By Christopher Cappiello

The author of Wicked muses about its enduring success, as well as the politics and sexuality in Oz in his new book, Son of a Witch.

A lot has happened to Gregory Maguire in the 10 years since he wrote Wicked, his inventive re-telling of the Wizard of Oz story focusing on the Wicked Witch of the West. That novel's phenomenal success made him a wealthy man. The subsequent Broadway musical and its sold-out touring companies have made him a very wealthy man. He met his husband eight years ago, and they have since adopted three children and gotten married in their home state of Massachusetts. And now, 10 years later, he has written Wicked's long-awaited sequel, Son of a Witch, using the title that he jokingly mentioned at a Chicago book-signing event back in 1995. "It just came to me as a punch line," he remembers, laughing easily over a cup of coffee at a tony Century City hotel. "Then 10 years happened -- 10 years in my life, and 10 years in the life of our illustrious country. And suddenly the joke that I made 10 years ago was a little less funny and a little bit more like an idea that wouldn't go away."

Son of a Witch focuses on Liir, the young boy brought up by Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West who is killed at the end of Wicked. The Oz rumor mill has buzzed for years that Liir is Elphaba's son, but nobody knows the truth, including the boy himself. The book follows two tracks in Liir's life: his back story following Elphaba's death, including a stint in the Munchkinland Army, and his more recent adventures searching for his childhood playmate, Nor. All the while, the young Liir is trying to determine his own lineage. While Son of a Witch has all the requisite Oz trappings -- monsters, quirky part-human characters, and journeys through deep forests and dangerous mountain passes -- the new novel also includes some pointed political commentary and frank sexual content, including Liir's sexual relationship with Trism, a male dragon trainer.

When asked about bringing bisexuality to Oz, the author quickly says, "Well, I imagine bisexuality has always been in Oz!" Liir's touching relationship with Trism was something Maguire was careful about including. "When it came to write the scene, to see that Liir and Trism were going to at least have a flirtation, I hesitated because I wanted to make sure I wasn't writing it as a kind of self-titillation," he explains. "I didn't want to just amuse myself." Maguire speaks honestly about wanting to "thicken and deepen" the Oz of the original L. Frank Baum stories with religion, politics and sexuality. In the new book, Oz is ruled by a strict Emperor who uses religion to control the masses. "If Liir is up against it, and what I'm writing about is pietistic oppression, he might as well be oppressed in this [sexual] regard, too," he carefully explains. "And that was the way in which I legitimized writing a love scene between two men. It conformed with what I think of as the oppression of the times,"

If there seem to be echoes of contemporary American culture rumbling through the Land of Oz, it is no accident. One character states, "The Emperor has hijacked the great force of faith and diverted it to further the prosperity and dominance of the city." While Baum refused to brook any allegorical interpretations of his original Oz stories, Maguire is delighted when parallels are drawn to contemporary events. "That's just as important as anything else in the book, as far as I'm concerned, is that there is a difference between devotion and piety. I am a person of faith, but I wouldn't hammer anybody on the head if they didn't believe what I believe," he explains, adding, "I find it a terrifying time in which to live for that purpose."

Religion and faith, as it happens, play prominent roles in the book. At the beginning, Liir is found brutally beaten by the side of the road. For his recovery, he is taken to the Cloister of St. Glinda, a monastic community of "maunts," nun-like figures in the Land of Oz. A young maunt named Candle develops a deep affection for the strange young man, and their futures are forever tied by subsequent events. The Superior Maunt is a source of wisdom and inspiration for Liir. "The Superior Maunt is about my favorite person in this," Maguire enthuses with a combination of pride and glee. "You know who she really is? She's really the Mother Superior from The Sound of Music," he reveals, with a genuine gush of laughter, "She's still alive after all these years! She's been transmogrified to the Land of Oz!"

While Son of a Witch has plenty of bizarre, Oz-esque characters, including a princess transformed into an elephant, its central character, Liir, is less flashy than Elphaba, the protagonist of Wicked. "The themes of Son of a Witch are different from those of Wicked. Wicked was about the virtue of iconoclasm. If you can't disguise yourself [as the green Elphaba can't], you're going to stand out. And if you're going to stand out, you might as well stand up. And Son of a Witch is different. Liir can pass. Liir is not green. And he doesn't have Elphaba's fire," Maguire explains. So Liir is going to stand up "by linking arms with others." This notion parallels the author's own feeling about contemporary American politics and culture. "That is the conclusion I draw as a person who [like Liir] is not a movie star, not a political pundit, just a middle-aged novelist. That I have to stand up somehow. That's why I wrote Son of a Witch."

When he wrote Wicked, Maguire was a single English professor, with no husband and no children. How has being a parent changed his writing? "I think this book ends with a little bit more of an opening up into the possibility of happiness. And I think that is the result of having children. When Wicked ended, there was little awareness of the future," he explains, referring to the novel's ending, not the musical's. "She is just dead, dead and gone. But Son of a Witch ends with a window being thrown open and the future being right out there for people to look at."

And what about the scores of teenage girls who have created a kind of cult following for Wicked? "I do encounter those fans who come to my readings, and they treat me like a somewhat gaga grandfather who doesn't understand what he has wrought," he answers, laughing warmly. "But they're very kind. They pat me on the hand and they speak loudly. And I couldn't be happier about that." He describes a recent event at New York's Bryant Park where he was reading from Son of a Witch following a performance by two women from the current cast of Wicked. A "coagulated clump of six girls" sat in the front row, crying through the song. When Maguire stepped to the microphone, he recalls, "I was going to say, 'You know that song always makes me cry, too,' but as soon as they finished singing, the girls got up in their big clump and left! They didn't care about me," he finishes, laughing at his own lack of star wattage.

"Sometimes people say, 'How does it feel to be famous?' And the really wonderful thing is that it's not me who's famous. It's the witch who's famous," he says, with awe and quiet content. "I can still hide behind her skirt like the man behind the curtain. I'm not a public figure. She's still the public figure, and that suits me perfectly fine."