Q. After seven books, which one would you say is your favorite? Which means the most to you?

A. This is a little like asking ‘which of my children do I love most?’ Even if I had an answer, it would be highly improper to utter it out loud!

But seriously, one of the very odd things about being a writer is that it doesn’t matter what my books mean—to me, anyway. My readers often find things in my books that frankly I either don’t remember putting there, didn’t do so consciously, or which mean  something very different to me than they do to them. This is something I didn’t understand about writing before I got into it in earnest.

Permit me to explain with an example.

Way back when in high school, one of our assigned books was F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. And I recall rather vividly the teacher going on at considerable length about the symbolic meaning of this or that—colors and textures and so on. You know, such stuff as ‘notice that in this scene Gatsby is wearing a wrinkled linen suit—and linen suggests that he’s longing to return to the summer of his youth, while the wrinkles mean that he realizes he’s getting older,’ etc.

It’s fair to say that at the time I found it more than a little dubious (i.e., ‘rank BS’) that Fitzgerald, however great a genius he was, could come up with all this symbolic stuff and then methodically pack it into such a compact book (especially while falling-down drunk, which he all-too-often was).

But after I started writing, and I started hearing from readers about things they’d seen in one of my books—things I’d never thought of myself—I think I understand. Most writers don’t probably sit around and sketch out all the symbolic stuff they or their readers are supposed to extract from a story—or at least I don’t. Instead, what I’ve noticed is that writing is a bit like dreaming while awake. (Or, to be fair to the esteemed Mr. Fitzgerald, not unlike being a bit intoxicated.) The writing process opens up some deep connection to the writer’s subconscious mind, memories, and experiences—all of which bubble up unbidden and unintentionally as the story comes together.

When I’m writing, sometimes even a particular word will shout itself at me, for reasons I neither understand nor attempt to understand. I simply listen and write it down.

Now the ‘meaning’ of the words (or characters or scenes) I dream up may be one thing to me, and quite another to you, because readers are, in essence, interpreting my dream with their minds, memories, and life experience. Thus it’s highly likely that in one of my books that a reader will ‘notice’ things that I as the author didn’t consciously insert—or overlook ones that I did. And the same can be said for Fitzgerald or most any good author, I feel certain. A reader’s interpretation reveals far more about the reader, in fact, than it does about the author.

Does that imply, then, that these symbolic meanings aren’t there at all, whether in The Mosquito God or The Great Gatsby? 

My answer now is very different from the one I had in high school. After many surprising conversations with readers about my writing, I’ve come to believe that if you as a reader find meaning (or symbolism) in something I wrote, then that’s good enough for me. After seven published novels, I can say one thing for certain: That every word, phrase, character, and scene of each one emerged from some deep, dreaming place in my mind. I simply fixed them on the page like so many X-ray images: ghostly and open to interpretation. Yours.

 

 

Q. Do you recommend that I read your books in e-book, paperback, or hardcover?

A. Um, I recommend that you read them, but how you do is your business.

Now because I’m a fossil, from a personal point of view I still enjoy holding a book—especially a hardcover—in my hands. I like the smell of the paper; I like the heft; I like the way it looks on the bookshelf. And yet hardcovers aren’t cheap, so if it’s a book I’ll read once and maybe not keep on the shelf, I’ll buy a softcover, because it’s still a book, as I define it.

But hold on a second, because I can see all the advantages to Kindle or Nook or whatever e-reader you might use. You don’t have to go to a bookstore or wait for a package. You can tuck a whole library into your carry-on bag. You can read a book on the beach without searing your retinas into charcoal. You’ve got a dictionary right at hand!

Not to mention that one of the Dirty Little Secrets of the Book Business is that my beloved hardcovers are money-losers—they’re expensive to print and ship and keep in stock. Softcovers are a little better, but not by much. But e-books, wow—they’re nothing but weightless electrons zipping around! No printing. No shipping. Libraries can buy and lend as many as they need to without taking up precious shelf space. And so even though e-books cost less than physical books (or at least mine do), there’s actually a wee bit more profit in each one sold, and that means an wee-er bit more for yours truly. So believe me, I’ve come around to e-books in a Big Way.

Now since I do still stubbornly cling to the belief that there is something extra-special about holding a printed book, I might suggest you buy a physical copy (especially an autographed one from my site!) as a keepsake, and an e-book for your reading and re-reading pleasure. (Shameless commercial plug, but a good strategy nonetheless.