DAVID: Mike Price? Didn’t he go to Alabama and get in trouble at a strip club? He said it was a one-time thing.
CALEB: It’s never a one-time thing.
DAVID: When did you start dating?
CALEB: 2001. I was between Brazil and Taiwan. We had a long-distance relationship. She came to Asia three times before we got married.
DAVID: You’ve been married ten years?
CALEB: We got married in 2003. We got married at the same age as you and Laurie, but you’re twelve years older. You had Natalie around the same age we had Ava. Natalie’s eighteen and Ava’s six. Twelve years. This is boring stuff we’ll probably take out.
DAVID: It’s not boring. We’ll just talk, but then when we talked about your tendency to interrupt, the car got a little cold. You could really feel—
CALEB: Moo!
DAVID: You could really—
CALEB: Moo!
DAVID: There was real tension. Basically, any time we can—
CALEB: Mooooo!
DAVID: We need ninety-seven—
CALEB: Moo! Moo!
DAVID: Okay. I get it. The interrupting cow?
CALEB: “Knock, knock! Who’s there? Interrupting Cow. Interrup—Moo!”
DAVID: Did you just come across that?
CALEB: From Enough About You. You said that was the funniest joke you ever heard.
DAVID: It was my favorite joke at the time. Seemed like a good thing to say in the Bill Murray chapter, since he’s such an interrupting cow.
CALEB: You kept talking and I kept mooing.
DAVID: Noted.
CALEB: I hope you’re not one of those types that, you know, never cracks a joke and never acknowledges a joke cracked.
DAVID: I am humor incarnate, my friend.
CALEB: What’d you think of Adderall Diaries?
DAVID: I don’t know. I wanted to love it but didn’t. I liked it okay. I like consciousness contending with experience. It felt to me more like experience. What did you think?
CALEB: Murder, sex, drugs, confusion. Good stuff.
CALEB: I haven’t gotten to Helen Schulman’s This Beautiful Life. Not sure why you suggested it.
DAVID: It’s just an example of the kind of book I think doesn’t need to be written anymore.
CALEB: Have you read it?
DAVID: No, but—
CALEB: You’re asking me to read books you haven’t read?
DAVID: I don’t think I said, “Could you read this book?” I just meant, “Caleb, let’s bookmark this and talk about it later.” I’ve read a lot about the book, I’ve read her other novels, and I know her. It’s about what happens when a sex tape goes viral at a high school. But we’ve all already processed this narrative in real time: we already did this novel through the Tyler Clementi case.
CALEB: There was the Billy Lucas suicide and so many others.
DAVID: That was DeLillo’s big idea twenty-five years ago: terrorists are the new novelists.
CALEB: You probably didn’t read We Need to Talk About Kevin, then, either.
DAVID: Really great title, but what novel could ever touch Columbine?
CALEB: A friend of mine wrote a novel about a pop-star celebrity—how he picked up boys and took them to his mansion, etc. His agent wouldn’t even send it out.
DAVID: Why not?
CALEB: The main character was transparently Michael Jackson. The topic was too controversial, I guess.
DAVID: For a long time I wanted to write about Tonya Harding. These moments really grip you during the time they’re happening, but I’ve come to realize that for me, anyway—
CALEB: (stops car) Uh-oh.
David looks intently out the windshield.
CALEB: Jeez, I wasn’t even going fast. I saw the crosswalk but didn’t see her. I’ll wait until she crosses.
CALEB: How Literature Saved My Life—the title doesn’t work.
DAVID: Seriously?
CALEB: How Literature Saved Your Life?
DAVID: The good thing about it is that it doesn’t need a subtitle. “What’s it about?” Well, it’s about how literature saved my life.
CALEB: That’s every book you write. Didn’t Steve Almond already write How Rock ’n’ Roll Saved My Life?
DAVID: Rock and Roll Will Save Your Life. Did you see that thing Almond and I did? Someone interviewed me, then she asked Almond to criticize my answers. It was supposed to be funny.
CALEB: He seems like a cool guy.
DAVID: He’s lively.
CALEB: His persona, when he’s in his element, works. He should be a comedian, but he’s not a serious writer—“serious” being a writer who writes about “serious” topics.
DAVID: In person he’s charming. And he’s quick, insanely quick. I like him, even if I’m not a huge fan of his work, and I think the feeling is mutual. I find his stuff a little superficial, don’t you?
CALEB: He hasn’t earned the right to be a political authority. Not that I have, either, but I’m not going around issuing self-indulgent moral stands that have no substantive value. Sartre refused the Nobel Prize. How many lives did that save? Almond was teaching at Boston College—
DAVID: Where he quit.
CALEB: —when Condoleezza Rice was invited to give the commencement speech.
DAVID: You wonder if there wasn’t another motivation on his part.
CALEB: It got him on Fox News.
DAVID: I saw something by him recently called “Twenty Tough Questions for Barack Obama.” A very, very stock liberal critique of Obama. I come close to sharing virtually all of Almond’s politics, but I don’t pretend to be a political scientist. He always winds up writing 1,500-word articles for Slate called “Steve Almond’s Solution to the Palestinian Crisis.”
DAVID: Did you ever feel compelled to have a conventional profession?
CALEB: No.
DAVID: Did you actively seek out a bohemian life?
CALEB: After college I worked construction and tried to be a musician. I never considered a career or saving for the future.
DAVID: How did you tend to support yourself abroad?
CALEB: Teaching ESL: English as—
DAVID: I know what “ESL” stands for. Did Terry ever put any pressure on you to have a career?
CALEB: No. She’s pretty good about it. It’s not like I’m a doctor and could walk into a six-figure job. And taking care of the children is a job. I could see myself teaching later.
DAVID: Do you have genuine expertise as an ESL teacher?
CALEB: No.
DAVID: In any case, the point being, I wonder if we’ve married slightly more rational and commonsensical people than we are ourselves. You wife is in advertising?
CALEB: Close enough. Technically, sales, but linked to marketing/advertising. And your wife’s at Fred Hutchinson—fund-raising?
DAVID: She’s a project manager. They study things like whether night-shift workers are more likely to get prostate cancer. Did you ever go out with people in the arts? Writers? Does it surprise you that you married someone who’s not an artist?
CALEB: Yeah.
DAVID: Me, too.
CALEB: When I was overseas, I never thought I’d marry an American. I thought I’d settle overseas. Probably Asia.
DAVID: Then, in 2003—
CALEB: Sorry to interrupt …
DAVID: No, go ahead.
CALEB: How much of your stuff does Laurie read? Does she criticize drafts? Does she read only the published book? Does she like your work?
DAVID: I’d say it’s one of the sadnesses of my life. She reads my work and she semi-likes it sometimes—there’ll be passages she likes—but she’s not exactly riveted. She liked The Thing About Life okay, I think, and she liked Dead Languages, but that was a long time ago. She’s a huge David Foster Wallace fan; she’s always apotheosizing Wallace. Enough about Wallace!
She’s a very smart person who’s not literary, so she’ll say, “I read Reality Hunger, and I kind of agree with it. I, too
, am weary of fiction.” And that will be her whole comment. It’s a book I spent years writing, but it’s not in her to say, “It’s brilliant,” or on the other hand, “I liked this, but I quarreled with that.” In general, she’s not crazy about my work. How about Terry? Has she read all your essays and stories?
CALEB: No. You remember my story set in Thailand—the one I gave you, published in Post Road? Terry still hasn’t read that story. It’s four pages. I told her I’d like her to read it, showed it to her, put it on her nightstand, and left it there. If she’s read it, she never told me. The only things she likes come from my Notes of a Sexist Stay-at-Home Father family blog. I write stuff like “What do you call a guy who hates giving women backrubs?”
DAVID: Is this a joke?
CALEB: A massage-ynist. But my serious stuff she hates or isn’t interested in. I have to twist her arm to read any of it. She usually finds it boring, calls me a “literary snob.”
DAVID: And yet she mocks your preference for beer over wine.
CALEB: She loves Harlan Coben. He writes the Myron Bolitar series. She’ll say, “You’d like Myron Bolitar because he was a basketball player, number one draft pick for the Celtics who blew his knee out and became an agent who cleans up athletes’ messes. Not only that, it’s verrrrrrrrrrrrrry literary!” Two months ago, when you and I marked this trip on the calendar, I said to her, “Give Reality Hunger a shot. I’m really interested in your take; it’ll give us something to talk about. I’m going to leave this book on the night table, and please take a look.” She said, “Okay.” She still hasn’t read it.
DAVID: And you put it there in August?
CALEB: Yes.
DAVID: Laurie is capable of the same.
CALEB: But she likes Wallace.
DAVID: That’s not generally her taste. Maybe it’s a Midwestern thing. “Shipping Out,” “The Illinois State Fair,” “Consider the Lobster,” and “Host,” but those are it. Non-writers could never fathom the hurt inflicted—or maybe they can.
CALEB: My dad read that Gulf Coast Q&A you and I did and called it literary fluff. Sarah read our interview in the Rumpus and couldn’t get past the fact that we said “fuck” a few times. I didn’t know what to say. Then Sarah read a few pages of Reality Hunger and wasn’t impressed, and Terry shares Sarah’s opinion, even though she hasn’t read a word of it.
DAVID: Some galleys of How Literature Saved My Life arrived while I was away. Natalie said, “We opened the box not knowing what it was, and then we read it. We really liked it. So funny!” I asked, “How far did you get?” They stopped at page twenty. There’s a heavy-duty sex scene at about page fifty that I’m glad they didn’t get to, but I was just sort of baffled that they’d read and stop after twenty pages. Not even curious? I wonder if it has something to do with not wanting to know about that part of you.
CALEB: Terry hates the way I analyze everything. I pushed some books on her that she liked: Rian Malan’s My Traitor’s Heart, Jung Chang’s Wild Swans, Maugham. Then she wanted me to read Water for Elephants and Stones from the River. I’m open, but I immediately started dissecting. She says I don’t like books because of envy, because I’m unpublished. As if, all of a sudden, I’m going to like these books as soon as I’m published.
DAVID: Would Terry read Thing About Life?
CALEB: She’d probably like that more than Reality Hunger.
DAVID: Maybe she’d like Dead Languages.
CALEB: She might.
DAVID: She wants smooth entertainment. What does she like beyond Simón Bolívar or whatever his name is?
CALEB: Oprah selections: Rohinton Mistry. Amy Tan. Lisa See.
DAVID: Those are probably not terrible.
CALEB: She’s a big David Sedaris fan. She’s always, “Why can’t you be funny and write like David Sedaris?”
DAVID: Did Terry ever read your rape novel?
CALEB: Maybe ten percent. She says she supports my writing, and if I ever get published, she expects me to write in the acknowledgments, “I thank my wife for her loving support.” She supports me as a father and husband but not as a writer. She endures my writing. My passion could be race car driving or eating hot dogs for all she cares. I don’t know if she’ll even read this.
DAVID: Sounds like she wouldn’t.
CALEB: Well, I’m not going to edit myself. I realize family or intimates don’t like to see themselves portrayed in an uncomplimentary manner. Writers turn to fiction to protest, perhaps.
DAVID: You’re still invested in fiction in ways that I’m not.
CALEB: (to the DVR) September 29th, 2011, 8:38 p.m. Caleb and David are departing from the parking lot at Red Apple Market, in Sultan, Washington, where they bought groceries. Groceries and beer.
DAVID: So who’s this guy whose house we’re staying at?
CALEB: Khamta. He’s with his wife and son in Hawaii. His wife is his ex-girlfriend’s ex-girlfriend.
DAVID: Yowza.
CALEB: His wife and ex are/were bi.
DAVID: Got it. How do you know him?
CALEB: I grew up in Coupeville—fifty miles north of Seattle. Two friends from high school, Dave Barouh and Khamta Khongsavanh, built houses outside of Skykomish. I worked on both houses. Barouh’s is smaller and the power has a problem, so we’ll probably stay at Khamta’s.
DAVID: I’m happy to stay wherever you want. What are my requirements? Warm. I like heat. And I’d like to take some walks.
CALEB: I have a Washington State Parks pass. We can do casual or serious hikes. I know the terrain. Whenever I’d work on these houses, I’d stay a few days. Terry calls them work vacations.
DAVID: Is it hard to leave? Are the girls fine being with Terry?
CALEB: They favor her. When she comes home, they leave me and pounce on her. My wife’s a better wage earner, and if she were a full-time mom, she’d be better at that, too.
DAVID: I’ll bet you’re better at it than most men would be.
CALEB: I’ll give myself that.
DAVID: What’s the state of your novel? I thought it was eminently publishable (whatever that means). Didn’t Sarah Crichton at FSG [the publisher Farrar, Straus & Giroux] like it a lot?
CALEB: She was hooked by the beginning but thought it lost momentum.
DAVID: That would have been so great.
CALEB: Would have been. You liked my novel but didn’t love it.
DAVID: I think that’s fair.
CALEB: I had to push you to read it.
DAVID: I’m a hard sell: I’m not interested anymore in the conventional novel.
CALEB: My novel’s been rejected by some really great editors. My agent tried her best, got it to the right people.
DAVID: Where’s she based?
CALEB: D.C. Her biggest clients are a congresswoman named Barbara Lee and Helen Thomas until she dumped Helen after her anti-Semitic tirade. She didn’t change a word of my manuscript, just sent it off. She sells genre fiction and nonfiction by politicians and journalists. I’m the only “literary” writer she has. It’s time for me to switch.
DAVID: It’s best not to tell an agent or an editor what’s going on until you have to. You have to be willing to piss people off.
CALEB: That shouldn’t be a problem.
CALEB: We just passed Baring. One grocery store/post office. Same building. We’re near Stevens Pass.
(parking in front of a run-down house)
What do you think?
(long silence)
DAVID: Okay.
CALEB: Let’s go in.
DAVID: Okay.
CALEB: We’ve got different senses of humor.
DAVID: I find stuff funny. I just don’t laugh all the time.
CALEB: Look at that house. You’d stay there?
DAVID: Why not?
CALEB: I wondered whether to do this. I told my wife, and she said, “Really?” You’d have a stoic expression, and I’d tell you that it was a joke, and you’d say, “Huh?”
DAVID: You should do it, wh
atever it is. Ah, I see. I’m an idiot. You were going to pretend this horrible place is where we were staying, and I would freak out.
CALEB: Pretend?
DAVID: If you’re joking, it would be the kind of thing I’d laugh at.
CALEB: This house hasn’t been lived in for ten years. No lights, grass four feet high, broken windows. I was working up to telling you we’re staying at a meth lab. Sensors, wires, and pit bulls. You’d stay here?
DAVID: I could handle it.
CALEB: (driving farther on the dirt road) I give up.
CALEB: Skykomish, September 29th, 2011, 8:57 p.m. We’re about one mile south of Highway 2 and three miles west of the town of Skykomish. We turned off Money Creek Road, down a dirt road, a driveway, and are entering Barouh’s house.
DAVID: This is nice.
CALEB: He should rent it out. The ghost of Barouh is all around. I just wanted to check the gas stove. If the gas doesn’t work, we’ll go to Khamta’s.
CALEB: Khamta’s house.
DAVID: This isn’t our place, is it?
CALEB: Outdoor basketball court, kids’ wading pool, hot tub. He’s got four-wheelers and a riding mower. It’s no cabin.
DAVID: Christ, it’s gorgeous. I’m going to send a picture of it to Laurie.
CALEB: (playing a CD inside the house) You’re friends with the singer.
DAVID: Is it Rick Moody’s band?
CALEB: Mountain Con.
DAVID: Oh my god! James sounds great. Wow! Man! They sound terrific. It’s so cool that you looked him up.
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