Wouldn’t You Like to Know . . . Libba Bray

Tagged with: Author interviews. Libba Bray Stacey Hayman

by Stacey Hayman

Being a New York Times Bestselling, 2010 Printz Award and 2012 Audie Award winning author is impressive enough, but Libba Bray has the rarest of rare gifts–an offbeat sense of humor that appeals to teens and their parents! Introduced to the world as Martha Elizabeth Bray in Montgomery, Alabama, Libba, her younger brother, and their parents settled in the state of Texas for those hectic coming-of-age years. Three weeks after graduating high school, Libba was in a car accident. She lost her left eye (even today–hoping for a bionic replacement) and began a series of thirteen separate surgeries to repair the damage done to her head and face. But the accident isn’t what has defined Libba. Instead, it’s much more likely that her mom, a high school English teacher, and her dad, a Presbyterian minister, gave Libba her defining qualities: the ability to love the absurd side of life, a quick wit, and love of rock ‘n’ roll. After successfully completing her college experience at the University of Texas at Austin, she took off for the bright lights of Broadway to become a famous playwright. Three produced plays later, including an award winner, Libba found more reliable employment in the lower-levels of publishing: copy writing for advertisements, writing for Richard Simmons, and even creating a few novels for a book-packager before hitting the big-time on her own. Married to Barry Goldblatt, owner of his own literary agency, and mother to a teenaged son, Libba does a wonderful job of appearing adult-like when necessary, making sure her son has as many oddball childhood memories as she does, and to share her unique vision of the world with so many fans.

SH: When I was a teenager, people would describe me as a: (jock, band geek, popular, goth, other, none?)

LB: Goofy, kooky, class clown. As my high school principal said when I landed in his office after being sent home from that ill-fated Latin Club trip: “Well, Libba, I know sometimes you can be a little . . . (long pause) high-spirited.” Dear Mr. Glasscock, thank you for your kindness.

SH: The best/worst thing that happened to you in high school was?

LB: The best thing that happened to me in high school? Definitely the building of some wonderful friendships, especially the bond with my best friend, Eleanor. My favorite high school memories involve the two of us just being unbelievably goofy together.

SH: Favorite childhood book? Favorite food? Favorite band or album? Favorite television show?

LB: Childhood book: Charlotte’s Web Favorite food: Depends on time of day/what I’m in the mood for. But I rarely say no to guacamole or coffee ice cream. Honestly, I rarely say no, period. Bring me your food! Favorite band: In high school, it was Cheap Trick. But of all time? The Who. Favorite LP: Quadrophenia, The Who. Favorite television show: Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Dr. Who runs a close second. You know, apparently I like anything with “Who” in the title. And anything by Joss Whedon.

SH: Is there a story from your childhood that is told most often, either by you or about you?

LB: I had to go to my mom, for this one. This is what she sent back via email:

“Several stories come to mind. Remember when you made pepper jelly when you were 4 because your daddy was sick, and you knew that he loved pepper jelly? Dora Vetters (a lady in our church) had given him some that she had made in the past. You didn’t know that pepper jelly was a preserve made by cooking bell peppers, so you took some apple jelly and poured a can of pepper in it. I was fussing at you and asked you why on earth you were pouring all that pepper in the perfectly good apple jelly. You began to cry and said that you were making pepper jelly.

Another story that I like to tell is when you were about 3 or 4. One Sunday, another child ran out into the busy street next to the church during the time after church when everyone was going out the door and shaking the preacher’s (your dad’s*) hand. You were retelling the story to Valerie (my childhood friend) and said, “And there went Daddy, running with his preacher costume (pulpit robe) flapping in the breeze, and grabbed him.” (Because of this event, I always refer to a pulpit robe as a “preacher costume.” Ministers don’t find it as humorous as I do, even when I explain.)”

So there you have it: I liked telling dramatic stories, and I was always a lousy cook. (And my mom has a great memory.)

*I love that my mom needs to qualify this, as if I might not remember who my father was and what he did for a living. My mom cracks me up. Not always intentionally.

SH: Was there any class in high school you regret paying too little, or too much, attention? If you could add one class to high schools across the country, what would be the topic?

LB: I can promise you, there is no class in which I paid too much attention. I had some wonderful teachers, and I regret that I didn’t more fully embrace their teaching and follow up on everything they were trying to offer me. Certainly, I wish I had paid more attention in history, a class I really loved taught by a terrific teacher, Diana White. And I sure wish I’d been able to stick it out in physics, because I find it quite fascinating. But I think at that time I was far too interested in boys, adventures, and rock ‘n’ roll.

If I could add a class to the national high school curriculum, it would probably be something about critical thinking/deconstruction of rhetoric. We’re bombarded with so much image and messaging in everything from politics to product branding that I think it would be good to learn how not to take this sort of messaging at face value, but to be able to decode and deconstruct it, to suss out the insidious reinforcing of gender and racial stereotypes, the beauty myth, consumerism, nationalism, etc. in order to make more conscious, informed choices and challenge that status quo. (Though, as a former advertising copy writer, I do appreciate cool commercial aesthetics. And as a novelist, I cannot claim innocence in the manipulation game.)

SH: If you could be a character from any book, including your own, who would you want to be? Why?

LB: Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. He had a profound effect on me as a tween. I found his willingness to stand up and do the right thing, the moral thing, even though it meant going against the rules of his own society, very affecting.

SH: If you weren’t a writer, what do you think you’d be doing for a living?

LB: If I couldn’t write, I’d probably be a very accomplished alcoholic.

SH: If you had an important secret or story to share, who would be the first person you’d turn to?

LB: My husband.

SH: Is there a book, besides your own of course, that you think everyone should be reading?

LB: How to Say Goodbye in Robot by Natalie Standiford. It’s one of my absolute favorite YA novels. It’s truly quirky—not quirky for quirky’s sake—and quietly moving. Natalie’s vision is so very singular in the way Wes Anderson’s style is very singular. Her writing universe is so very much its own thing. I wish I could give everyone a copy of Robot, and say, “This is YA at its best.”

SH: Would you rather write a best seller or an award winner? (Nope, it can’t be both–just this one time!)

LB: Honestly? I’d like to write something that feels as true as I can make it, something that challenges my preconceived notions and makes me grow as a writer. I always want to feel a bit changed when I come out on the other side of writing a book. Thinking about awards/bestseller status generally leads to unhappiness and being outside of the writing. I really like the writing. I like process.

SH: Is there one moment in your life you’d love to live again? To either change it or to enjoy?

LB: This is the “Our Town” question, isn’t it? “It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another!” Aaand…scene.

Sorry. High school drama flashbacks.

Oh man. There are lots of moments I wish I could correct—times when I said the wrong thing, was insensitive, or just behaved like an idiot. Those are the sorts of things that haunt me. So I’ll choose a happier moment: There was a day when my son was about three or so. It was an early spring day, and we were having a picnic on the grass in the courtyard of our building in Brooklyn. We had a bottle of cheap, drugstore bubbles. We took turns dipping the wand, blowing out bubbles and trying to catch them, giggling all the while. When we’d finished, my son climbed into my lap with this big grin on his face and asked me to snuggle him. The day was warm; the sun gentle. And I was overcome with that rare sense of being loved and complete and right in the world. Very simple. Very small. That would be a lovely moment to relive. I suppose I just did.

SH: What do you think would catch a person’s attention if they walked into your workspace, your kitchen, or your family room?

LB: 1. My son’s artwork displayed on the walls. 2. That for all of my personal disorganization, I’m surprisingly, almost neurotically, clean. 3. There are books EVERYWHERE. 4. That our home is, on a good day, like a fusion of Fawlty Towers and You Can’t Take It With You. In fact, I’m fairly certain that anyone wandering into our home would beg to be let out again before they went completely mad.

SH: You’ve been accepted on the reality show of your choice–or in your imagination! What’s the show and how well–or not well–did you compete?

LB: Being on a reality show would pretty much be my idea of a living hell. I think the words “reality” and “show” are mutually exclusive.

SH: What three words would you use to describe yourself?

LB: Three words-defying.

SH: What three words do you think other people would use to describe you?

LB: “What the hell?”

SH: You are sitting down to dinner with five people, living or dead, whom you find fascinating. Who is at the table and what are you eating?

LB: The dead people aren’t decomposing, are they? Because that would really put me off my pasta. (And hopefully, they are not part of the “what we’re eating”—unless this is the zombie or Donner Party version of this game.) Excluding family and friends—a fascinating lot, all—I’d say Stephen Sondheim, Elizabeth I, Patti Smith, Malcolm X, and William Shakespeare. As for what we’re eating, I only care that there would be a mammoth dessert course—and pots of strong coffee to combat the sugar coma that would ensue.

SH: If you could be someone else for one day, who would it be? Why?

LB: I’d probably want to be someone whose worldview/beliefs/politics are a 180 from my own so that I could better understand where that person is coming from in order to have more meaningful dialogue in the future. Or maybe I’d opt to be Keith Richards, because I’m pretty sure Keith just does and says whatever the hell he wants. Cue my husband: “How would that be any different from how you live now?”

SH: Do you have a phrase or motto that inspires you?

LB: Coffee’s ready.

SH: What one thing makes you feel happiest?

LB: I keep coming back to those moments of true connection, understanding, and insight, whether that happens on the page or with another human being.

SH: What makes you sad?

LB: That undertow of existential loneliness that is inherent in the human condition. That I know this feeling is ephemeral, as all feelings are, doesn’t help me in the moment when I feel lost and alone, as if I’m an astronaut in space and no one has tethered my line.

SH: What scares you?

LB: Everything. As Kurt Vonnegut said, “Writers are very lucky; they can treat their neuroses every day.”

SH: What is one (or more!) of your favorite features about yourself? It can be anything from an impeccable sense of style to your sense of humor to crazy long toes that can pick up a variety of objects.

LB: Ah. I see someone has tipped you off about the toes. Not gonna lie—they are cunning THINGS OF BEAUTY. I’m notoriously hard on myself. If pressed, I suppose I’d say my sense of wonder. I find beauty in an awful lot. Man, that’s corny. “Getting to know you?” Yeah, you’re getting to know that I’m a sap.

SH: A series of choices: Fast Car or Slow Train? LB: Slow train. SH: Movies or Television? LB: Both. Though they’re both visual mediums, I find them to be very different narrative forms, apples vs. oranges. SH: Telephone or Email? LB: Email. Anyone in my life can attest that I never pick up a phone. SH: Appetizer or Dessert? LB: Dessert—especially as an appetizer. SH: Hot or Cold? LB: Depends: hot or cold what? I mean, I like cold weather but not cold feet. And I like a hot beach but not a hot room. (This is why people rarely ask me things because my answers are equivocal and annoying.) SH: Sunny Morning or Rainy Afternoon? LB: Sunny morning for getting things done; rainy afternoon for snuggling and reading. SH: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or Milky Way Dark? LB: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Wait—do I get one at the end of this? SH: Introvert or Extrovert? LB: Introvert with extrovert tendencies.

SH: What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever gotten? Did you heed that advice?

LB: From my mother: “Wash up as far as possible. Wash down as far as possible. Then wash possible.” I’m still heeding it.

Gemma Doyle Trilogy

A Great and Terrible Beauty

SH: Gemma isn’t afraid to leap before looking, like talking with the reappearing little girl, sneaking around the dark woods, or picking up a buried diary. Where did her fearlessness come from? (And how do the rest of us find it?)

LB: Hmmm, I’m not sure if she’s fearless so much, as impulsive. In fact, I think Gemma acts IN SPITE of her fear. Sometimes, she makes some pretty sketchy decisions (as we often do) based on avoiding her real fears: conflict, loneliness, intimacy, abandonment, and guilt.

SH: Pippa faces a big challenge posed by what society deems conventionally acceptable. She also seems to pay a pretty high price for being different. Do you think this is true in real life too?

LB: Yes, especially so for women. We penalize women for not operating within the bumper pads of what is considered acceptable. I think somebody like a Johnny Depp, Pablo Picasso, or Hugh Hefner can operate by his own outré personal standards and still be highly regarded for it. He’s a maverick—a boss. If a woman does it, she’s usually marginalized, shamed, ridiculed, or otherwise attacked.

Rebel Angels

SH: Dosa! Is this a personal favorite? Or just a favorite of Gemma’s. Have you ever been asked for the recipe?

LB: I have never been asked for the recipe because, well, please see previous reference to the pepper jelly incident and my lack of cooking skills. I don’t really know why I seized on dosa in particular, though I like it just fine.

SH: Water brings nothing but trouble in this story. If people told you they stopped bathing and/or swimming after reading this book, would you think “job well done” or would you think something else instead?

LB: People of earth: Please do not stop bathing! I implore you—the water is fine. That’s it . . . ease in and . . . hey, did you just see something moving? Now I’m going to have to write a book all about the importance and fun of bathing: Water Is Your Friend!

Sweet Far Thing

SH: Was it harder to establish the rules governing the Winterlands; or work within the constraints of Victorian England; or keep relationships between the characters exciting; or surprise readers with one more unexpected twist?

LB: D: All of the above? Rules are hard for me. Having never written fantasy before the Gemma books, learning how to establish rules and internal logic proved particularly challenging. I am really grateful for the wise counsel of Holly Black who is the absolute Queen of YA Fantasy and who forced me to think about those rules-y things that usually make me want to hop on the back of a fictional Harley, spit out my toothpick, and snarl, “Rules? I don’t need no stinkin’ rules where I’m driving!”

SH: When people ask for a fourth Gemma Doyle book, do you think they want a whole new story or just a different end to the third book? Are you tempted?

LB: I’m pretty sure they want a different ending. Yes, sometimes I’m tempted, but I’d probably end up giving them an even more horrible ending. Like everyone would be eaten by mutant bats in a protracted entrails-devouring scene. The entrails scene would have a lot of Victorian atmosphere, though. So there’s that.

Going Bovine

SH: On one of the more unconventional road trips ever taken, Cameron and his friends see and do some amazing things. Which of the oddball events do you get the most feedback about? Which event would you like to try out? (I would be interested in a visit with the CESSNAB group for the fries, shakes, and bowling!)

LB: Most of the feedback I get is about CESSNAB—so you are in the majority. (Apparently, vast numbers of people crave vanilla smoothies and failure-free bowling. Who knew?) I’d like to hang out and play music with Junior Webster. And I’d like to take another ride on the Tomorrowland PeopleMover at DisneyWorld. It sounds stupid, but I find that ride to be profound.

SH: Reading about the wishing tree makes me wish I had one. If you had a wishing tree, what would you wish for? We learned what Cameron wished for, but what do you think Gonzo and Balder would wish for?

LB: See, I watched entirely too much Twilight Zone ever to wish upon wishing trees. I can only think of the ways in which Rod Serling would subvert my longing and school me in the “Careful What You Wish For” catechism. Thanks, Mr. Serling. Thanks for MESSING ME UP FOR LIFE! Because, of course, the first thing I’d want to wish for is happiness and health for myself and for my family. And then immediately, I think, well, what if continued happiness meant you’d never grow or be challenged, which would result in making terrible decisions or in a lack of empathy? And continued health meant that you’d live forever with no threat of death, and that would result in boredom and debauchery, like vampires stuck forever at a Chuck E. Cheese? Also, if you wish for happiness/health for yourself and your family (you selfish pig!) does that mean you are dooming some other poor person’s family to a terrible, disease-and-pain-ridden fate? This is what happens when someone asks me a simple, innocent question like, “Hey, what would you wish for?” I fall down the rabbit hole of XL CRAZY worry. I should just say, “I’d wish for a bike with purple tassels.” That seems fine. (The author tries to trouble-shoot possible bad-bike-with-purple-tassels-in-a-Twilight Zone-universe scenarios.)

I suppose if I could wish for something, I’d wish that I could be fluent in every language and dialect so that I could travel everywhere. But I’d Serling-proof it to make sure it didn’t mean that I’d hear every dialect/language in my head at all times or that I’d somehow overhear a plot to assassinate a world leader but no one would believe me and I’d be thrown into a secret prison and set upon by ravenous weasels.

Now I’m anxious. I need the Reese’s peanut-butter cup now, please. There you go: I wish for a Reese’s peanut-butter cup. Keep it simple.

As for Balder, I’m pretty sure he’d wish to be home, but only after he’d helped his friends achieve their goal. And Gonzo? I like to think he got his wish.

SH: So much music from so many artists! If they ever made a movie soundtrack for this book, do you have any suggestions for who might record the sounds of Copenhagen Interpretation, The Great Tremolo, or Junior Webster?

LB: The Copenhagen Interpretation would be a cross between Sigur Ross, the Beatles, and The Flaming Lips. The Great Tremolo: A Portuguese-singing Roy Orbison with a touch of Yoko Ono. Junior Webster I based a bit on John Lee Hooker, Miles Davis, Buddy Guy, and Ray Charles. So if you can find somebody who embodies the greatness of those four, let me know. And buy me a front-row ticket to that concert, please.

Beauty Queens

SH: Would you be most likely to join the Sparkle Ponies on the beach or the Lost Girls in jungle?

LB: I’d most likely have my ass parked on the subway in New York City. I am not an Outward Bound sort of girl. My idea of camp is a double feature of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and Vampire Lesbians of Sodom.

SH: So many Teen Dream contestants with so many different stories! How did you keep all those characters and their issues straight, all while remembering their location on the island? Did you have a real map pinned up to show who went where?

LB: As I type this, I have the vague, panicky sense that I might be missing a scheduled conference call. My organizational skills are deeply flawed if not non-existent. I keep everything in my head, which, I’m pretty sure, is the writing equivalent of storing all of your money in your mattress. It’s my way. I dearly wish my way could be something other than constant chaos and a sense of impending doom, but so be it.

I think I probably have a touch of ADHD, and I tend to see/organize things in weird, symphonic bursts—layered and odd and non-linear. (This is also why my house has to be so clean—because my head is so messy.) When I get stuck, I keep coming back to what matters most: Who are my characters and what do they want? Keep it human. Human beings make choices. Eventually, I figure it all out.

SH: The boys definitely play secondary roles in the planning and executing of great ideas on the island. It felt pretty satisfying to this girl reader, do you hear much feedback–from girls or boys–about the dominance of the female gender in this book?

LB: The teen guys I’ve talked to about BQ are totally cool about it. They do not feel threatened by the presence of so much literary estrogen. I think this is A) encouraging and B) proof that books have no gender. Let me say that again: Books have no gender. I don’t open a copy of E. Lockhart’s The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau Banks and go, “Will you look at that? What are these gosh-darn Fallopian Tubes doing on page 167? OMG. This must be a girl book!!! Quick—put it on the paranormal romance shelf away from the delicate eyes of BOYS!” This whole categorizing of books as girl/boy drives me fucking bananas. Can we please agree to stop doing this?

On the other end of the spectrum, I did receive a review from an adult male reader in which he spent nearly the entirety of the review talking about the lack of strong male characters. Because what you should take away from a book that explores various aspects of the female experience is . . . the lack of male representation. Thus endeth the lesson. I have also been asked in quite a few interviews why I wrote a book all about girls (both for BQ and for The Gemma Doyle Trilogy), the implication being that giving so much weight to the lives of girls/women was an odd, unsettling, and even radical thing to do. And that’s when I realized that I needed to keep doing it. It reminds me of that great Joss Whedon quote in which he recounts his various answers to the one question he’s been asked over and over in his career—“Why do you write such strong female characters?”—until finally, beyond frustrated and dumbfounded, he spits out, “Because you’re still asking that question.” Word, Joss Whedon.

It just proves that we have a long way to go toward normalizing the female experience as part of the human experience in literature. And if one more person wrings his or her hands and laments, “Oh noes! All of these lady writers mucking up our shelves with their girlyness! What can we give our poor boys to read?” I swear to God, you might just have to bail me out of jail.

The Diviners

SH: How did you pick Zenith, Ohio, of all places, as Evie’s hometown?

LB: It’s a tip of the hat to Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis.

SH: Naughty John’s song is horrible, and catchy, and horrible! Do you ever find yourself singing it out loud–accidentally or on purpose?

LB: No. But I can’t wait for the Dubstep remix: Naughty John by Nature (Deader-Than-Deadmau5 Remix). It’s gonna kill. Er, I mean . . .

SH: The amount of research you must have done in preparation for writing this book–and for the series–could not have been easy, or was it? Did you love finding the facts or was it something to endure? Were there any books or sites you used more than others?

LB: I loved doing the research. The trouble was forcing myself to stop and write. Because who wouldn’t rather read about wild, gin-soaked parties and dodgy radiation therapies than figure out how plot a novel? Ann Douglas’ Terrible Honesty: Mongrel Manhattan in the 1920s was really terrific for overview. The Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, The Paley Center for Media, and the New York City Transit Authority archives were all top spots for on-site research. And last, but certainly not least, the expertise of librarian and “research maven” Lisa Gold cannot be overstated. She helped me find the hard-to-find sources.

General

SH: When you write, do you ever wonder if any conservative groups will find something objectionable? Do you have a theory as to why swear words in a book can cause more outrage than sex or graphic violence?

LB: When I’m writing, I don’t think about reception. My job is to find the story and be faithful to it and the characters. I’m not convinced that swear words necessarily outweigh censors’ objections to sex and sexuality, but they are up there, and I’m actually quite fascinated by people’s preoccupation with swear words as a source of outrage. Clearly, these are not people who’ve been desensitized by riding the subway every day at 3:45 when school lets out.

I won’t lie—I am a veteran, skillful curser. I can blister your eardrums. I love curse words. They are expressive and sometimes what you have to say needs a solid, “Mother—-er!” attached to it. For years, I apologized for it but now, at 48 years old, I no longer do. “Hi, my name is Libba and I’m a *#&@%&$# pottymouth.” Hopefully, I have other qualities that make up for my George Carlinesque tongue. And if I know someone is really offended by cursing, I try to temper myself around him or her. But in the world of art, one should be free to feel/say/explore everything or else it has no teeth.

I think that language represents The-Thing-We-Can-Do-Something-About. The-Shallow Thing-Which-Allows-Us-To-Skirt-Greater-Fears. Do parents want to have a discussion about sex, sexuality, drug and alcohol use, teen pregnancy, disconnection, alienation, depression, loss of innocence? Probably not. It’s really the ideas and emotional issues that are the most frightening aspects of any novel. Language? That’s just a symptom. When people say, “Don’t use that language. It’s disrespectful and offensive,” they shut down the conversation before it can begin. It essentially translates as, “I cannot tolerate your language; therefore, I certainly cannot tolerate the intense feeling behind it.”

But I think people miss the positive aspects of transgressive language. It’s cathartic. Swear words can be used to forge connections, especially among teenagers. It’s a secret, “taboo” language that can be used to convey strong feelings or admiration or make teens feel a little edgy at times. The more interesting discussion, as it pertains to language, is, “What do these words allow you to say/express that less transgressive language does not? Why these words and not other words?”

Anyway, this is a great, great question, and I thank you for asking it. Frankly, I do give a damn.

SH: It’s easy to imagine any/all of your books as movies! Do you think your past as a playwright is responsible? Or is it some other secret element you’ll never divulge?

LB: It’s gotta be the banana extract. A little banana extract gives it that extra zip.

SH: If you could be involved with the movie casting of any book–yours or someone else’s, already optioned or not–which book would it be and what actor(s) would get which role?

LB: Well, since I mentioned How To Say Goodbye in Robot, I’d cast Mia Wasikowsa as Beatrice and Ezra Miller as Jonah. Maybe Laura Linney or Mary Louise Parker as Bea’s mom.

SH: When family and friends have come to visit you for the first time in New York City, what’s your first or favorite place to take them?

LB: Usually, I hand them a Metrocard, point them toward the subway, and tell them we’ll meet up for dinner because I’m on deadline. But if they come in the summer, we always go to Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory under Brooklyn Bridge for the best ice cream you will ever eat.

SH: What’s the best question you’ve ever been asked?

LB: “Will you marry me?” Fortunately, I had the good sense to say yes.