Q & A with John Gould
This interview with John was done for the "In Translation" press kit. And while it is available for download on the kilter page, not many people know about it, which is unfortunate as it's a great piece. So, here it is for you all to enjoy.
Cheers.
Q: You have referred to the form of very short fiction, as contained in your collections Kilter: 55 Fictions and The Kingdom of Heaven, as "the haiku of fiction." What originally inspired you to write so economically, and how on earth are you able to put so much into so little?
JOHN GOULD: It was the haiku - that Japanese sub-compact of the poetry world - that first got me thinking small. I'd been playing around with that form (seventeen syllables, a single lungful of words) and loving the process of composition - the prolonged preparation, and then the sudden, swift execution. I also loved the subtlety of the haiku, its tendency to irony and understatement, its openness to paradox. Could I recreate that experience in prose? Could I attain a comparable quickness and lightness and intensity in the world of story? That's the challenge I set myself.
In a way it's a genetic thing with me. My mother is an English teacher descended from a long line of journalists, so I've got that taste for language, and for narrative. My father's a mathematician, so I've also got a passion for abstract thought, and for concise, elegant formulations. My mini-stories are one solution to that dichotomy in my nature.
Wait for the essential to come clear, and then get it down. Keep it short, no matter how long it takes. That's what I try to do.
Q: Can you talk about how the film trilogy based on stories from Kilter came about?
JG: Director Corey Lee had encountered the book, and approached me about adapting one of the stories for short film. He sent me some of his earlier work, which I found both daring and accomplished. He also sent me a draft of a script for "The Perfection of the Moment." I loved it, the way he'd mapped the idiosyncratic structure of the story - a series of "notes to self" - onto the structure of his film, using rewinds and fast-forwards to stutter through the story's action. Ingenious. Then we met, and hit it off. I had a hunch we'd have a fruitful working relationship, and I was right.
Q: Has this changed the way in which you digest films adapted from short stories and novels?
JG: This is my most active involvement in filmmaking so far, so I'd say it's affected how I watch any film at all. I like to think I'm a little more alert, now, to the particulars of the medium - the challenges, the aesthetic choices. I've always been drawn to films based on literature, the extra layer that adds, the extended history of thought and attention. Ideally such a project brings together two temperaments - that of the original author, and that of the writer/director who adapts the work for film - which complement and enrich one another. The friction generated by those two temperaments, and by the constraints of the two media rubbing up against one another, can generate some fascinating work.
Q: Many of the stories in your Kilter collection detail instances of a startling revelation brought on by an extreme emotional response. What is the most extreme action you've ever taken in the name of love, hate or sorrow?
JG: Nothing very exciting, to tell you the truth. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Those moments, though, when you're overcome, when the deep strangeness of being alive and human fully penetrates you, and you have no choice but to change - those are the moments with which I hope to engage in my fiction.
Q: Can you talk a bit about your typical writing day? And describe your ideal writing environment?
JG: My writing process is pretty unstructured, so it's hard to characterize a typical day. In the early stages of a project I do a lot of what I'd describe as active waiting: I seed my mind with the idea I want to work on (a vague sense of character and predicament, a hint of a voice), and then keep myself half-busy while I work on it at a half-conscious level. A kind of directed day-dreaming, you could say.
At that early stage I like to work out and about - at a cafe, in a library, on a bench by the water, whatever. The chaotic energy of the outside world seems help. I work longhand, scribbling in the little notebook I always have with me. Later on I move to the desk and the computer.
My most lucid work tends to be done late at night. That's when I'm most likely to break through any substantial barrier I'm having to deal with, in the work or in myself.
Q: What is next on the horizon for John Gould? What can you tell us of your latest writing project?
JG: I'm in the late stages of a novel now. I love the form of sudden fiction - the very short stuff - but after Kilter, I felt it was time to push myself, try something new, so I switched from the sprint to the marathon. One extreme to the other, I guess that's my pattern. The protagonist of my novel turns out to be a film critic. I wonder what he'd think of the Corey Lee's Kilter Trilogy? Must ask him.
Cheers.
Q: You have referred to the form of very short fiction, as contained in your collections Kilter: 55 Fictions and The Kingdom of Heaven, as "the haiku of fiction." What originally inspired you to write so economically, and how on earth are you able to put so much into so little?
JOHN GOULD: It was the haiku - that Japanese sub-compact of the poetry world - that first got me thinking small. I'd been playing around with that form (seventeen syllables, a single lungful of words) and loving the process of composition - the prolonged preparation, and then the sudden, swift execution. I also loved the subtlety of the haiku, its tendency to irony and understatement, its openness to paradox. Could I recreate that experience in prose? Could I attain a comparable quickness and lightness and intensity in the world of story? That's the challenge I set myself.
In a way it's a genetic thing with me. My mother is an English teacher descended from a long line of journalists, so I've got that taste for language, and for narrative. My father's a mathematician, so I've also got a passion for abstract thought, and for concise, elegant formulations. My mini-stories are one solution to that dichotomy in my nature.
Wait for the essential to come clear, and then get it down. Keep it short, no matter how long it takes. That's what I try to do.
Q: Can you talk about how the film trilogy based on stories from Kilter came about?
JG: Director Corey Lee had encountered the book, and approached me about adapting one of the stories for short film. He sent me some of his earlier work, which I found both daring and accomplished. He also sent me a draft of a script for "The Perfection of the Moment." I loved it, the way he'd mapped the idiosyncratic structure of the story - a series of "notes to self" - onto the structure of his film, using rewinds and fast-forwards to stutter through the story's action. Ingenious. Then we met, and hit it off. I had a hunch we'd have a fruitful working relationship, and I was right.
Q: Has this changed the way in which you digest films adapted from short stories and novels?
JG: This is my most active involvement in filmmaking so far, so I'd say it's affected how I watch any film at all. I like to think I'm a little more alert, now, to the particulars of the medium - the challenges, the aesthetic choices. I've always been drawn to films based on literature, the extra layer that adds, the extended history of thought and attention. Ideally such a project brings together two temperaments - that of the original author, and that of the writer/director who adapts the work for film - which complement and enrich one another. The friction generated by those two temperaments, and by the constraints of the two media rubbing up against one another, can generate some fascinating work.
Q: Many of the stories in your Kilter collection detail instances of a startling revelation brought on by an extreme emotional response. What is the most extreme action you've ever taken in the name of love, hate or sorrow?
JG: Nothing very exciting, to tell you the truth. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Those moments, though, when you're overcome, when the deep strangeness of being alive and human fully penetrates you, and you have no choice but to change - those are the moments with which I hope to engage in my fiction.
Q: Can you talk a bit about your typical writing day? And describe your ideal writing environment?
JG: My writing process is pretty unstructured, so it's hard to characterize a typical day. In the early stages of a project I do a lot of what I'd describe as active waiting: I seed my mind with the idea I want to work on (a vague sense of character and predicament, a hint of a voice), and then keep myself half-busy while I work on it at a half-conscious level. A kind of directed day-dreaming, you could say.
At that early stage I like to work out and about - at a cafe, in a library, on a bench by the water, whatever. The chaotic energy of the outside world seems help. I work longhand, scribbling in the little notebook I always have with me. Later on I move to the desk and the computer.
My most lucid work tends to be done late at night. That's when I'm most likely to break through any substantial barrier I'm having to deal with, in the work or in myself.
Q: What is next on the horizon for John Gould? What can you tell us of your latest writing project?
JG: I'm in the late stages of a novel now. I love the form of sudden fiction - the very short stuff - but after Kilter, I felt it was time to push myself, try something new, so I switched from the sprint to the marathon. One extreme to the other, I guess that's my pattern. The protagonist of my novel turns out to be a film critic. I wonder what he'd think of the Corey Lee's Kilter Trilogy? Must ask him.