Storytellersunplugged

Where Words Meet

BECAUSE SOME THINGS ARE BETTER THAN PAIN

(THE NO-LONGER-LOST INTERVIEW)

by John Skipp (with Tomi Shaw)

I know this is sort of cheating — not really an essay at all — and my apologies are duly rendered.

I’M SORR-EEEEEE…!!!

But the fact is this: last May, shortly after the World Horror Convention, I was interviewed by the super-sharp and lovely Tomi Shaw for a smart genre publication named Prairie Dog 13.

Unfortunately, the Prairie Dog never got to come up and spread its terrible shadow across the world. (In other words, it never came out.)

So Tomi asked me if she could post the interview on her website (www.tomishaw.com).

I said, “Sure! If I can post it, too!”

And she said, “Sure!”

And there you have it!

I am particularly proud of this interview, because Tomi asked me questions that I have NEVER been asked, in an interview, before.

Thereby encouraging me to say some shit that I’d never had the opportunity to set down in print.

Some of it, I hope, will prove at LEAST as useful as whatever essay I might have hoped to write today.

That said:I HOPE YOU ENJOY!

Yer pal,
Skipp

—————

THE JOHN SKIPP INTERVIEW (5/10/05)

TC: We spoke in NYC about Vonnegut’s quote “literature is in fear of being swallowed up its own ass.” In what ways do you agree or disagree with his sentiment? Where did lit fic go wrong, or right?

JS: Well, if by “literature” you mean the kind of short stories that get published in The New Yorker - essentially, fiction as a literary still-life, in which much thinking happens, but nothing gets done - I must admit, I’m not real crazy about it. But that doesn’t mean that it’s all ass-bound.

If, on the other hand, “literature” simply means passionate, eloquent, insightful, engrossing, brain and soul-feeding fiction…well, we will always have that. There will always be writers of great talent and vision. And if we want to, we can read ‘em.

But if I understand your question correctly, you’re making the highbrow/lowbrow distinction, as set down in the halls of academe. The perception that all genre work is junk food. Which is where that whole “head up the ass” thing comes in.

Personally, I advocate the “third brow” approach: a cross-pollination of refined sensibility and monster truck mayhem. I think everyone should get the view from both the penthouse and the gutter, the church and the charnel house. Spend some time as both saint and sinner, not to mention everything between. Which, to me, is what good fiction is all about.

I loved Michael Chabon’s intro to McSWEENEY’S MAMMOTH TREASURY OF THRILLING TALES. In it, he suggests an alternate universe wherein only novels about nurses are published; and he further suggests that, no matter HOW good those novels might be, you’d be bored to fucking death after a while.

He goes on to say that the modern short story - at least in terms of “lit fic” - is precisely that inbred, strip-mined and thrill-free. He then argues that many writers of yesteryear whom we consider to be “literary” today - Poe, Balzac, Conrad, Faulkner, and Twain, for example - actually cooked up some pretty ripping yarns, back in the day. And he concludes that modern short fiction might find itself enlivened if it got out of the house and HAD AN ADVENTURE OR SOMETHING!

Understand, I’m paraphrasing madly. He’s a literary guy. A COOL literary guy! Which just goes to show ya: literature is alive and well. Every time somebody writes a great book, or story, the art form is reborn, and the bloodline continues.

TS: In STUPOGRAPHY, you mention your kids and their friends, stating “Say what you will about TV info glut: one perk is a great cultural sense of humor. These are some sharp-witted motherfuckin’ kids. I’m amazed by how many of them really get the joke.” What effect, if any, do you think literature has had in their lives? Can the advent of literary horror (as well as splatterpunk, etc.) bring young people back to reading?

JS: My kids are far more informed by movies, music, and TV than they are by books, and that’s all there is to it. It’s not that they don’t like books - we read them Dr. Seuss when they were babies, for fuck’s sake; of COURSE they like books! - but it isn’t the medium they turn to first when they’re looking for a good time.

The fact is: some people LOVE TO READ. And there will always be those people. And there are also phases in one’s life which are all about the reading: a decade where you just can’t get enough, often followed (at least for me) by a couple years where you CAN get enough, and already have.

As for everybody else: they’ll read if they have to, or if you somehow trick them into getting excited about a particular book.

The best argument for reading-as-pleasure is a book that is ACTUALLY A PLEASURE TO READ. So when I stumble upon one I think they’d like, I throw it out there, and see what happens. Sometimes it’s horror. Sometimes it’s not. My oldest daughter prefers fantasy books. She’s reading WICKED right now. And my younger one recently read CHOKE because the film version of FIGHT CLUB kicked her ass.

TS: It’s evident you love music and theater. In what ways do the different media play off each other? Do they have a responsibility to each other as well as society?

JS: I tend to think of all media as contiguous: a million ways to approach the same basic impulse, which is communication through creative expression. And I think most genuine artists, in any medium, feel a responsibility to make great art, or at least scrape at greatness to the best of their ability.

If you have a gift, you want to honor it. And you also want to play with it. And the by-product of that is that others get to watch, or hear, or otherwise participate in this art-thing that you made.

Right now, I’m crazy about making movies, because it’s the one medium where I get to integrate all of my art-cravings. There’s a story. There’s music. There’s the theatrical performance. There’s the camerawork and editing, the lighting and the sound, the art direction, and on, and on. It’s one-stop shopping, for me.

As for responsibility, I guess the big one is to NOT MAKE CRAP. But, of course, one man’s crap is another man’s delicious baloney sandwich. You know? Personal aesthetics are just about as goddam personal as things get.

TS: In a blurb for Conscience, this was written:

Charley Weber is a lousy guy. He kills for a living, and doesn’t mind it a bit.
He has come to L.A. to do something terrible: for money, for vengeance, and to make an ugly point about life and truth and love.
But a funny thing happens on the way to the massacre. He finds himself confronted by the only one who could possibly stop him.
He finds himself confronted by… himself.

As a society, what about confronting ourselves do you think we will find? As individuals, what should we be looking for?

JS: Well, CONSCIENCE is a story built around the notion of facing yourself. Coming to terms with yourself. Recognizing who you are, at the core. Recognizing the scar tissue and damage for what it is. Standing outside of yourself, and seeing in from an egoless distance. That, right there, is a pretty tall order.

And as it happens to poor ol’ Charley Weber, it also holds a mirror up to the whole wide world. I don’t want to give away too much - it’s a lot more fun just to read the nice story - but the whole thing takes place during a New Age Cozmic Convergence of sorts, where the micro-personal and the macro-political might come to reflect each other with painful precision.

It’s a psychological horror story, so it probes some dark psyches. But it’s also about letting in the light of truth. And truth, I think, is what we should be looking for. Truth in the service of empathy and humility, which leads to honesty towards oneself and others.

Wooo-HOOO! How’s THAT for some high-falutin’ shit?

TS: I read an article by Steve Almond recently in which he said, “I only trust the ugly writers, anyway. Deep down, those are the ones who have earned their wrath.” What impact does beauty or its opposite hold over modern aesthetics? And does that influence the literature of our times?

JS: I don’t know about that young man’s quote. I mean, I get the spirit and all; but it’s an overstatement, to say the least. There are a lot of ugly fuckers runnin’ around out there, and half of ‘em haven’t earned jack shit. They’re just ugly cuz they’re UGLY. That doesn’t mean they get a prize.

That being said: I had a fascinating conversation with Jim Van Bebber, a couple years back. (His film, THE MANSON FAMILY, was just released in May of 2005, after a literal fifteen-year struggle to get it made, sold, and shown. Talk about a man who has burned for his art. And let me tell you, it’s kind of a masterpiece: a real triumph of true indie filmmaking, and the best, smartest, most vividly realistic and jaw-dropping film I’ve seen on the subject, by far. My friend Scott goes so far as to say that THE MANSON FAMILY and Oliver Stone’s NIXON make the quintessential double-bill for holding up a mirror to the nightmare of the ’60’s.)

Anyway, we were partying one night - we’d met, like, twice before - and he said to me, “You know, I really admire your work. You know what pain is. You’re not afraid to face down your demons. You’ve been through the fire, and seen the shit of the world, and you didn’t turn away. You put it all in the work.”

This was high praise from a guy like Jim, and I thanked him deeply for his respect. Then he went on to talk about the purifying, clarifying power of pain. It was an articulate and heartfelt riff, coming purely from personal experience; and I knew exactly what he meant, and have felt the same way, too.

But I’m gonna tell you what I told him, that night.

“The thing about pain,” I said, “is that it clarifies some things, and obscures others. Pain speaks to pain; and when you’re in the grip of it, it’s hard to remember what life was like without it.

“The trick is to experience the pain, learn what there is to be learned down there, and then GET THE FUCK BACK TO THE HAPPY PLACE. Cuz if you never make it back to the land of the living - and by this I mean the TRULY living, where life is a glorious and extraordinary thing - then you lost the battle. The horror won. The shadow has claimed you, and now the light just pisses you off.”

You know, it doesn’t take a genius to know that it hurts when somebody crushes your skull, or your soul. It doesn’t automatically make you deep, or smart, or a great artist, or even an honest one. It’s what you do with your experience of horror that determines your character, or lack thereof.

Yeah, suffering can ennoble a soul. But it can also snap you like a twig, or turn you into a blustering, self-righteous asshole. Or all of the above, by turns.

Umm…did that answer the question?

TS: And finally, let’s get philosophical. (laughs) THE CLEANUP, as an example, seems to be about crime, poverty, the decay of society and the human reaction to it. Existential angst, in other words. How much of a role does personal morality (whatever that means) play in your work? Do you see yourself as a philosopher who writes fiction (ala Camus, Sartre, Dostoevsky)?

JS: Oh, I’m a philosopher, all right! I’m such a moralist, it’s almost disgusting.

That said: I’m not an existentialist, any more than I am a Christian. I believe that we are personally responsible, yes; but I also think that we’re a part of something larger. Which is to say, God. My experience is that we’re all individualized manifestations of the infinite energy and genius that underlies all things. I call that thing “God”, for the sake of convenience.

My only problem with existentialism is that it defines us as alone, inside our little bags of skin, confronting an alien and hostile universe. (That’s how Alan Watts - a favorite philosopher of mine - described the modern, godless dilemma.) And I really don’t think we are alone. It just feels that way, much of the time.

The best thing about art, in any form, is that it reminds you that you’re not alone. Somebody else feels that way, too. They captured the feeling, and shared it with you. That’s what it’s all about.

But, anyway. You were asking about fiction as a means of addressing societal ills. And, yeah, horror fiction is built for addressing the damage. It’s the fiction of consequences and worst-case scenarios. So if you don’t tackle that material through your work, I kind of feel like you’re pissing down your leg. You had a shot at writing something that really meant something, and you blew it. Oh, well. Better luck next time!

Let me say, though - and this circles back to the last question - there’s more than one way to skin reality’s cat. And horror purists are as guilty as “literary” purists, with regard to this conceit. I would say that the social commentary in my comical fantasy THE EMERALD BURRITO OF OZ (which I wrote with Marc Levinthal) is every bit as scathing as THE CLEANUP, or THE BRIDGE. It’s just funnier, that’s all.

I love great horror fiction, be it subtle or splattery. I also love comedy. And I like them together. Laughter is the sugar on the razor blade, and tragedy is the muscle that powers the joke.

I also love beauty, and simple contentment, and the calm clarity that comes from making peace with the world. These are the things that make life worthwhile. That make the horror worth wading through.

Throw in some good smoke, hot sex, filet mignon (rare), a swimming pool, a bunch of friendly people, some beer, and perhaps an adorable puppy or kitty, and I’M THERE, BABY! I will tackle the world. With all its woes. Just keep that good shit comin’, and I’m with you, all the way.

To sum up: I’m probably a little more cheerful than Camus, Sartre, and Dostoevsky. At least these days. But when it comes time to bring down the hammer, I still got a pretty good swing.

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