Tweet
REBECCA CURTIS, AUTHOR
Gothamist, NY
http://gothamist.com/2007/08/16/rebecca_curtis.ph p
Aug 16 2007
Of Rebecca Curtis, Time Out New York has said, "This is a writer who
astonishes with her versatility of styles and techniques," calling
her stories, "Wise and often emotionally devastating" The Village
Voice declared that her debut short story collection Twenty Grand,
"Showcases the talent of one of the more promising short story writers
in America today." And a boy who Rebecca had a crush on at 18 said,
after being poisoned by her, " This is the worst thing that's ever
happened to me." Let's see if Curtis, who certainly is as talented
and witty as the reviewers say, can talk her way out of that one!
Have you had any encounters with shysters like in your story Alpine
Slide, burned down a house like in Hungry Self, or witnessed the
death of another under similar circumstances to The Witches?
No. I wish I had though. That would be hot.
In your story Monsters, frightening beasts exist and a family must
choose which member to offer up for them to eat. How do you feel your
own family would handle this situation?
My family argues a lot and the tide really shifts. So I think it
would be whoever was in the doghouse the most recently. Like, whoever
accidentally threw away the mail that seemed like credit card offers
but was really bills, or whoever ate the ice cream and put back an
empty container, or you know, whoever forgot to clean their hair from
the shower drain. It could be anyone.
What was the most common reader reaction to this piece?
Most people seemed to find this story stupid. I know several reviewers
felt the collection would be better without it. Maybe they're right. A
few people like it. One guy came up to me after a reading and thanked
me for writing it. I think he felt like in his family he'd be the
one to be eaten.
I liked it. I thought that the pieces that were less grounded in
reality brought an enjoyable sense of variety to the collection. Do
you often find yourself delving into the absurd?
Well, thanks. I do write absurd things a lot, often in my notebook,
and most of them are really silly and never see the light to day. But
that's a good thing because they really are silly.
What sort of silly things do you write?
Oh, they're too silly.
Do you ever feel torn between writing silly things and writing
serious things?
No more than I feel torn between deciding on whether to have oatmeal
or toast and eggs for breakfast. And I do feel torn about that,
all the time, because I like them both so much! Oatmeal is sweet and
satisfies that carbohydrate craving, but toast and eggs are salty and
buttery. In the end I just console myself that if I have toast and eggs
for breakfast today, I can choose oatmeal for breakfast tomorrow. Or,
you know, if I really get desperate, oatmeal for dinner.
When did you begin to write?
I wrote my first sentence at age 4! But I didn't publish my first
book until last month.
What was the worst letter of rejection that you've ever gotten?
Once I sent a story to Harper's through their slush pile. The story
was about a girl who, one day when her family is out of the house
on some errand, licks the living room rug. She's just curious about
what it would taste like. For some reason--the fact that her whole
family has walked on it--she gets addicted to licking the rug, that
one and the other one in the house, and rugs in general, also in
other people's houses. She tries to keep the habit secret, because
she knows it's gross, and she's ashamed, but one day her brother
sees her doing it... and things go badly for her from there, she
gets sent to an institution for other girls who also lick rugs. It
is, as you can see, absurd. Anyway, Harper's didn't like the story,
and the rejection letter said: Dear Rebecca Curtis: Thank you for
your insight on licking rugs!
At first, did your writing lean toward the more serious or the silly?
My first published stories were fairly short, and silly. When
I say short, I mean from 200 to 3,000 words. One was the story I
mentioned about the girl who becomes addicted to licking rugs--that
was a pretty developed tale of maybe 3000 words. Some shorts about a
man who wishes that one day a man would be president because in the
world of the story America has only ever had female presidents.--a
longer one about a man whose girlfriend goes with him when he needs
to get an abortion, and he's upset because the nurses at the clinic
are a bit contemptuous of his carelessness and irresponsibility. I'm
sure these stories would be found annoyingly & blatantly political by
many people! But I had fun writing them. One was about a young lawyer
whose wife gets picked to bear the Messiah and a hot Arab guy comes
down to impregnate her, but the lawyer can't protest, or even watch,
because it's God. So I guess the answer is 'silly.'
Have you had any personal experience similar to your story Twenty
Grand, where you lose something or someone only to discover their
true value afterward?
No. Someone? You mean like, break up with someone and then realize it
was true love? Are you projecting an interesting personal experience
onto the story...? Sounds intriguing.
No, I meant more of along the lines of, "You don't know what you've
got until it's gone," which could apply to a valuable coin or an
elderly relative whose kindness you never reciprocated. Have you had
an experience along those lines?
Once my mom had a set of "tricky dogs" that were magnetized and came
inside a special matchbox. The dogs were tiny, one black, one white,
terriers, and they stuck to each other's feet, and I liked to play with
them. The matchbox they "rested inside" when I wasn't playing with
them was a bit fragile. Also these "tricky dogs" were my mother's,
not mine, and they lived inside her high bureau, the top part where
she kept special things like jewelry and scarves. Well one day I was
lying on her bed playing with the "tricky dogs" and I felt antsy and
busted the matchbox they lived in. I just pressed it too hard and
it smooshed flat. Then my mother ran in the room, saw the smooshed
match box, and started crying and screaming that the tricky dogs were
antique, and that now they were ruined. Being about five years old,
I didn't quite understand and protested that the dogs were just fine,
and she explained to me, still angry and sobbing, that in order to be
of value, the dogs had to come with an original un-smooshed matchbox,
etc. I think my reaction, interior at least, was to conclude that
the world, my mother, and the notion of antiques were all dumb,
because it seemed senseless to me to care so much about whether
a match box was flattened or not. But then, at five I was a jerk,
and lots of things seemed illogical, including both my parents.
Do you have any other examples of being a jerk at young age?
Sure. Once I poisoned a guy I had a crush on, because he didn't like
me. I wasn't that young though. I was eighteen.
Poisoning! How'd you manage that?
Well, I can't give away my methods. But, he was very sick for one
day exactly--so sick he couldn't leave his room. After that he was OK
again. I think he wasn't sure what had happened at first--he thought
he just ate something bad. When he found out he'd been poisoned--which
he found out only because I, and my friends who'd helped me, started
giggling in the halls--and then my friends felt guilty and ran to
him and confessed--and then of course, having been implicated, I also
had to confess--he was very mad. So angry, in fact, he threatened to
call the police. Also to sue me. When he threatened to sue me, I was
upset. I had no money! His eyes were very big and brown, and he seemed
very confused--in addition to angry--about the whole thing. He was a
really nice guy. Co-captain, maybe, of our university's water polo
team, and an excellent and avid tennis player, windsurfer, sailor,
para-sailor, golfer, you get the picture. He was pre-med. He wanted
to help people. Whenever he'd had a summer job, in his life, it was
always volunteering--helping autistic kids play games, for example, at
a special camp for them, unpaid, or volunteering to help poor people
by administering shots to them, and other things like that. When I
went in to apologize to him, after he told he might call the police,
he said, "This is the worst thing that ever happened to me." I said,
"Really?" And he stared at me and said, "Yes. Absolutely. This is the
worst thing that's ever happened to me." It was then that I began to
giggle uncontrollably.
How do you feel about it now?
I got an issue of my university's alumni magazine and his picture was
in the back. He was still handsome, although his hair had thinned, and
he'd gained weight, and had pudge-face. He looked happy. He's a doctor,
and involved in several outreach organizations, mostly religiously
affiliated. And he's married. I think the picture was announcing all
these things. When I saw the picture, I was glad that he was happy. And
I thought: Could I poison him again? I was full of nostalgia.
Tell me about your novel in progress.
It's a historical novel about an auntie's escape from the Armenian
genocide. She was a young wife, with a newborn baby. Her husband got
sent to work on the railroads (then killed) with the other Armenian
men. A lot of Armenian women were just throwing themselves down
wells, rather than dishonor themselves by fraternizing with the
enemy. But this auntie, she went for it and married a Turkish man,
just to save her life. And her baby's, of course. She became the 5th
woman in his harem, and rode with across Turkey on horseback. The
woman was my grandmother's best friend, and semi-raised my mother,
who's Armenian. She wrote a 5,000 word, very journalistic account
of her experience. My mother gave me the document when I was 14. She
thought I might want to write about it someday. Right now I'm doing
background research, and interviewing the woman's daughters.
You've traveled to Europe to research your book, taught at the
University of Kansas in Lawrence, Kansas, and grew up in New
Hampshire. How do these many locals compare to New York?
The rent is cheaper.
Could you share an "only in New York" moment?
This one is complicated, but: my roommate is dating a guy, who went
to school (Yale) with my friend...and who it turns out was childhood
best friends with her ex's best friend... because they shared a summer
house in Connecticut together. Meanwhile, they're all novelists.
Given the opportunity, what would you change about New York?
The rent would be cheaper.
Under what circumstances would you leave New York?
Osama gets nukes.
What do you consider a perfect day of recreation in New York?
Last Sunday I walked up to Prospect Park with my sister and her
fiance. We jogged the 3 and 1/2 mile loop around it, then stopped in
a couple used bookstores and one swanky food co-op on our way back
home. We drank some creamy ice-coffees, then walked to a barbecue
in Carrol gardens in the backyard of a nice hedge-fund manager's
brownstone. He claimed not to read books (the bookshelves were empty,
and one room upstairs was full of boxed tomes) but when I quizzed
him later, he knew all the answers. After the barbecue, a bunch of
us went to the Brooklyn Inn and drank cokes.
You can see Rebecca read on September 12th, 2007 at 8 PM at the Happy
Ending Lounge 302 Broome Street, btwn Forsyth & Eldridge Streets New
York, NY.
Gothamist, NY
http://gothamist.com/2007/08/16/rebecca_curtis.ph p
Aug 16 2007
Of Rebecca Curtis, Time Out New York has said, "This is a writer who
astonishes with her versatility of styles and techniques," calling
her stories, "Wise and often emotionally devastating" The Village
Voice declared that her debut short story collection Twenty Grand,
"Showcases the talent of one of the more promising short story writers
in America today." And a boy who Rebecca had a crush on at 18 said,
after being poisoned by her, " This is the worst thing that's ever
happened to me." Let's see if Curtis, who certainly is as talented
and witty as the reviewers say, can talk her way out of that one!
Have you had any encounters with shysters like in your story Alpine
Slide, burned down a house like in Hungry Self, or witnessed the
death of another under similar circumstances to The Witches?
No. I wish I had though. That would be hot.
In your story Monsters, frightening beasts exist and a family must
choose which member to offer up for them to eat. How do you feel your
own family would handle this situation?
My family argues a lot and the tide really shifts. So I think it
would be whoever was in the doghouse the most recently. Like, whoever
accidentally threw away the mail that seemed like credit card offers
but was really bills, or whoever ate the ice cream and put back an
empty container, or you know, whoever forgot to clean their hair from
the shower drain. It could be anyone.
What was the most common reader reaction to this piece?
Most people seemed to find this story stupid. I know several reviewers
felt the collection would be better without it. Maybe they're right. A
few people like it. One guy came up to me after a reading and thanked
me for writing it. I think he felt like in his family he'd be the
one to be eaten.
I liked it. I thought that the pieces that were less grounded in
reality brought an enjoyable sense of variety to the collection. Do
you often find yourself delving into the absurd?
Well, thanks. I do write absurd things a lot, often in my notebook,
and most of them are really silly and never see the light to day. But
that's a good thing because they really are silly.
What sort of silly things do you write?
Oh, they're too silly.
Do you ever feel torn between writing silly things and writing
serious things?
No more than I feel torn between deciding on whether to have oatmeal
or toast and eggs for breakfast. And I do feel torn about that,
all the time, because I like them both so much! Oatmeal is sweet and
satisfies that carbohydrate craving, but toast and eggs are salty and
buttery. In the end I just console myself that if I have toast and eggs
for breakfast today, I can choose oatmeal for breakfast tomorrow. Or,
you know, if I really get desperate, oatmeal for dinner.
When did you begin to write?
I wrote my first sentence at age 4! But I didn't publish my first
book until last month.
What was the worst letter of rejection that you've ever gotten?
Once I sent a story to Harper's through their slush pile. The story
was about a girl who, one day when her family is out of the house
on some errand, licks the living room rug. She's just curious about
what it would taste like. For some reason--the fact that her whole
family has walked on it--she gets addicted to licking the rug, that
one and the other one in the house, and rugs in general, also in
other people's houses. She tries to keep the habit secret, because
she knows it's gross, and she's ashamed, but one day her brother
sees her doing it... and things go badly for her from there, she
gets sent to an institution for other girls who also lick rugs. It
is, as you can see, absurd. Anyway, Harper's didn't like the story,
and the rejection letter said: Dear Rebecca Curtis: Thank you for
your insight on licking rugs!
At first, did your writing lean toward the more serious or the silly?
My first published stories were fairly short, and silly. When
I say short, I mean from 200 to 3,000 words. One was the story I
mentioned about the girl who becomes addicted to licking rugs--that
was a pretty developed tale of maybe 3000 words. Some shorts about a
man who wishes that one day a man would be president because in the
world of the story America has only ever had female presidents.--a
longer one about a man whose girlfriend goes with him when he needs
to get an abortion, and he's upset because the nurses at the clinic
are a bit contemptuous of his carelessness and irresponsibility. I'm
sure these stories would be found annoyingly & blatantly political by
many people! But I had fun writing them. One was about a young lawyer
whose wife gets picked to bear the Messiah and a hot Arab guy comes
down to impregnate her, but the lawyer can't protest, or even watch,
because it's God. So I guess the answer is 'silly.'
Have you had any personal experience similar to your story Twenty
Grand, where you lose something or someone only to discover their
true value afterward?
No. Someone? You mean like, break up with someone and then realize it
was true love? Are you projecting an interesting personal experience
onto the story...? Sounds intriguing.
No, I meant more of along the lines of, "You don't know what you've
got until it's gone," which could apply to a valuable coin or an
elderly relative whose kindness you never reciprocated. Have you had
an experience along those lines?
Once my mom had a set of "tricky dogs" that were magnetized and came
inside a special matchbox. The dogs were tiny, one black, one white,
terriers, and they stuck to each other's feet, and I liked to play with
them. The matchbox they "rested inside" when I wasn't playing with
them was a bit fragile. Also these "tricky dogs" were my mother's,
not mine, and they lived inside her high bureau, the top part where
she kept special things like jewelry and scarves. Well one day I was
lying on her bed playing with the "tricky dogs" and I felt antsy and
busted the matchbox they lived in. I just pressed it too hard and
it smooshed flat. Then my mother ran in the room, saw the smooshed
match box, and started crying and screaming that the tricky dogs were
antique, and that now they were ruined. Being about five years old,
I didn't quite understand and protested that the dogs were just fine,
and she explained to me, still angry and sobbing, that in order to be
of value, the dogs had to come with an original un-smooshed matchbox,
etc. I think my reaction, interior at least, was to conclude that
the world, my mother, and the notion of antiques were all dumb,
because it seemed senseless to me to care so much about whether
a match box was flattened or not. But then, at five I was a jerk,
and lots of things seemed illogical, including both my parents.
Do you have any other examples of being a jerk at young age?
Sure. Once I poisoned a guy I had a crush on, because he didn't like
me. I wasn't that young though. I was eighteen.
Poisoning! How'd you manage that?
Well, I can't give away my methods. But, he was very sick for one
day exactly--so sick he couldn't leave his room. After that he was OK
again. I think he wasn't sure what had happened at first--he thought
he just ate something bad. When he found out he'd been poisoned--which
he found out only because I, and my friends who'd helped me, started
giggling in the halls--and then my friends felt guilty and ran to
him and confessed--and then of course, having been implicated, I also
had to confess--he was very mad. So angry, in fact, he threatened to
call the police. Also to sue me. When he threatened to sue me, I was
upset. I had no money! His eyes were very big and brown, and he seemed
very confused--in addition to angry--about the whole thing. He was a
really nice guy. Co-captain, maybe, of our university's water polo
team, and an excellent and avid tennis player, windsurfer, sailor,
para-sailor, golfer, you get the picture. He was pre-med. He wanted
to help people. Whenever he'd had a summer job, in his life, it was
always volunteering--helping autistic kids play games, for example, at
a special camp for them, unpaid, or volunteering to help poor people
by administering shots to them, and other things like that. When I
went in to apologize to him, after he told he might call the police,
he said, "This is the worst thing that ever happened to me." I said,
"Really?" And he stared at me and said, "Yes. Absolutely. This is the
worst thing that's ever happened to me." It was then that I began to
giggle uncontrollably.
How do you feel about it now?
I got an issue of my university's alumni magazine and his picture was
in the back. He was still handsome, although his hair had thinned, and
he'd gained weight, and had pudge-face. He looked happy. He's a doctor,
and involved in several outreach organizations, mostly religiously
affiliated. And he's married. I think the picture was announcing all
these things. When I saw the picture, I was glad that he was happy. And
I thought: Could I poison him again? I was full of nostalgia.
Tell me about your novel in progress.
It's a historical novel about an auntie's escape from the Armenian
genocide. She was a young wife, with a newborn baby. Her husband got
sent to work on the railroads (then killed) with the other Armenian
men. A lot of Armenian women were just throwing themselves down
wells, rather than dishonor themselves by fraternizing with the
enemy. But this auntie, she went for it and married a Turkish man,
just to save her life. And her baby's, of course. She became the 5th
woman in his harem, and rode with across Turkey on horseback. The
woman was my grandmother's best friend, and semi-raised my mother,
who's Armenian. She wrote a 5,000 word, very journalistic account
of her experience. My mother gave me the document when I was 14. She
thought I might want to write about it someday. Right now I'm doing
background research, and interviewing the woman's daughters.
You've traveled to Europe to research your book, taught at the
University of Kansas in Lawrence, Kansas, and grew up in New
Hampshire. How do these many locals compare to New York?
The rent is cheaper.
Could you share an "only in New York" moment?
This one is complicated, but: my roommate is dating a guy, who went
to school (Yale) with my friend...and who it turns out was childhood
best friends with her ex's best friend... because they shared a summer
house in Connecticut together. Meanwhile, they're all novelists.
Given the opportunity, what would you change about New York?
The rent would be cheaper.
Under what circumstances would you leave New York?
Osama gets nukes.
What do you consider a perfect day of recreation in New York?
Last Sunday I walked up to Prospect Park with my sister and her
fiance. We jogged the 3 and 1/2 mile loop around it, then stopped in
a couple used bookstores and one swanky food co-op on our way back
home. We drank some creamy ice-coffees, then walked to a barbecue
in Carrol gardens in the backyard of a nice hedge-fund manager's
brownstone. He claimed not to read books (the bookshelves were empty,
and one room upstairs was full of boxed tomes) but when I quizzed
him later, he knew all the answers. After the barbecue, a bunch of
us went to the Brooklyn Inn and drank cokes.
You can see Rebecca read on September 12th, 2007 at 8 PM at the Happy
Ending Lounge 302 Broome Street, btwn Forsyth & Eldridge Streets New
York, NY.