Q&A with Jane Smiley
”READING NOVELS IS A FORM OF EMOTIONAL EDUCATION.”
—JANE SMILEY, 74, THE PULITZER PRIZE–WINNING NOVELIST OF A THOUSAND ACRES, TALKS ABOUT STORYTELLING, THE POWER OF CURIOSITY AND THE LESSONS HORSES TEACH
In your new book, The Questions That Matter Most, you describe St. Louis as “a perfect spot for a future novelist to grow up.” How so?
There were so many things to look at, so many people to talk to. All different types, sociologically, and all kinds of different cultures. It made me interested in all the people around me.
Are you from a family of storytellers?
Yes, and the stories they told us kids were positive. But then I’d get up and go to the kitchen and someone would say, “Now, that’s not what happened. Here’s what really happened.” That was one of the best things for me. It told me that my mother and my cousins thought differently and had their own points of view.
Your parents separated when you were 1, and you didn’t see your father much. But you write that he gave you two important gifts: your height (6’2”) and his absence.
My father had mental issues, which people didn’t talk about then the way we do now. But, looking back, I think he would have been very domineering. My mom had a busy job [as a newspaper editor], and my grandparents were quite easygoing. So I mostly did what I wanted to do. I wasn’t wild or anything like that. But I had some cousins who were. I didn’t mind observing them being wild.
You’ve written several books about horses. What did riding teach you?
Because horses are herd animals, they pay attention to what other beings around them are noticing. So one of the key aspects of learning to ride is to not be tense. For me, that was hard because I was basically a little scaredy-cat. I’ve never been nervous about writing. It’s physical things that make me nervous.
You talk in your book about reading as a pathway to freedom. What do you mean?
A novel is a way for two people who don’t know each other to interact intellectually and emotionally. So if I’m reading Pride and Prejudice, for example, I can relate to Elizabeth Bennet when she gets insulted by Mr. Darcy. That’s what the novelist wants you to do. Often, when you’re reading a novel that appeals to you, you feel a sense of connection to the author in a way that is different from any other form of literature. And as you become more aware of how the characters in the novel are feeling and thinking, you also become more aware of how you’re feeling and thinking. So reading novels is a form of emotional education.
Didn’t you get stuck while writing your novel Good Faith?
Yes, sometimes there’s frustration. When 9/11 happened, a lot of writers looked at their work and said, “This is pointless.” What I did was read other authors’ works all the way back to The Tale of Genji [an 11th-century Japanese novel], and the more I read, the more I realized that writing novels was a way of trying to sort out what’s going on in your world. That really perked me up, and I got back to my novel.
Why do novelists get better with age?
Well, first, you have to learn how to write a novel. I knew what I wanted to write almost from the beginning of my career. But my first three books were “practice” novels. I had to learn how to make a plot, how to pay attention to characters, how to organize the setting. That meant I couldn’t do my magnum opus right out of the box.
The myth is that genius favors youth. But there are some artists who are just as creative when they get older.
One of my favorite writers is Anthony Trollope. He just couldn’t stop. He did a lot of stuff when he was young, a lot of stuff when he was middle age, and a lot of stuff when he was old. And the books are all interesting in different ways. Another example is Leonard Cohen. He wrote interesting songs all the way to the end. I think it’s more difficult for songwriters because your voice changes. Novelists don’t have that kind of performance anxiety.
What keeps you going?
Curiosity. I hear something new and think, I’d like to figure that one out. And the more I find out, the more interesting it gets. And I think, Oh, I could turn that into a novel.
Interview by Hugh Delehanty