Tell me about your latest novel, Babysitter. Is there something distinctively American about the serial killer phenomenon?
Babysitter is set in 1977 Detroit, in the aftermath of the 1967 “Detroit riot”. In a sense, the setting is the primary character, a haunting presence in every scene.
In the foreground is a romance of sorts, an unwise adventure embarked upon by an affluent white suburban woman who finds her suburban life suffocating; in the background, the unpredictable Oakland County Child Killer, or “Babysitter” (a historic figure, never absolutely identified but believed to be no longer living).
This is a milieu which I knew very intimately at one time. I am still quite haunted – mesmerised – by Detroit and its environs, for reasons difficult to explain. Detroit is one of the emblematic American cities: it seems to symbolise much beside itself, of extraordinary affluence close by despairing poverty; high crime rates, social malaise, blatant racism. Once, Detroit was famous as “Motor City, USA” – which really meant, the motor vehicle capital of the world. Then, it became “Murder City, USA” — with a statistically high murder rate; it has never seemed to recover entirely from the effects of the “riot” as white residents gradually moved to the suburbs, leaving the city, at the present time, depopulated and in some neighborhoods reverted to a kind of jungle.
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I don’t think that “serial killers” are particularly American. The most famous is Jack the Ripper; no doubt, each country has their own. It may be that the term “serial killer” was coined in the US at the time of the Manson murders; I don’t think it was in common usage before then. The United States seems most famous now for “mass shootings” – particularly “school shootings”. We are surely the only country in which it is guaranteed that another mass shooting will take place soon — inescapably; in other countries, such killings are always surprises.
A film adaptation of Blonde, your biographical novel about Marilyn Monroe, is about to be released on Netflix, having already been made into a CBS miniseries. Why is she such a compelling figure? And what, if any, are the ethics of fictionalising a real person?
Norma Jeane Baker, who became Marilyn Monroe, was a particularly appealing figure in her time as in ours, a kind of fairy tale figure, a Cinderella or Beggar Maid raised to an extraordinary height before being rudely cast down. A virtual orphan who had lived in numerous orphanages and foster homes, she was eager to be admired, liked, “loved” – an ideal recipe for the yearning for adulation that is at the heart of celebrity. Though a willed performance enhanced by bleached, platinum-blond hair that always looked perfect, as the cosmetic-smooth face looked perfect, Marilyn Monroe struck a chord in the hearts of an enormous number of people, women as well as men; she exuded an air of innocence and vulnerability, with which many people identify.
Some people are so celebrated, they dwell in the public domain – millions of people have commented on them, and there can be no realistic way of governing who may say what, and in what way, about them. Marilyn Monroe had begged Arthur Miller never to write about her – but he did, of course, famously, or infamously, after her death, in a remarkably cruel play titled After the Fall. Here was a husband exploiting intimate details of his life with a former wife, in a way that would have been deeply painful to her, had she known.
More generally, there have always been fictionalised tales of historic figures, whether Shakespeare’s history plays, or the countless novels about Abraham Lincoln, or thinly disguised domestic novels in which writers write about themselves, their families and spouses.
Have you ever gone on a literary pilgrimage?
Yes, certainly – to Walden Pond, in Concord, Massachusetts, like many Americans and admirers of Henry David Thoreau. Several times I have visited the beautiful city of Dublin, in which one is thrilled to walk the very streets trod by Leopold Bloom.
What is the best writing advice you have heard? Or, What advice would you give to your younger writing self?
Henry David Thoreau said that none of his elders had ever given him helpful or even sincere advise. That seems to be a reasonable perspective. More practicably, young writers need to be encouraged; they need to know – ”Never give up!”.
Which of your books are you proudest of, and why?
Questions only asked in interviews! Most writers are most hopeful about their most recent work – I doubt that “pride” is a factor.
The most challenging novel for me to write, to envision, execute, and finally complete was Blonde (2000); 1,400 pages in manuscript, a daunting length, exhausting over all. I am not sure if I am most proud of this novel but certainly, I felt great relief in finally finishing it – revising endlessly, cutting hundreds of pages, establishing the core trajectory of the complicated material, which is structured – (no one has ever noticed) – like a mystery novel.
Who do you admire the most?
Many people are admirable! It is impossible to rank individuals in such a way. I think that we all tend to admire people who are selfless, courageous, helpful to others, often at risk to themselves. Healthcare workers during the time of Covid – frontline, emergency medical technicians, doctors who cared for very sick people and exposed themselves to Covid – people who would probably say they were “just doing their jobs” and not consider themselves heroic.
You are supreme ruler for a day. Which law do you pass or abolish?
Since this is the US, beleaguered with every sort of social-issue problem, I would say universal healthcare. You already have something resembling this in Ireland – as in the UK, so to you it will seem redundant.
Which current book, film, TV show and podcast would you recommend?
I was much impressed, like friends of mine, by the BBC’s Peaky Blinders. No US series seems to me quite so ambitious and accomplished, so strangely surreal, audacious: brilliant performance by Cillian Murphy. Of current books, I must pass on this since many friends/ former students of mine have new books, and I dare not single one out for particular attention. (However, I did admire Miranda Seymour’s biography of Jean Rhys, which is quite a labour of love, yet unsparing in its portrait of a singularly difficult woman writer.) Of movies – it’s no longer new, but I much admired Joel Cohen’s The Tragedy of Macbeth.
Which public event affected you most?
If you mean literally, rather than just emotionally or symbolically, I am not really sure. Cataclysmic public events like 9/11 ripple through society in ways impossible to determine. For older generations, the assassination of John F Kennedy would loom very large; in more recent years, the devastation of the Twin Towers in New York – everyone has a story about what they were doing at the time, how they coped with the catastrophe if they were in the city. A very despairing, tragic time, from which the US has perhaps not entirely recovered.
The most remarkable place you have visited?
One of the most remarkable will always remain Niagara Falls – a hometown “wonder of the world”. The uncanny, mesmerising power of the Falls is impossible to describe but its spell was cast upon me young, since I lived not far away from Niagara Falls; at last, many decade later, I could enshrine the Falls in a novel titled, succinctly, The Falls.
Your most treasured possession?
Like many of us, perhaps, I most treasure family photographs, and photographs taken by my late husband Charlie Gross. They are – if you can excuse the cliché – literally priceless.
What is the most beautiful book that you own?
I have many beautiful books – oversized art books, special editions – too many to name. But I am most partial to a first edition of Ernest Hemingway’s first book, a collection of remarkable stories titled In Our Time, written when he was in his early 20s.
Which writers, living or dead, would you invite to your dream dinner party?
This is a question often asked, and it is begging the larger question: who on earth, especially an artist of distinction, would come to a dinner party assembled by a stranger? Count out anyone of real interest – Emily Dickinson, Kafka, Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf, Faulkner, even Oscar Wilde wouldn’t have been caught dead among such company.
The best and worst things about where you live?
Very beautiful, quiet, semirural area – this is the best. As for the worst, there is none.
What is your favourite quotation?
“How small it’s all,” from James Joyce.
Who is your favourite fictional character?
Whoever I am working with, at the present time, in my own fiction. Obviously!
A book to make me laugh?
Steve Martin has a truly hilarious book of cartoons, it has some curious title like A Wealth of Pigeons. Absolutely wonderful.
A book that might move me to tears?
Anything by Dickens: tears are programmed into the brilliant prose.
Babysitter by Joyce Carol Oates was published by 4th Estate on September 1st
