music, even cookbooks, photography archives, radio archives, newspaper archives. My next step is to travel and speak to the human beings who experienced [these events], and I need to have a strong grasp of what was going on so they don’t have to give me a history lesson. That would be disrespectful. History provides my outline and my scaffolding. Once I start doing interviews with witnesses, that’s when the characters start to emerge. For each novel, I work with experts—historians, interpreters, a team of people. Ionel Boyeru, who executed Ceaușescu—I met with him in person—he [said], “The world has to know this story.”

Is there anything else you’d like to share?

I hope readers will ask themselves how they would respond if their entire life were an existence of enforced obedience—being listened to, being tracked. If there were microphones in their light fixtures, their bathrooms. If they were recruited to be informers against those they love the most. Would they? We think we know how we would react, but I would say, read the book and ask yourself. I would say to readers, never underestimate the power of telling someone that you hear them. When I interviewed Romanians, they said that one of the most powerful moments over the radio was the address [from then–President Ronald Reagan for Captive Nations Week] in July 1985. I interviewed some 75 to 100 people, and so many targeted the exact same moment: When they heard that broadcast saying, you may feel alone but you’re not alone, it gave [them] the courage to go on. That’s the power that we have. Read the book, tell someone, did you know what happened in Romania? Sharing that maybe helps restore a bit of human dignity. I believe so deeply in this power of historical fiction.

Laura Simeon is a young readers’ editor.