McClelland & Stewart: What are you reading now?
Nancy Lee: Right now I’m reading Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I’ve been on a 19th Century novel kick for a while, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Anna Karenina. I found it too difficult reading dark, contemporary fiction while I was finishing Dead Girls, so I started a classics reading regimen. I’m also reading Jayne Anne Phillips’s first collection, Black Tickets. I’m fascinated by writers’ first books – they often have an exciting, slightly messy energy that gets lost in later works. Black Tickets is unapologetically gritty and raw, full of shocking imagery, but at the same time breathtakingly lyrical. It’s intense, so I’m taking it in small doses, one or two stories at a time.
MS: Which writers have influenced your work?
NL: I’m think I’m more influenced by individual books and stories than I am by writers. In a strange way, George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss was probably the first book to influence my writing, even though I read it years before I even considered becoming a writer. It set a bar in terms of the authenticity and complexity of psychological and emotional relationships between characters. Barbara Gowdy’s collection We So Seldom Look on Love was a real turning point for me – it challenged everything I understood about appropriate short story content, it was the first Canadian book that I really loved. I go back to Annie Proulx’s The Shipping News again and again – there is so much to learn from that book. Christine Schutt’s collection Nightwork has also been a huge influence on me. Amy Hempel’s “In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson is Buried”, David Foster Wallace’s “Lyndon”, Kate Braverman’s “Tall Tales from the Mekong Delta”, Rick Moody’s “Demonology”, Zsuzsi Gartner’s “Boys, Growing,” gosh, I can’t say enough about those stories. Lorrie Moore’s Anagrams and her early stories, Jeffrey Eugenides’s The Virgin Suicides – oh, I could go on and on, but those are some of the writers/stories that have influenced the writing of this book. The next book, I can’t even predict.
MS: What draws you to a particular work of fiction?
NL: Energy. Vitality in the language. Intelligence. A sense of humour, even in the darkest corners. The promise that the writer will show or tell me something I don’t already know. What I read for, what I’m addicted to, is those moments of psychological/emotional Truth (with a capital T), where a writer has tapped into something that goes beyond story, an insight into real human experience.
MS: Your stories are raw, edgy snapshots of urban life that almost read like short films. How do you feel that your decision to write a collection of short stories rather than a novel affected your vision of Dead Girls? Do you think that you could have communicated the sense of isolation and fragmentation that pervades Dead Girls in the format of a novel?
NL: This is sort of like the chicken and the egg question. What came first, the idea to write a collection, or the idea to write Dead Girls? I was working on a collection, searching for a structure, when I wrote the stories “Dead Girls” and “Associated Press.” When I realized that I had inadvertently linked those two stories through a background narrative, the idea of Dead Girls as a collection was born. I like to think of Dead Girls as a concept album, individual tracks that harmonize and resonate with each other within a larger, over-arching context, multiple variations on the same themes. I can’t imagine Dead Girls as a novel. The scope of the stories would have had to be narrowed and I would have most certainly had to focus on fewer characters. Ultimately, I think, a novel structure would have proved too confining.
MS: You have a marvelous ear for dialogue, when reading your stories I almost felt as though I was eavesdropping. Have you ever written a play? Can you see yourself writing a play in the future?
NL: I did an undergraduate degree in Theatre and Film, so for two years I was reading nine or ten plays a week. I still go back and read plays every now and then, because they really are the richest examples of excellent dialogue. Unlike fiction where you have narrative exposition and film where you have a high dependence on visuals, the story of a play unfolds almost exclusively through dialogue. That said, I’ve never written a play (not one that I’ll admit to, anyway). I would be interested in writing a play, but it’s not something I’d presume to undertake without rigorous study.
MS: Stylistically, Dead Girls is immensely diverse; you use second-person narrative, you reverse the expected chronology, you slip in and out of time frames. Why did you choose to use a wide variety of styles?
NL: I love structure and form. Moreover, I love the relationship between structure and form and story content, I get giddy just thinking about it. The stylistic variations of the stories in the book are directly related to the narrative of each story and the situation of each protagonist. I’ve tried to use point-of-view and chronology to not only relate thematically to the story, but also as an indicator of the character’s internal state, and their relationship with the world around them.
MS: What is the meaning of the book for you?
NL: With this book, I wanted to take an event, the murder of prostitutes in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside and ask the question: if this event is a symptom of the society we live in, what is it telling us about our society? I suppose for me the meaning of the book lies in the idea that every event that happens around us reflects us in some way and that if instead of turning away from these events, if instead of dismissing those involved as “them,” we examine the very things that scare, disgust and horrify us, we can come to a more honest understanding of who we are and what we consider important.
MS: You teach at the Simon Fraser University Writing and Publishing Program, first of all how do you teach fiction writing? And second, how does one very public activity influence the other, more private one?
NL: I liken the experience of teaching fiction writing to teaching someone to ride a bicycle. I can explain the mechanics of a bike, I can show you how I and others ride a bike, I can even hold onto the bike and run beside you while you get a feel for working the pedals, but eventually, I have to let go, and you have to ride the bike all on your own. What I can teach directly to students is the mechanics of fiction, character, setting, structure, etc. We practice these elements through in-class exercises and I also expect my students to be writing at home, on their own. We study other writers and how they do what they do. And when students are ready, they bring in their work and we workshop. But, probably the most important thing I teach my students is how to study the craft of writing. Once a student learns how to study writing, how to analyze the work of others and comment intelligently, how to incorporate writing practice into their life, they can continue on their own. I think writers have been doing this very thing for centuries. Students tend to come in to a class believing that writing is some kind of unfathomable magic. The first thing I tell them: it isn’t magic, it’s work.
I love teaching writing as much as I love writing. There is something so inspiring and renewing about being in a room with twenty people who are excited about writing. Teaching keeps me in tune with why I became a writer in the first place, something you can easily lose sight of while toiling away on an umpteenth draft.
MS: You have said that you “wanted to write the kind of book you wanted to read,” can you expand on that?
NL: First, there’s the subject matter. I needed an idea that was large and complex enough to keep me interested through the writing of the book. My favourite books are those that address unwieldy, complicated issues, that seem at first to be about a person, but in the end are about all people. As a reader, the fiction I enjoy most grabs me by the throat and refuses to let go. I expect a certain level of energy, a constant hum of tension. There is also narrative proximity. I want to be as close to the story as I can get, to be an emotional and intellectual participant. I prefer to think and feel as I read rather than having the author do the thinking and feeling for me. I had these ideas in mind as I created this book. I wanted the stories in Dead Girls to seize the reader and hold them captive. I wanted the reader to participate fully as they read the book, to risk that some places were very dark and others light, but all of it worthwhile.
MS: I found that the “city” setting of Dead Girls, is as much of a character in the stories as the people, why was this important to you?
NL: Both Dead Girls and the novel I’m working on are set in Vancouver. I suppose the most practical reason is that Vancouver is the city I know the best, I’ve spent more time here than anywhere else. But because I’ve spent more than twenty years here, I feel I’m able to explore characteristics of the city that might otherwise go unnoticed. For me, the city is more than just a geographical area of land, it is the sum of all its inhabitants and their desires, their worries, their prejudices and indiscretions. It goes both ways, the city is made up of us, and we, as human beings, are formed and influenced by the place we inhabit. While researching teenage prostitution in Vancouver, I discovered that a huge percentage of the girls on the street weren’t even from Vancouver, but had come from smaller towns in B.C. and across Canada. The idea of a city having the presence of a character, luring, sheltering, tormenting other characters, seemed very natural.
MS: I understand you are working on a new novel. How is that experience differ from writing short stories? Can you talk about the different challenges/satisfactions of each?
NL: The novel is still in its infant stage, so I can’t really compare the two processes yet. I will say this – all the time I was working on Dead Girls, I complained to my friend Laisha Rosnau, who was finishing her novel The Sudden Weight of Snow, that writing a collection of short stories was far more difficult than writing a novel, that it was like writing eight different novels and oh, what I wouldn’t give to focus only on one story-line, on one set of characters. Laisha listened to all my whining with calm compassion and never once argued with me. I think that’s because she knew I would eventually be writing a novel and have to eat my words.
MS: What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
NL: Well, I have a minor addiction to “home porn” – I love looking at design and decorating magazines, Architectural Digest, House and Home. I love comparing paint chips. I spend way too much time in Home Depot. Right after finishing my book, I gutted my office, tore the existing paneling off the walls, spackled, sanded, painted, put up molding, and threw away a ton of junk! I love “rewriting” my surroundings. I’m very good at moving large pieces of furniture on my own. I also enjoy yoga and of course, reading, reading reading.