Interview With Steve Almond: The Evil B.B. Chow and Beyond
R A Miller
 

A_P: The title story for The Evil B.B. Chow seems to pick up where My Life in Heavy Metal left off -- a raw look into the mind of a character consumed with a variety of sometimes contrary feelings: self-doubt, passion, seemingly detached self-analysis… and it has all the realism and grip of the stories in your first collection. Was it hard to write this story from a woman’s perspective and be convincing?

SA: Actually, I find it a bit easier to write from a woman’s POV when it comes to romantic disaster, because women tend to live closer to their emotions, and they tend to examine their intimate relationships more closely. When things go wrong, they want to understand the hows and whys, whereas a lot of guys -- when the going gets rough in this particular way -- just click over to Sportscenter. Women are more likely to ask the sort of questions (of themselves and the world) that make good literary. I also happen to have a lot of close female friends, and I love them, and so it’s not really that much of a stretch for me to think about things from their perspective, because they share that perspective with me, and because I sympathize with most of what they say. Men really are buttheads a lot of the time. I certainly am.

A_P: Do you delineate between “writing” and storytelling? “A Happy Dream” is an example of what I would call storytelling. Although it captures the sadness of the main character, it does so on the periphery and relies on a clever plot twist to be effective, whereas “I Am as I Am” addresses it head on. Do you plan this?

SA: The way I look at it, all writing is storytelling. It’s just that authors have very different intents in telling particular stories. “A Happy Dream” is just that: a little fantasia, a hopeful anecdote. “I Am as I Am” is a much heavier deal. I was trying to convey how a tragic death -- if not fully reckoned with -- destroys you from the inside.  The way I think about stories is really what the protagonist is up against. In “Dream” the guy is lonely and wants to connect with a woman and get some of his mojo back. In “I Am” the kid is really in a world of hurt. It would be absurd to suppose that I could honor the truth of his circumstance without getting deep into his family’s patterns of denial and self-deceit. That’s just a heavier order.

A_P: In several stories in B.B. Chow, you intersperse fiction with real-world personalities (Abraham Lincoln, Michael Jackson, etc.). How much of the background info you provide to set up the stories is based in fact?

SA: Just enough to let my imagination kick in, which is to say, I do some research, but a lot of the stuff I just make up. All that stuff about the academic studies of Michael Jackson -- made up. Lincoln falling in love with Frederick Douglass -- very made up. I read about Lincoln’s life and tried to remain true to the basics (he did meet with Frederick Douglass; his wife was crazy; his children did die). But I made up all the scenes. What fascinates me about these two guys, in particular, is the role they play in the American imagination. So I’m not trying to create history; I’m trying to interpret history. I’m not interested in the reality of Michael Jackson, but the ways in which he reflects our cultural pathologies about fame, race, sexuality, and gender identity. Same thing with Lincoln -- I was interested in how he (and Douglass) were both trapped by their own historical roles. Both men get treated in such a monolithic way. Jacko is a freak. Lincoln is a saint. But that’s not how human beings are.

A_P: Sex is a recurring theme in many of the stories in this collection -- though not as predominant as it was in My Life -- and you write about it deeply and with an intricacy few in the business can match. It leads us to wonder, are you getting any?

SA: Not nearly enough. My ladyfriend lives in California, so I spend a lot of time wanting to have sex, but not having sex. That’s not a bad arrangement for a fiction writer. As I sometimes joke, the reason I write about sex so much is because I have it so little. But I’ve had just about enough yearning and burning. I’d rather be having lots of sex.

A_P: Whom do you channel when you go deep into the minds of your characters? Who taught you to think in such detail, and how long does it take to develop, say, a Maureen Fleming or a Paul in “The Problem of Human Consumption”

SA: The best answer here is my parents, who are psychiatrists (now psychoanalysts). That’s the family culture I grew up in. And I’m a veteran of therapy myself. Most of life, in my experience, is run by people’s unconscious motives. That’s the private universe that almost never gets discussed. And those are the depths I want to plumb with my stories. Like an analyst, I’m always trying to get at the deepest fears and wishes of my characters. Someone like Maureen is really just my effort to sympathize with all those female friends of mine who get duped by sadistic cads, who are being told by the culture that they should have a career and a family, who are totally exhausted and bamboozled by that effort. A lot of this comes down to simply sticking with my characters in their time of hurt, not bailing out, in fact, slowing the action down. If you’re not moving forward, you have to move inward.

A_P: Is it true you’re really a rock & roller imprisoned in a writer’s body? Are you still involved with the Earfull series in Boston?

SA: Yeah, actually, we came up with a second music/lit series called “Cover 2 Cover,” which has writers reading their favorite writers, and bands playing their favorite covers. Plus a DJ (me) plays all covers. We did it at the Paradise Lounge and we got 150-200 folks there every time out, all drinking, flirting, dancing, and listening to kick-ass art. Very cool. This is part of my larger effort to bring literature into the mainstream, to make it feel less exclusive and uptight.

A_P: We lauded My Life as one of the best books released in 2002, but when we last spoke, you implied it didn’t sell well, that that caused troubles for you. However, your follow-up, Candyfreak, turned out to be a huge seller. Did that provide some vindication?

SA: Well, “huge” is probably overstating the case, but yeah, it did a lot better than Heavy Metal. That’s what happens when you write a book about candy. The real problem is that not a lot of people read short stories. That’s just the prevailing culture. We’ve become screen addicts: TVs, computers, video games, cell phones. At the same time, I think Heavy Metal made a deep impact on the people who found it. And that’s really all you can do as a writer: be thankful for the readers you do find. I am totally psyched that Candyfreak did well, though, partly because it might bring people to my fiction. But as a literary writer, unless you just have a monster hit, you’re basically a whimpering dog.

A_P: Who’s the funniest guy you know -- celebrity figure or ‘real’ person?

SA: My brother Dave. He’s a total head case, but incredibly hilarious. I love Chris Rock and John Stewart, the guys who just tell the truth about our absurd state of affairs. About half the time, the South Park guys just absolutely slay me. I don’t have a TV, but I have my friend tape South Park for me. That’s how sick I am.

A_P: So now that all is said and done… what’s next?

SA: Next Spring, Algonquin will publish a novel I co-wrote with the wonderful novelist Julianna Baggott. It’s called “Which Brings Me to You: A Novel in Confessions.” We haven’t quite finishing editing it, but it’s gonna rock. And I continue, without much success, to attempt to write a novel on my own. And, of course, I’ll continue to put out my super dorky music e-zine, The Tip.