Lauren Bufferd

Interview by

Peter Heller finds success once again in The River, a riveting story of wilderness survival. Things are bleak enough when Wynn and Jack’s idyllic camping trip is interrupted by a forest fire. But when they find an abandoned, badly injured woman, does this mean they are also being tracked by a would-be killer? Heller shares insight into his new novel and a look at his reading list.

The River has so many strong visual elements. Did you start with an image in mind?
I usually begin with music—the cadence and notes of a first line. I just love how the music of the language can carry one straight to a strong visual image and strong emotion, and how, if one lets it run, it can also bring characters alive and lead straight into a story. It’s the magic of writing fiction. So The River began with the first line about smelling smoke and a string of lakes and led to a vivid image of the distant glow of a giant forest fire breathing at nightfall. It still raises the hair on the back of my neck.

When you began to write The River, how much did you know about what was going to happen to Wynn and Jack?
I had no clue about anything. There were these two best friends in a canoe, and a forest fire upwind, and then a couple of shady men camping on an island. I love to be as surprised as my readers. I write in a coffee shop, and as stuff happened I’d find myself shaking my head as if to clear it, and just stopping to breathe. I kept murmuring, “Whoa!” “Gaw!” It was thrilling.

You’ve been very up front that Celine was inspired by your mother. Are Wynn and Jack based on anyone you know?
Yes. I didn’t mean to, but it usually happens that way. As I wrote, and as Jack and Wynn became clear, I realized that Jack was a lot like me. Not that I was raised on a ranch, or ever decked a guy in a bar, but that he was like me in his responses and feelings, and the way he thought about things. And Wynn was a lot like one of my oldest and dearest friends, an ephemeral artist in Vermont who is also a gentle giant and a supremely competent outdoorsman. Jay and I have shared a lot of trips together, and I realized that the boys were acting a lot like us, and that their friendship was just as sweet and based on a lot of the same loves. The scene where the boys meet each other came straight from my first week knowing Jay.

In your own adventures as an outdoorsman, have you ever had any experiences as harrowing as what you write about here? Or maybe not as harrowing, but close? If so, what did that teach you?
Yes. I used to do a lot of expedition paddling in far-flung places. I have been on a kayak expedition, on a first-descent steep creek in the Pamirs, and run out of food and had to paddle very difficult water on a sourball a day for several days. And in the morning found wolf tracks on the sand of the beach. I’ve had another river runner die in my arms. And I’ve wondered at times if I would survive the day. These experiences always drove home that the only way through is to look out for each other. I think it’s a lesson that applies to the rest of life.

I love that Wynn is an artist. You’ve written about the art world before—is there a place where the natural world and the artifice of the gallery naturally meet?
They meet in every good painter’s heart. In the spirit of every good sculptor. I love great art because it makes the natural world intimate in ways that surprise us, and that move us deeply with a knowledge and immediacy and love of the world that is fresh and novel. We can experience nature, in the broadest sense, through another’s eyes and heart. How curious and wonderful.

What nature writers do you admire?
I grew up loving Joseph Conrad and Hemingway. Emily Dickinson slayed me. I admire the music of Derek Walcott and how he writes about the sea. My favorites, though, are the ancient Chinese poets of the Tang Dynasty. In just two lines, the great ones—Li Po, Wang Wei, Tu Fu, Li Shang Yin, Xue Tao—can put you knee deep in a mountain torrent or an autumn lake.

There have been some mystery and thriller elements in your last two books. What crime writers do you like?
I don’t read a lot of crime. My mother, the private eye, had stacks of Dick Francis and Sue Grafton on her bed table. The one crime writer I devour, and whose books I can’t wait for, is James Lee Burke. He’s a wonderful writer, and he has a crazy good series about a Cajun detective in southwest Louisiana named Dave Robicheaux.

Were you a big reader as a kid? What kinds of books did you like?
I read nonstop. I carried a book always, and when I got out of school and was an itinerant kayak instructor I always carried a milk crate full of books, mostly poetry. I loved Faulkner and Wallace Stevens, John McPhee and Eudora Welty; Yeats, Basho, Flannery O’Connor and Gary Snyder. I was very eclectic.

Why did you transition from writing nonfiction to novels?
I wanted to write fiction since I was a kid. After college I had to make a living, so I began writing for magazines, and that led to a slew of nonfiction books. And then it was time. . . . Writing fiction was like coming home.

Do you have any writing rituals?
Yes! Two mugs of coffee and then a double-shot latte. A thousand words a day, every day, and I always stop in the middle of a scene or a compelling train of thought. I read that Graham Greene did that—he wrote 500 words a day, every day of his life, and he’d stop in the middle of a sentence in the middle of a love scene. Most writers I know write through a scene. But if you think about it, that’s stopping at a transition, a double-return, white space. That’s what you face the next morning; it’s almost like starting the book fresh. If you stop in the middle, you can’t wait to continue the next day.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of The River.

Author photo by John Burcham

“The only way through is to look out for each other.”
Interview by

Kiley Reid wants you to know three things before reading her debut novel, Such a Fun Age.


First, the author says during a phone call amid a very busy book touring schedule, she loves talking about money, class and “all those gauche, awkward things that people don’t want to talk about.”

Second, she’s interested in how memory works and how people can have different views of the same event.

And third, she loves dialogue, especially when people are saying one thing but mean something else.

These all come together in Such a Fun Age, Kiley Reid’s smart stunner of a social novel. It’s a will-she-won’t-she page turner about an underemployed African American woman and the wealthy white family that hires her as a babysitter. Never has reading about benefits negotiations been so exciting.

Emira Tucker, a recent graduate from Temple University, is eking out a financially precarious living, cobbling together jobs and dreading her 26th birthday, when she will be dropped from her parents’ health insurance. Her employers, Alix and Peter Chamberlain, have recently relocated from New York to Philadelphia, where Peter is an anchor on a local news show and Alix attempts to turn her lifestyle blog into a book. They hire Emira to take care of toddler Briar and new baby Catherine.

“Do I think she’s a villain? No, not at all. But she can still cause just as much damage.”

Reid wastes no time getting to the heart of things. The novel opens late one night when Emira is at a friend’s birthday party. The Chamberlains ask her to come to the house; a rock has been thrown through the window, and the police are expected. Briar is awake and disconcerted, and the parents ask Emira to take the 2-year-old away from the chaotic scene. Emira chooses an upscale neighborhood grocery store, but is confronted by the store’s security guard, who accuses her of kidnapping Briar. The scene quickly escalates. Kelley Copeland, a well-meaning white bystander, begins to film the encounter on his phone. The Chamberlains are called in, and the ugly incident is diffused—but not without laying the groundwork for future damage.

“I love novels that start with something that really pulls me in,” Reid says. “That’s why I started with the grocery store incident. I wanted to explore these instances of racial biases that don’t end in violence as a way of highlighting those moments that we don’t see on the news but still exist every day.”

Kelley encourages Emira to post the video on social media or send it in to the local news. She refuses, but when they run into each other a few weeks later, they begin dating. Meanwhile, Alix, embarrassed at how little she knows about her babysitter, shows a new curiosity in Emira’s life, even sneaking peeks at her phone and asking to meet the new boyfriend. After Kelley and Alix discover that they went to high school together, Alix’s meddling increases, and Emira becomes uncomfortable with Kelley’s ultimatum that she quit her job.

“I wanted to write about a triangle of people who know each other but don’t really know each other, other than ‘I used to date you back in the day, but I don’t really know you anymore,’” Reid says, “or ‘I pay you to work for me, but I don’t really know you.’ I wanted three people to have that awkward connection to each other, to let the attitudes of the characters lead in terms of how they reveal themselves on the page.”

Reid is a recent graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and is currently living in Philadelphia, where she is adapting Such a Fun Age into a screenplay. (Lena Waithe’s production team, Hillman Grad Productions, bought the rights to develop the novel last August, when Reid was still finishing up her degree in Iowa.) During the writing of the novel, which took nearly five years, Freddie Gray died after being held in police custody in Baltimore, and Philando Castile was shot by police in Minnesota. ‘‘Smaller, more domestic incidents were happening constantly,” Reid remembers. “There wasn’t one I was trying to re-create, but I was absolutely inspired by the everyday terror. In fact, my book was being shopped when the two African American men were arrested at the Starbucks in Philadelphia. These kinds of incidents are real. I wanted to focus on the fact that for Emira, this doesn’t go away.”

In lesser hands, the meddling Alix would be the villain of the story. But Reid doesn’t see it that way. “Alix has many great qualities—she’s quick, creative, funny. I’ve definitely experienced what Alix has experienced, in having little friend-crushes on someone,” Reid says. “I see her bad qualities as more of a symptom of a broken system. Like a lot of us, she wants to feel good and like she’s doing good. So she thinks giving Emira a bottle of wine is going to solve something, when what Emira needs is health insurance and to be able to pay her rent on time. Do I think she’s a villain? No, not at all. But she can still cause just as much damage.”

Just as Alix isn’t the bad guy, neither is Emira a hero, though her actions at times and her love for Briar are heroic in their way. (One of the core strengths of the novel is the fierce attachment Emira feels for Briar, even as she acknowledges that their relationship is part of, as Reid puts it, “an exchange of emotional goods.”)

“I wanted to write about a character who doesn’t know what she wants to do and is in a very vulnerable emotional and financial situation,” Reid explains. “Emira has a college education, she’s smart, she has good friends, but things are still very difficult for her, especially as her health insurance is ending.” Worst of all, she blames herself for being underemployed, especially as all her friends are more gainfully employed with their own apartments and benefits.

Like the novel’s principal characters, the supporting cast is unforgettable, from the precocious Briar to Peter’s conventional but take-charge co-anchor. Reid’s skill with character and dialogue keeps the action moving forward at a brisk clip, most visibly at the Chamberlain Thanksgiving table. The scene is a masterpiece of discomfort and revelation, with all the awkwardness that could possibly occur when a volatile mix of friends, former lovers and employers get together in one room. 

“To have that many people in the room has been one of my favorite writing challenges, and it took me about six to eight weeks to get a rough draft,” recalls Reid with a laugh. “I am not great at math, so I had to map out where everyone sat or moved so I could keep track of them. Honestly, I kept losing the babies, forgetting whose laps they were sitting on or if they were even at the table. This is my favorite kind of puzzle game—to create questions that I can then answer. What recipe would this person make? If there was an awkward moment, who would jump in and save the day? Who would make it worse?”

The timeliness of Such a Fun Age is reinforced by the robust presence of social media, which Reid seamlessly integrates into her story. But true to form, there is a message behind the technique. “Social media allows people to see racism play out in real time, in really terrifying ways,” Reid says. “I wanted to include that panic from the onlooker, that point where you are wondering, ‘What am I seeing, do I need to pull out my phone?’ Social media is also the way people brand themselves, which Alix does very successfully, even pretending to her followers that she still lives in New York City. Emira doesn’t use Instagram or Facebook, because she doesn’t really know who she is.”

Back to the things Riley wants you to know. Money, guilt, the emotional cost of a transactional economy and unrecognized white privilege are at the heart of Such a Fun Age. But make no mistake, it’s also a blast to read, and you will laugh out loud. 

“I have no pretense to pretend that this is anything other than a novel, and for me, a novel is meant to entertain,” says Reid. “That being said, I wrote a story about a young woman who is about to come to the end of her health insurance, and that affects her greatly. I want someone to say, ‘Well, why doesn’t she have insurance? She’s a wonderful employee, a hard worker. What would our world look like if that wasn’t an issue?’ Now, that would be a great reaction.” 


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of Such a Fun Age.

Editor’s note: An earlier version of this article incorrectly named Lena Waithe’s production company. It also called baby Catherine the wrong name.

Author photo © David Goddard

Kiley Reid wants you to know three things before reading her debut novel, Such a Fun Age.

Review by

David Hopen’s ambitious debut novel combines the religiously observant world of Chaim Potok’s books with the academic hothouse of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s observations of the rich and privileged.

The Orchard follows a year in the life of 17-year-old Aryeh Eden after his family moves from an insular Orthodox community in Brooklyn to a wealthy Florida suburb. A senior in high school and completely unprepared for the process of college applications, Aryeh enrolls at an elite Jewish school with a student body so entitled that his classmates plan to drive their luxury cars straight to their preferred Ivy League campuses. Aryeh is befriended by golden boy Noah and his group of privileged friends, including stoner Oliver and competitive Amir. Their constant drug use, partying and sexual activity is as alluring to Aryeh as it is disturbing. Aryeh is especially drawn to Sophia, whose sad-eyed glamour holds a myriad of secrets, not least of which involve her old boyfriend Evan, a charismatic bad boy whose transgressions are constantly overlooked by the school even when his antics escalate and become life-threatening.

Weekly meetings with school headmaster Rabbi Bloom offers opportunities for the thoughtful Aryeh to explore deeper issues in Jewish scripture and philosophy, but it doesn’t compare with the secular pleasures on offer, and he finds himself repeatedly drawn in to dangerous situations.

Though Hopen is tuned in to Aryeh’s toxic mix of advanced intellectual abilities and low self-esteem, the novel suffers from underdeveloped female characters who exist as unattainable objects rather than individuals with plans and dreams of their own. In addition, the thorny philosophical debates held by Aryeh and his male friends lack the subtlety needed to make fictional events seem possible.

Acknowledging these considerable shortcomings, The Orchard is still a suspenseful novel with a brisk pace and a surprising outcome. Thoughtful depictions of the range of religious experience and practice make it a singular addition to the world of Jewish fiction as well as a notable variation on the classic campus novel.

David Hopen’s ambitious debut combines the religiously observant world of Chaim Potok’s books with the academic hothouse of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s observations of the rich and privileged.

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