Afton Montgomery: The first thing I have to ask is about the last essay in the
book, "Before: An Inventory." I’d love to hear about your process
with that one— obviously it comes at the end of the collection and really draws
everything together, but it reads more like a road map that was written ahead
of time... is that the case? (By the way, that essay completely blew me away—
absolute favorite piece.)
Sarah Gerard: This was a really fun essay to write. My original intention was
to tell the story of my life backwards through every animal I’d ever seen,
which of course is impossible. Also, mostly irrelevant: not every animal I’ve
ever seen has been important to me, so they would not add up to a story. This
was my plan until I talked to a hypnotherapist. I’d planned to visit one to
help me remember all of the animals. By the time I talked to her, “every animal
I’d ever seen” had ballooned to include every animal I’d ever seen on the Internet,
and the essay was going to explore our modern relationship with technology and
the natural world, and etcetera, etcetera. It was unmanageable, and would have
made a very disorganized, and very long and boring essay. Thankfully, I was set
straight when the hypnotherapist explained to me that memories are stored
selectively, and that I would not have memories for animals that weren’t
associated with significant experiences. Ultimately, the essay was revised to
tell the story of my life backwards through every animal I’ve ever formed a
relationship with. We did some exercises to determine whether my dominant
modality was more visual or auditory or sensory. Then we went on an imaginary
journey to the bottom of a lake, and every bubble that rose to the surface had
an animal inside it. Over the next several weeks, clusters of animal memories
came to me in bursts, and I would pull over to write them down, or dictate them
into my phone, or my recorder. Then I plugged them all into a spreadsheet with
as much information as I could recall, including the year or span of years in
which I’d known these animals. Then I organized the spreadsheet in
reverse-chronological order, and just began writing the piece as a list
organized into paragraphs, or stanzas. I went through several rounds of editing
this piece, alone, with friends, and with my editor at Harper Perennial, to
nail the rhythm.
As far
as it being like a road map, it may seem that way because there’s a road trip
at the very beginning—my book tour for Binary Star. I turned thirty
right after my return to New York, and the essay was written on the occasion of
my 30th birthday.
AM: In your
title essay, “Sunshine State,” you wave off the title of journalist and
identify yourself as “more of a memoirist.” Can you tell me more about that
identifier? When do you think you became a memoirist? I’d also love to know why
you were drawn to such a path.
SG: I
think that conversation was meant to highlight how I identified when I began
writing the essay, but what’s funny about that answer is that I had yet to find
out, on my first day as a volunteer at the Suncoast Seabird Sanctuary, that I
would be rudely pushed into the role of journalist.
I had no idea what kind of scandal was brewing beneath the surface at the
Suncoast Seabird Sanctuary. I would need to become quite a sleuth to uncover
the story. The essay is also a piece of first-person journalism, and I appear in
it quite a bit as a character. This is to say that the line separating
journalism from memoir is very thin, and that the difference between treating
myself as a character as I would in a piece of memoir is not very far away from
the way I treat the people I’m writing about as a journalist. Memoir is a kind
of journalism of the self.
AM: Your
essays sway heavily between deeply personal explorations and more strict
reportage. What were your intentions with the variance here? How did you find a
balance?
SG: It’s
really a question of how much I belong in a given essay with regard to the
subject matter. Some of the essays in the book are about events and people from
my life, and they’re treated like straightforward memoir. But do I really want
to foreground my own experience in an essay about homelessness, for example?
I’m not homeless, nor am I an expert on homelessness. I simply think it’s an
interesting and important topic. At the same time, I do have some personal
experience with the Amway Corporation, so in the essay about Amway, I included
my own experience, because it was relevant. Because I was included in that
essay, I had to answer the question, “How did my childhood in Amway shape my
ideas about success and achievement?” If I had included myself to a greater
degree in “The Mayor of Williams Park,” the essay about homelessness in
Florida, I would have needed to answer a similar question. Which I can’t do,
because an essay about homelessness simply shouldn’t be about me—I can’t make
it, nor would I want to make it, about me. So, I leave myself out of the essay
and foreground those individuals whose story it is. What is journalism and what
is memoir is a matter of degree.
AM: My
favorite thing about Sunshine State is the way that your tone
of voice changes as a narrator with age and maturation. Was that a conscious
decision or something that happened naturally when you went to write about
certain topics?
SG: I
think both. I’ve understood the world differently at different points in my
life. I can inhabit those mindsets and compare them against my thinking in the
present day. When I reinhabit myself at age seven, I think in the voice of a
seven-year-old. When I inhabit myself in high school, I think in the voice of a
high schooler, and all of my high school friends sound like me, but if I were
to write about them today, they would sound different. I used words in high
school that I no longer use today. I responded to stimuli differently, and for
different reasons. As a writer I try to show this to my reader in a way that’s
seamless, so I embed it into the sound of the text, as well as writing it into
the text as information. This is voice. It also goes back to the question of
the author writing herself as a character—Sarah at age seven and Sarah at age
seventeen are two different characters. Every character has a voice of her own.
AM: Dwight Garner at the New York Times wrote, “One
of the themes of ‘Sunshine State’...is how Florida can unmoor you and make you
reach for shoddy, off-the-shelf solutions to your psychic unease.” Would you
say that your collection brought you some of those solutions or some catharsis
in its creation? (If this is the case, I’d love to know if it was also,
in fact, your purpose in writing this collection; if not, can you say what
was?)
SG: I
think I wrote this book just to prove to myself I could do it. Also, as a
matter of economic necessity: I sold it before I wrote it because I needed some
money to live on for the year that I took to write it. I wasn’t going to waste
that money, so I had to write the best book I could write. It wasn’t cathartic,
but I did feel accomplished when I was finished. I was grateful for the
opportunity to write about some aspects of my past that remained obscure to me,
like my mother’s first marriage, my off-beat childhood church, Amway, a sexual
assault, and deaths in my family. I also proved to myself that I’m not a bad
journalist, and that journalism is a tool that I have at my disposal as a
writer. I had time to feel fascinated, even obsessive, about some things, too,
which I always enjoy.
AM: I’ve been reading your column Mouthful on
Hazlitt and really connecting with it. Do you want to share anything about that
project or anything else that you’re currently working on?
SG: I’m
about to write what is supposed to be my last Mouthful column. I had originally
intended it to be a year-long exploration of my relationship with food ten
years into recovery from anorexia and bulimia. Of course, food is connected to
every aspect of your life, when you think about it. In addition to food, I’ve
written about love, Donald Trump, my ex-husband’s cancer, a woman who babysat
me when I was a toddler, vegetarianism and veganism, religion, my divorce,
water quality in Mexico, and lots of other things. Hazlitt really likes the column, so they’ve invited me to continue
writing it, but they’ve also given me the option of launching a new column, so
I’m considering what I may want to write about next. I’ll keep everyone
updated. Thanks for reading!
AM: And last but not least (of course I have to
ask), what are you currently reading?
SG: I’m reading a few books: Elena
Passarello’s Animals Strike Curious Poses, Maggie Nelson’s The RedParts, and my friend Meaghan O’Connell’s forthcoming book And Now We HaveEverything, about new motherhood.
Order your copy of Sunshine State.
Follow Sarah on Twitter: @SarahNumber4
