By Gavin J. Grant for Booksense.com
Genesis:
How did the idea for 'The Wooden Sea' come to you? Was that typical?
A very famous friend once said, "I wonder what the 17 year old me
would think of what I've done with my life?"I looked at this guy
like he was from outer space. He was world famous, at the pinnacle of
success in a very public field, and yet here he was asking THAT? I said
well, that kid would probably think you were pretty damned impressive.
My friend said, "I don't know-- I've made a lot of concessions
along the way. I think he'd be outraged or ashamed at some of them."
That started the ball rolling down the pinball game in my mind. Five years
later it became the genesis for THE WOODEN SEA.
"Big game hunting" (or going after life's
larger meanings): Do you deliberately set out after big ideas (life, death,
reincarnation, the magic of dogs) when you craft your novels or do your
characters simply work their way around to the big questions as a matter
of course?
I think the writer who sets out to go 'big game hunting' usually ends
up shooting himself in the foot. Luckily books are organic so they
change as you go along. To me, a situation or a scene arises in a story
and I have to address it on the spot. If something deep or important arises
from that, it's only part of the process. It certainly is not meant to
be the process itself. I love a good story and try to tell one, always.
I am certainly touched when people tell me they found "deeper"
things in my books, but that was not the original intent.
Work habits: Do you outline extensively? Wing it?
Give your characters their lead - and if so, do they ever get out of control?
Some writers start to work only when they have the whole idea for a
book in mind. Others just leap with an idea or a first paragraph-- Sort
of like bungee jumping with a not-always trustworthy cord. Either fortunately
or un-, I'm one of the latter. I begin when I have the first
idea or first sentence to a book. That's all, and I'm comfortable
not knowing anything else. I never have any idea where a book is going
to go when I start it, no big plan. I think of it as walking a huge and
powerful dog. Yes you hold the leash, but Bruiser drags you wherever
he wants to go and sniff, whether you like it or not. Believe me, many
of the books I've written in the past have dragged me into parts of "town"
I never in a million years would have visited if it hadn't been for my
'dog' Bruiser.
Multiplicity: The notion that we are the sum
of our past, present and future selves is a reassuring one in 'Wooden
Sea.' In fact, McCabe is both rescued by his other selves and resurrected
in the flesh of one. But it is also a harrowing psychological journey
to peek behind the screen as he does. To what extent do you personally
subscribe to free transit through space/time of our multiple selves? Does
such multiplicity help account for intuition, clairvoyance, even aliens?
To what extent were you aiming at metaphor with the many faces of McCabe?
One of the great crimes and sadnesses about growing up and "maturing"
is we lose parts of ourselves along the way but rarely regret it. It is
like the rockets they shoot into space that drop their separate stages
the higher they climb. For example, as adults we give up much of the wonder
and enthusiasm of the children we once were. We compromise rather
than take the brave (or foolish) risks kids do because we recognize the
danger often inherent in them. And adults doubt much more than believe
in. I could make a list that goes on for pages. One of the themes of THE
WOODEN SEA is a person can never be whole until he takes into account
as many of his former selves as is possible. Because the person you are
now is not the only you. It took a lot of you's to get here. But cynically,
stupidly or egotistically, you tossed those old you's aside because you
thought you knew better. You may know more now simply because you're older,
but not necessarily better. If we want to regain some kind of real wholeness,
we must look in those old photo albums of ourselves and spend time considering
if there was anything back there in those old versions that could help
me now to be happier, fuller, more at peace? It is likely the answer is yes.
Burying Father: The central image of digging the
father's grave pays off hugely at the end of 'Wooden Sea,' of course.
These are deep psychological imprints that, as your novel suggests, may
indeed become almost encoded in our DNA, or passed along from lifetime
to lifetime, as in this fascinating view of reincarnation. Seeing little
Frannie at the bottom of that grave was brilliantly depraved. To wit:
your thoughts on the "tingler," that moment when we read a few
words and feel like Martin Balsam falling backward down Mother Bates'
staircase.
A few years before my father died, he became very sick which
was the beginning of his end. Once when I was visiting him in the
hospital, his doctor came in the room. He turned to me and asked
what I thought should be done about a certain aspect of my father's
treatment. I was astonished he was asking me with my father right there.
Yet when I turned to my Dad, he was looking at me with the same expression
as the doctor. Both of them wanted me to decide this matter. It threw
me for a loop, although we all know sooner or later the child becomes
father to the man. The same thing is true about "burying the father."
The ultimate reversal. You know it's coming but when it arrives it still
turns you upside down.
Keeping it (sur)real: Describe how you go about
establishing and maintaining the balance between the real and the fantastical
that is necessary to drive a story such as 'Wooden Sea.' How do you
know when you've asked the reader to accept too much?
I wouldn't know how to answer that question. Essentially I trust my instincts.
Generally people either love or hate my books-- there is almost no one
who says to me "I read it and it was okay." The ones who don't
like my work usually say things like, "Loved the book until
the dogs started talking and then I threw it out the window." I say
how sad that you've lost that wonderful childhood sense of wonder.
Remember the days when there were no rules, dragons were possible, and
all you wanted in the world was a flying carpet? Where are the flying
carpets when we're adults-- Microsoft stock? A Jeep Cherokee? How depressing
to settle for such mundane things. The poet Ferlinghetti says when we
fall in love with someone the best part of it is the rebirth of wonder.
That's what I would like my books to do for people-- rekindle
their sense of wonder. Make them go OH! involuntarily at some point in
my story because they are so surprised or taken off guard. When I was
writing THE WOODEN SEA, I remember distinctly writing the scene
where the protagonist walks downstairs in the middle of the night. He
sees someone sitting in his living room. Instantly on guard, he asks who's
there? A moment later he discovers the intruder is himself, age 17.
How I smiled when I wrote that. I had no idea it was coming
but it made me go "Whoa!" Immediately I knew I was home
free.
Influences: I'll throw out a few guesses here based
on people I think may have influenced you, as opposed to contemporaries;
please elaborate, eliminate or expand the list: Phil Dick, Alfred Bester,
Walter Tevis, Eugene Ionesco, Samuel Beckett, Edward Albee, and early
Vonnegut, Pynchon and Kesey. Movies and music?
Federico Fellini movies, Robertson Davies, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Stanley
Elkin, Hawthorne, Ernest Becker, Magic Realist writers, poetry, living
in Europe for 27 years, all the wonderful women I have been lucky
enough to know in my life, Vienna.. the list is endless.
Your rules: What governs your writing? What are
your personal prime directives and, conversely, your most vexing shortcomings,
obstacles, bad habits?
I think the British playwright David Hare says you write about what bites
you. That's about as good a definition as I can think of. I tell the stories
that tickle, concern, energize me. I don't EVER want to bore the reader.
I don't ever want you to stop reading my story to look at your watch. I
do want you to suddenly jump up and run for the toilet because you've waited
too long and now the situation is critical. Someone I know has a
"candybar rating" system for movies. They go to the
theater and buy a candybar. They sit down and the movie starts. If two
hours later the candybar is uneaten then it was a REALLY good movie.
They couldn't tear themselves away from the story long enough to
even open the sweetie, much less eat it. Now, if they ate part of the
thing, it was a pretty good movie, etcetera. I want that candybar to remain
untouched in your lap. Even better, if it's your favorite kind and you
have a rabid sweet tooth. My shortcomings? Bad habits? What's the
last line of Portnoy's Complaint? VERE DO VEE BEGIN?
I would recommend you have a look at my website www.jonathancarroll.com
which was created two years ago by some zealous fans and is a beautiful
thing. It draws two hundred thousand hits a month now an I'd be grateful
if you mentioned the addess in your article somewhere.
