Interviews

“Hike Up that Second Mountain”: The Stockholm Writers Festival

 

On 13–15 April, our friends up north will be holding the Stockholm Writers Festival, the Swedish capital’s first-ever writers’ conference in English. It is devoted to helping emerging writers “find their path to published.” The program features a keynote by prizewinning novelist Elinor Lipman, panels and workshops with established writers, editors, and agents, as well as plenty of chances to meet fellow Scandinavia-based writers. See their website for more and to sign up quickly before they sell out. Our conversation with Catherine Pettersson, the festival’s founder, ranged from the geography of dubbing habits to the collection of an aristocratic hoarder and, along the way, gave us a picture of Stockholm’s vibrant English literary scene.

 

SAND: How did the idea for the Stockholm Writers Festival come about?

Catherine Pettersson: I’m a writer myself and for years I’ve had to travel to other countries that have no reputation for being even bilingual. Italy has a big literary festival, Paris has big English-language literary festivals, and Stockholm didn’t have one. It’s crazy because I get the feeling that Sweden is even more highly bilingual English than Germany, which is pretty good in on the grand scale of things. 

 

If you look at a map of English skills around Europe, Scandinavia basically wins.

What’s surprising about Germany is that you guys dub television programs.

 

I think the countries that tend to speak better English have smaller languages that cannot financially justify dubbing. Here it’s a huge industry, and every major Hollywood actor has a German “dubbelganger.” Their careers get linked together.

I guess that’s the unintended consequence of being a small market. You have this disadvantage, but you speak great English. On the flipside, it was surprising to us that Sweden didn’t have any conferences in English. They do have a crime festival every summer that’s in English and Swedish, but primarily Swedish. 

 

So how would you describe Stockholm’s English-language literary community? Would you call it a community? 

From my viewpoint, it’s a community. I’ve been part of a writer’s group, Stockholm Writers Group, that has been aroundcontinuously in existence since 1994. K – kind of amazing. 

Now, thanks to digital, it’s getting easier and easier to build these communities. One of our members, Cassie Gonzales, is now teaching at Emory University, and whenever she’s back she holds mini craft workshops on Meetup, which are always oversubscribed. She used to tell me this, but I was traveling and just listening to the ambient bitching about why didn’t we have something of our own. And I thought, “Well, yeah, why don’t we? Why are we waiting for somebody to do this for us?  Why can’t we do it?”

 

You look around and you’re, like, “Why is this not happening?” And then you realize the number of people who could do it is actually fairly small and if you’re the one thinking it, then you should be the one doing it.

Exactly. The classic refrain: “If not me, who? If not now, when?” It was a slow dawning, not an overnight epiphany. Years of bitching and moaning and then going, “Well, wait a second, I’m a professional marketer. I run events. I know people. We can get really good people.” And then I was going to other conferences and I cold-pitched one of the agents we have on the program.  Brooks Sherman is kind of a rock star right now. And he said yes. Because they want to travel, they want to get out there.

Anyway, we’re kind of using the power of tourism, literary tourism, to get at some of these heavier hitters and then mixing it up with really great local writers. And that’s how we’ve made it possible financially.

 

Is it hard to publish when you live farther away from English presses and agents? 

Actually, I think it’s easier to succeed at a distance these days. Thank God we don’t have to post manuscripts with self-addressed, stamped envelopes anymore and wait months for a response to come through the post.

With digital, it’s gotten physically easier to transact the process. What’s harder is being away from your source material if you’re writing about your home country. That feeling in your bones of the zeitgeist is something that you lose from a distance. Then again, writing about alienation and being “the other” is more tangible when you’re living the life of an expat.

What’s been really interesting is that a full thirty percent of the people signed up for this are Swedish writers, even though the whole reason for doing this is that we’re unapologetically English, English, English.

 

That’s very impressive, and definitely a difference between the two places. If we announced a similar festival, we would not get thirty percent German writers. There is a kind of unwritten divide, which we’re really trying to bridge now.

Yeah, that really surprised us too. But then I talked to a couple of the Swedish authors we have on panels and I said, “Does that surprise you?” and they said no. Because everyone wants to get into the English-language market. And there’s a lot here for readers but not much for writers.

 

Have you noticed any patterns in English-language writing from Stockholm?

The writers I know are doing everything from plays to poetry to memoir and historical fiction. So there are no solid patterns. But we did notice from the First Pages Prize that a lot of the stories set in Stockholm leaned more toward Stieg Larsson than Astrid Lingren.

 

Can you say a bit more about the contest? Even if it’s too late to apply now.

The contest is to encourage unpublished writers to become published ones. It looks at just the first five pages of any genre. The idea is to reward exciting writing and fresh voices. And we’ve been over the moon at the quality of the more than 250 submissions.

 

What other “institutions” are there on the Stockholm English lit scene?

There’s the English Bookshop. And actually, one of our board members, a wonderful guy named Adnan Mahmutuvić, started the transnational creative writing masters program in English at Stockholm University. I think that’s remarkable. He’s the one judging the contest, by the way, and the process has been fantastic.

 

Sarah Hollister was saying that you don’t have a magazine like ours there, but we definitely don’t have a university creative writing program in English. So are the people in your writers’ group and the master’s program mainly from English-speaking countries?

In my particular writing group, it really is native English speakers. We’ve had Australians and New Zealanders and Americans and Canadians… and a couple of Swedes. Maybe two that I can think of since 1994.

They’re much, much more varied in Adnan’s Stockholm University class, of which I’ve met probably a third. Mexican, Finnish, Greek. Was there a Swede? There may have been a Swede in there. And only a couple of Americans. That really surprised me.

 

How would you sum up the festival for someone who hadn’t visited your website?

Well, in a phrase, it’s “find your path to published.” It’s this idea that, as an author, especially if you’re a newbie, you think that the big mountain to climb is the manuscript and then you realize there is a second, much higher mountain behind that one that you couldn’t see. So you need the craft, but then you also need the gear to hike up that second mountain, which is the industry: How you get an agent? Should you go indie, should you go traditional? If you undertake either of those journeys, how do you equip yourself?  

So there’s my pithy little elevator pitch.

 

These are the kinds of things that writers are not necessarily as good at. They’re good at writing and then there’s a whole other stage of the process.

Exactly, and the sad thing is how many writers that kills. I mean a lot of writers die right at the foot of that mountain. I think it’s a shame.

I was going to say, you should really come up to Stockholm and come to this writer’s festival!

 

I would have loved to! I was really excited to hear about it and then frustrated to find out it was two days after the London Book Fair.  

We set our date first and for some reason, they wouldn’t cancel. The bastards.

 

For the lucky writers who do get to make the trip to the festival, what’s one place they should see while they’re in Stockholm?

The Hallwylska Palace in the center of the city. The house showcases the artifacts of an aristocratic hoarder. Although much more tastefully appointed, naturally.

 

Interview by Jake Schneider, Editor in Chief

 

Catherine Pettersson, founder of SWF18, was born American and chose to become a Swede after falling in love with a man she met on an airplane. She plies her trade as a marketing consultant by day. And writes fiction at night. (Or, actually, in the morning, but night sounds more dramatic.) Reach her at [email protected].

The Stockholm Writers Festival Read More »

Literary Playlist is a new SAND series in which the writers, poets, and artists describe the books that inspire them. In the first installment, SAND 14 poet Inger Wold Lund shares a playlist of her favourite pieces of literature for this winter.

 

* * * *

 

IWL: I am always hugely influenced by the people I surround myself with. These days I am lucky enough to share both a city and a friendship with Hanne Lippard. Her latest book This Embodiment is a collection of texts, the majority of which have been parts of performances and other sound work. When I read them, I feel as though I can hear her voice. The relationship between the voice and the words is important, and it should not be forgotten, even by writers who work mainly with black letters printed on white paper, or by casting shadows on a luminous screen.

 

  * * * *

 

Svetlana Alexievich is a writer whose ways of letting other people speak through her words make me deeply admire both her, and her writing. Voices from Chernobyl is the most devastating account of events that I have ever read. And Chernobyl is also the first major disaster of which I can remember the aftermath. In today’s political climate, her accounts seem even more important to revisit than before. 

 

* * * *

 

I was introduced to Samuel Beckett as a child — long before I had any chance to realize that his writing is somehow out of the norm. I still read his work. And, almost daily, I think about his ways of moving words from one language to another, from French to his native English to German and then back again. And of what remains when one makes such moves.

 

  * * * *

 

I just bought Schreiben in einer fremden Sprache, a short essay by Etel Adnan, from a vending machine. As much as I love Adnan’s writing, I also love the fact that, while waiting for an U-Bahn, one can put 2 euros into a machine that would typically sell Bounty bars, and receive a book. For a non-native speaker like me, it may take a little longer to read than just the journey to and from a specific place, but, as it is so easy to carry, it can stay in my bag, making me eager for another occasion to make trips across town.

 

* * * *

 

Kjell Askildsen’s first collection of short stories, Heretter følger jeg deg helt hjem (From Now On I’ll Walk You All The Way Home), has some of the best descriptions of young male sexuality that I have ever read. Although widely acclaimed, the book was banned in his hometown, Mandal, when it was first published in 1953. Some of his stories have been translated to English and published in collections, but others I have also translated myself in private out of mere enthusiasm, and out of eagerness for friends to hear his words.

 

  * * * *

 

Inger Wold Lund (Bergen, 1983) is an artist and writer based in Berlin. She was educated at the Oslo National Academy of the Arts; Konstfack University College of Arts, Crafts and Design, Stockholm; and Staatliche Hochschule für Bildende Künste, Frankfurt am Main. She is the author of two books in her native Norwegian published by Cappelen Damm and Flamme Forlag. A collection of her stories in English has been published by Ugly Duckling Press. Recent exhibitions include The 9th Norwegian Sculpture Biennial, Oslo; M.I/mi1glissé, Berlin; Roberta, Frankfurt am Main, Museo Apparente, Napoli; Galerie Parisa Kind, Frankfurt am Main; Hordaland Art Center, Bergen; and INCA, Seattle. Lund is a current recipient of a work grant from The Relief Fund for Visual Artists (BKH).

 

Photograph: Heidi Furre

Literary Playlist: Inger Wold Lund (SAND 14) Read More »

SAND Issue 16 author Laura Tansley is not afraid of putting her characters in awkward situations, whether they’re uncomfortably navigating saunas or breaking free from the confines of seat belts. Neither is she afraid of honestly addressing a theme that is still under-discussed in literature: mental health. SAND Assistant Fiction Editor Ashley Moore had a chance to chat with Laura about writing and her approach to the representation of mental health issues in fiction. You can read Laura’s story “Treat Ourselves” when SAND Issue 16 launches on 24 November.

SAND: One of the things we love most about “Treat Ourselves” is how it deals thoughtfully and truthfully with the everyday experience of living with mental health issues. Can you tell us something about what inspired you to approach your characters Carly and Karen through the lens of anxiety?

TANSLEY: I think it was words, really, and attempts to voice what can be difficult to articulate. I was also curious about how we sometimes use language perfunctorily, particularly in moments of crisis, and how despite the sense of meaningless that can arise from repetitious use of phrases, this language can also provide comfort.
SAND: We were also really attracted to the story because it deals with mental health in a very human way, focusing on an unlikely friendship, touching on judgment in various forms, and never reverting to stereotypes. We found the authenticity and the warmth really refreshing. What were some of the strategies you used to achieve this effect? What were some of the challenges you faced writing the story?

TANSLEY: I drew a lot from group experiences (work, education, community, therapy) and the ways they can bring the most disparate kinds of people together around a shared commonality; sometimes this can be disastrous but sometimes it can be joyous. I was feeling positive about people, I guess! With regard to mental health, I hope what’s captured are the idiosyncrasies of experience. Every experience of anxiety will be unique to an individual, but because we’re all obliged to draw from the same language well, we find connections across these experiences. I wanted lots of dialogue between characters to capture this, but representing it on the page was tricky. In early drafts, some of my experiments with dialogue made it difficult to understand these characters as they talked with, over, or under each other. This needed pulling apart to ensure the story made sense for readers, and the SAND editorial team were so helpful and thoughtful when it came to working on the story to achieve this.

SAND: In the last several years, we’ve seen TV and film adaptations of books that deal with mental health like Silver Linings Playbook, Thirteen Reasons Why, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower gain popularity and critical acclaim. Lots of YA books that deal with these themes, including Thirteen Reasons Why, have also been banned in schools. And then there are many who worry that using these themes in art might trigger people who live with mental health issues, while others say an open, public dialogue on mental health is long overdue. What are your thoughts on the growing prominence of mental health as a theme in literature and popular media?

TANSLEY: I actually spoke to a couple of close friends who have worked or are working in mental health for their advice on this issue. We all agreed that the presence of characters with mental health experiences in popular culture is important because it’s more representative of our lives. And like all good characterisation, these depictions should be three-dimensional, thoughtful, and truthful, which can often mean challenging. We all worried about examples we’d seen where mental health had become a plot point or device rather than an aspect of character. And my friends were particularly concerned about insensitive representations of suicide because, through their work in this area, they understand the consequences this can have on individuals and communities. They suggested looking to work done by charities such as the Samaritans who have clear and helpful suggested guidelines on the depiction of suicide in media – both fiction and nonfiction. I think culturally we’re all pushing for better representation of under-told or silenced experiences across all kinds of stories. Otherwise, it can be frustrating, upsetting at times, and damaging at worst, as well as being just plain boring. It was a good conversation – I’d recommend chatting to pals about mental health. It’s helpful and interesting!
SAND: Are you also a fan of books, stories, TV shows, or films that deal with mental health? Are there any you would recommend?

TANSLEY: Legion caught my attention this year – visually spectacular, character driven, unreliable, and skewed, really unusual for telly in lots of ways. I think it also poses some good questions about identity – I think the X-Men franchise, what I know from the cartoons and movies, has always done an interesting job of this – specifically the struggle to embrace who we fundamentally are, and the challenge to this when something disrupts our sense of selfhood. This felt to me like an interesting way to consider mental health issues.

Next week I’m going to an event at Glasgow Women’s Library which will launch Sophie Collins’ “Small White Monkeys: On Self-Expression, Self-Help, and Shame.” The day includes work performed by some amazing poets I’ve not heard or read before, and Collins’s book sounds like it will inspire some really thoughtful discussion. I just read an extract at The White Review and I was blown away by her ability to marry personal experience with research. Should be a great day, but also probably one of those days where I feel happy-sad at the impossibility of my skills in comparison to other writers’: damn them!

SAND: Thanks so much for talking with us, Laura. We’re excited to present “Treat Ourselves” to the world when SAND Issue 16 launches on 24 November. 

Laura Tansley (SAND 16) on Mental Health in Fiction Read More »

Cross Borders, Be Bold, and
Write the Stories That Haven’t Been Written Yet:
Irenosen Okojie on writing, diversity in publishing, and her new short story collection Speak Gigantular

A samurai-sword wielding man charges down a high street in London. A bank robber in a chicken costume exchanges recipes with his victims. Released right on the heels of her award-winning debut novel Butterfly Fish, Irenosen Okojie’s first short story collection, Speak Gigantular, features the surreal in mind-bending ways that Bernardine Evaristo says probe “the painful, the unsayable, the unknowable”. As part of the British Council’s “Diverse Voices, New Directions” literature seminar in Berlin, SAND Assistant Fiction Editor Ashley Moore had a chance to chat with Irenosen about the new collection, diversity in publishing, the short story as a form, and the submissions process.

SAND: Sharon Dodua Otoo, a Black British writer, has just won one of the most prestigious prizes in German-language literature, and the British Council in Berlin featured you, Dodua Otoo, and four other British writers of color at its “Diverse Voices, New Directions” seminar in Berlin. In contrast, this is also a time in which we are seeing far-right movements gain traction in Britain, the US, and continental Europe. You’ve written that “[t]he power of books is their ability to cut across all of the societal barriers, and authors from varied backgrounds should be given the opportunity to do so.” Do you think writers of color and female writers have a special role to play in breaking down barriers in today’s world?

Irenosen Okojie: I think all writers have a special role to play. Part of the problem is a passing-the-buck mentality that seems to be entrenched within our publishing infrastructures and people’s mindsets. This inability to take personal responsibility or be accountable in some way. “I can’t write about such-and such person from X background because I don’t know any, I’m worried it won’t be coming from an authentic place.” I think Jonathan Franzen made comments to that effect. I had to scratch my head at that. Honestly, it’s such a cop out. Well, get to know people from diverse backgrounds, take yourself out of your comfort zone and your bubble of privilege, it’ll make you socially smarter and more empathetic. Do your research, approach it the way you would any other character. It’s not hard; we’re all human beings. Or when some editors say they want be inclusive but that they don’t get the submissions. When I hear that, what I glean from it is that it’s not a priority. It absolutely should be, now more than ever in the time of Trump and the rise of the far right, we need a counter to that. We need it at every level. Writers of colour and female writers have been breaking barriers just by the very act of producing our work and will continue to do so. Art is political, even if it doesn’t intend to be. The fact that that work exists means it’ll continue to challenge, provoke, shape and hopefully inspire others. Think about the Brontë sisters combating what was a very male-dominated space in the 19th century or James Baldwin being unapologetically black, gay and political in a time when he could have been so easily killed for being any three of these things! His fearlessness, his boldness never ceases to amaze me. Women writers and writers of colour play our part but the onus needs to be on everybody.

SAND: I’ve seen that you’re an Ishmael Reed fan. Back in 1976, Flight to Canada criticized the creative slavery of a literary market that confined black writers to specific topics and genres. Reed compared members of the white, male literary canon like Tennyson and Poe to the fictional and historical slave masters in the novel. You’ve also written about the limitations that the Booker Prize and the media place on black, Asian, and female writers in Britain today. Do you feel that there’s been much improvement since Reed’s novel came out 40 years ago? How can we as writers, editors, and readers work towards change?

Irenosen: There’s been some improvement although it’s slow. What you get is flurries of action here and there that appear to be change, but it’s on a surface level. Someone will break through in a big way and that’s great, that visibility is hugely important, but then the industry will rest on its laurels and think we have that one writer of colour that’s broken through, change has happened. No, it hasn’t. It needs to be consistent. People should consider the range of stories within communities of colour, that the multiplicity and nuances of those stories deserve to coexist alongside each other on our shelves the way it does for white writers. Part of the problem is when you have an industry that’s very risk-averse, it fosters a kind of apathy. Gatekeepers should consider their remits and think about how they can break those barriers. There are good editors out there, there are some great editors that care. The way books are commissioned has changed in big publishing houses. Perhaps some of those editors feel slightly powerless within that system. In these troubling times, it shouldn’t just be about the bottom line. The top editors wield great power. Use that power to seek out those marginalized voices, partner with other organisations who may have access to them to run projects to develop those voices, hire more people of colour in decision-making roles. Be truly inclusive. Publish writers of colour, LGBT, white working class, writers with disabilities, intersectional writing. It’s important to. Because to do nothing is to be complicit in a system of silencing and erasure. I think independent publishers are doing amazing things, taking risks and publishing exciting, interesting work. If you’re a festival organiser, the same idea applies. Programme inclusively. By “inclusive” I don’t mean sticking writers of colour on a diversity panel. That’s not change. Diversity can be a part of the conversation, it’s an ongoing, important, necessary conversation. First and foremost, let them talk about their work, their practice, the same way other writers do. Everybody can play their part. If you’re a reader, ask yourself if you’ve fallen into particular patterns of reading. Think about how you can change that. It’s actually exciting when you do because whole other worlds, perspectives and experiences are presented to you. By actively engaging with that you’re enriching your reading experience. I, for example, will make more of an effort to seek out and read translated works. We don’t publish enough of that in the UK. I like the idea of crossing borders through reading.

SAND: Speaking of the literary market and prize committees, in your story “Why Is Pepe Canary Yellow?”, the “hero” Pepe is “one of the invisibles” who only makes an impact once he takes bold, extreme measures to be seen and heard, at great risk to his freedom and possibly even his life. Do you see a connection between Pepe’s experience and that of black, Asian, and female writers in Britain? Is the only way to be seen and heard to do something so bold that it cannot be ignored? Even then, is this bold writing marginalized?

Irenosen: Absolutely, I see a connection. That’s part of the reason I wrote the story. Sometimes when you make a point in a way that people may have heard plenty of times before, it has no impact. They become desensitized to it, so I’m always curious about coming at things from a slightly different angle. People can feel other and invisible for different reasons: racially, disability, a physical scar, social awkwardness, etc. What I wanted to do with this story, is that while engaging with it, the reader comes at it from their experience of invisibility, what they think it means to battle that feeling everyday. It’s almost like the story has different entry points. And the point of entrance you take, what you get out of it very much depends on your experiences or understanding of what it means to fight to exist, to be seen and for that existence to matter in some way.  Being bold isn’t the only way to be seen and heard but I like it when people are. And by bold I don’t necessarily mean being loud. Sometimes being bold can mean being yourself in an environment that requires you to change somewhat in order to fit in. Michelle Obama is bold, Serena Williams is bold, Kate Bush is bold, Miriam Makeba was bold. You can be a reserved person but a bold artist. I particularly like it when the most unassuming people turn out to be bold. It’s really interesting, there’s a layering there that’s intriguing. It’s about finding the vehicle that allows you to express that part of yourself. As an artist of colour, it’s unfair and frustrating when that boldness is marginalized but lauded in others. The fact that the work exists with the potential of permutations for different readers is a powerful, heartening, thing. It means it doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

SAND: You’ve talked about the importance of short stories in the process of writing your novel Butterfly Fish, and you have just released your short story collection Speak Gigantular, whose surrealistic elements, sensory language, and dark humor take readers to weird, wonderful places. You’ve said, “I love short stories. […] I think short stories don’t receive enough acclaim. Interestingly, it was while penning the short stories [in the course of writing Butterfly Fish that] I felt like there could be a space for the sort of things I wanted to write about.” We at SAND share this love. Would you mind expanding a bit on how short stories provide that space that other types of writing might not?

Irenosen: Short stories allow you to produce these small worlds. There’s something very liberating about it even though technically, they’re actually very difficult to get right. Putting a collection together you have to show range, breadth and depth. The stories have to change in tone and variety. With the novel, because it’s a much longer work, you can find yourself at sea in parts. This can be frustrating and can hamper your progress. The short stories in contrast are like bursts of light. You’re energized off of the momentum, from being able to realise an idea, then move onto the next one. Something about having an ending in sight reasonably quickly (depending on how fast you write!) makes you feel capable. Once you write a story, it gives you some confidence that you can actually finish a piece of work. What short stories do is provide a framework that means you write quickly; they create a sense of urgency. It’s a space to play, experiment, refine.

SAND: Would you also share a bit with us about your experience submitting short stories?

Irenosen: It’s probably similar to a lot of people’s experiences, which is lots of rejection in the beginning! In fact, that doesn’t actually stop when you’ve been published. People can still say no. You have to find a way of developing a thick skin: otherwise, it can be disheartening. Once you accept that rejection is a part of the process, it becomes easier. There was something about the first two short pieces I got published. Once that happened, other things came my way. It’s like a breakthrough, you feel more optimistic. That optimism and enthusiasm propels you to keep going.

SAND: How do you choose the publications you submit to?

Irenosen: Truthfully, in the beginning it very much depended on who was interested in publishing me. I tend to submit to publications or anthologies that are doing exciting things or provide a space for experimental writing.

With the novel, because it’s a much longer work, you can find yourself at sea in parts. This can be frustrating and can hamper your progress. The short stories in contrast are like bursts of light. You’re energized off the momentum, off being able to realise an idea, then move onto the next one.

SAND: Where were you most proud to be published? Where do you still wish to be published?

Irenosen: I’m genuinely proud of all of them. Each one felt significant at those different junctures in my life. They all play an important part in my writing trajectory. It’s not a literary magazine but I really wanted to write for Trace Magazine published by Claude Grunitzky. It was a magazine of transcultural ideas. It was so fucking cool. I loved the way it captured the black diasporic experience in ways that were celebratory and beautiful. I got an internship to write for them in New York, but in the end, other commitments meant I couldn’t make it happen.

SAND: Do you have any advice for short story writers slogging their way through submissions and rejections?

Irenosen: Target your submissions, keep an eye out for anthology submissions. They’re great because if the editor likes your work, sometimes they’ll signpost you to other opportunities. Also, if you’re finding it difficult to get published where you’re based, send your stuff to international journals and publications who are actively looking to publish new voices. Just keep at it, take feedback and critique. Learn from it but don’t let anybody devalue your work or crush your spirit. Nobody has a right to do that. Most published writers went through the minefield of submissions and rejections, it’s an ongoing process but eventually people will say yes. When they do and your work is published, enjoy it. Let it give you some confidence going forward.

SAND: Do you have anything you wish you could say to editors of literary magazines publishing short stories today?

Irenosen: I like that they provide spaces for short stories to live. I like what they do. Just keep taking risks and publishing interesting work.

SAND: Toni Morrison has not merely advised but actually mandated that writers push beyond, saying “[i]f there’s a book you really want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” Is there a book or story you want to read that you must write?

Irenosen: I love that quote. I love Toni Morrison’s work. She’s a genius. In fact, it was one of the quotes I looked at several times whilst working on Butterfly Fish. It puts the power in the artist’s hands. It means you can forge your own path, even if it feels daunting, terrifying. Even if you feel ill equipped in the beginning, all the more reason to do it. I’m a big Margaret Atwood fan. Not only does she transition between genres so seamlessly, she creates compelling female characters. I love what she did in Alias Grace. I like the anti-heroine in a perilous situation within a historical context. Creating something of that weight but from a different perspective and angle would potentially be an exciting, challenging experience, I feel.

An Interview with Irenosen Okojie Read More »

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