An Interview with Lisa Gornick, by Catie Hannigan
Lisa Gornick’s novel, Tinderbox, explores the entanglement of human lives and the stunning result when lightness and darkness meet. Without a doubt, Tinderbox is corporeal, and a beating product of Gornick’s experiences. As the present is inevitably shaped by history, I asked Gornick how her stories are formed and by what vital influences. In this interview, she shares her writing space and processes, the origin of mysterious Eva, and the natural state where her psychoanalytic training and imaginative curiosity join forces.
An Interview with Pablo Medina, by Robert Kralovec
Pablo Medina is the author of fourteen books. He has published works of poetry, fiction,nonfiction, and translation. His most recent books include The Man Who Wrote on Water and Cubop City Blues. With its musicality and haunting, lyrical prose, the latter should be read by every New Yorker and all who seek to wander into the underworld of their own city. We met Pablo in Greenwich Village to discuss his writing and this issue’s theme of The Unknown.
An Interview with Rick Moody, by Maria Gagliano
If you’re at all familiar with Rick Moody’s writing, you know only one thing is certain: he is predictably unpredictable. His early novels Garden State, The Ice Storm, and Purple America epitomized suburban gothic literature, revealing the dark side of family life that so many relate to, but don’t have the courage to talk about. Just as readers might have settled in for another novel on suburban family life, his next book switched gears to an entirely different style and focus. These days, while the theme of family is still a mainstay in his work, you can find him waxing erudite about the powers of music in his essay collection On Celestial Music or in his monthly “Swinging Modern Sounds” column for The Rumpus. He even moonlights as a musician in his band, The Wingdale Community Singers. Despite the unpredictable shifts throughout Moody’s body of work, he can always be counted on to challenge readers with unexpected twists in his writing style and form. I caught up with Moody as he was working on his latest novel—a book he’s writing in 500- word bursts. I was lucky enough to hear about his early days working in book publishing, his iTunes “Recently Played” list, and his take on the allure of American suburbia.
An Interview with Sheila Heti, Jordan Tannahill, and Carl Wilson, by Marie-Hélène Westgate
Sheila Heti wrote a whole book about feeling aimless. It’s called How Should a Person Be? and for much of the book, its narrator struggles with a failed play. In real life, that play is called All Our Happy Days Are Stupid. It was Heti’s burden for twelve years.
Then the director Jordan Tannahill read How Should a Person Be? and asked Heti if the play was real, to which she said yes, at which time Tannahill read the script for All Our Happy Days Are Stupid, and made it into a musical by enlisting a cast of friends and other non-professionals, including Heti’s former husband, Carl Wilson. All Our Happy Days Are Stupid sold out its seven-night run before even opening.
Here is a chat with Sheila Heti, Jordan Tannahill, and Carl Wilson, on the eve of the premiere of this unlikely work.
An Interview with Contributors of The Big Feminist BUT by Andrea Sparacio
The Big Feminist BUT is the conversation I’ve been waiting for. So many times I have heard, to no avail, “I am a feminist, but…” from men and women alike, and from those who agree with all that feminism encompasses, yet refuse to call themselves a feminist for fear of the label. As a feminist and artist, I appreciate that this conversation was engaged in the illustrated form and hope to see it continue into more voices for the future. I was asked by Slice to interview the following seven contributors with a question. Thank you so much to each creator and contributor, and for igniting this important and complex dialogue between us.
An Interview with Francine Prose, by Elizabeth Blachman
Francine Prose’s 1981 novel Household Saints begins with a card game and ends with a beatification. Our heroine departs the novel as the dubious saint of ironed shirts and scrubbed floors, whispered about on hot nights in Little Italy and sanctified by a miracle of roses running up the trellis of the nuthouse. And many of Prose’s tales—though they’re filled with caustic, witty perspectives on modern life and peopled with Albanian thugs, campus adulterers, skinheads, and lonely teenagers—seem to close with a benediction. A lonely single mother experiences a shared moment of acid-trip transcendence with a former neo-Nazi, an Albanian immigrant drives an abandoned SUV across the George Washington Bridge into the winter sunlight, a young girl comes down with meningitis in an art museum and has an epiphany that allows her to see truth through the twisting lines of an El Greco painting. It’s like the Hebrew prayer at the end of the Sabbath that thanks God for separating the sacred and the profane, except that Prose knits the two together, creating a world that is a little sad, a little holy, and very funny.