Nick Flynn interviewed by Christian Stiefenhofer

Munich, Germany, Spring 2005

1.

Before Another Bullshit Night... you've published two books that

also contained very personal matters, but in the form of poems.

Nf-Just to clarify, another bullshit night is my fourth book in

America. My first book of poems, some ether, deals with my own
history, but the second book, blind huber, is a series of poems
based around the 17th c French/swiss beekeeper francois huber. The
other book is non-fiction and deals with the years I spent teaching
poetry to young people in nyc public schools. So far, only half my
books have dealt with “very personal matters,” just so I don’t
sound completely self-centered.

-What was the reason to tell the story about your father a) as prose
and b) as a memoir and not a novel?

Nf-a) well, a lot of the work I’ve been drawn to lately (anne carson,
carol maso, james joyce) feels more like hybrid forms of writing,
where the line between prose and poetry is blurred. This is a form
that interests me, especially for this book, where a more
conventional narrative wouldn’t feel true to the experience, which
was more fragmented, with meaning gleaned in more associative
than rational ways.

b. as for memoir vs novel, abn actually feels somewhere in the

middle as well, for it deals primarily with memory, and memory is,
I believe, a form of fiction. That said, I‘ve tried to stick as close to
the “truth” as I was able.

-Wouldn't it been easier to protect yourself as an author behind

fictional characters?

Nf- no one ever told me that the job of being a writer was to protect
oneself. Also, after working with the homeless for many years, I
thought it would be somewhat obscene to create a character of a
homeless person, to appear to appropriate someone else’s story,
when the story was in fact my own, my father’s.

2.

How long did it take to write the book? Could you tell me
something about the experience of "researching" one's own family's
past and your own past?

Nf-I spent the first two years, before I knew it would become a book,
interviewing my father on videotape. This was how I first got to
know him, about five years after he got off the streets. I would take
the tapes home and transcribe my father’s stories, absorb the cadence
of his voice, and then I began what would become the book. It took
me seven years after that to finish. The research felt very much like
the research for any project-tracking down witnesses, finding
documents, piecing together fragments.

3.

-I can imagine it had to be rather painful to start such a project,

how did you cope with that, what mechanisms as an author did you
establish to get through the process of writing this book?

Nf-well, each of my books has presented their own challenges, not

the least of which has been the complicated emotions that are
unearthed. I’ve learned that without these emotions the writing
isn’t as surprising, doesn’t have the same tension. That said, I
marshaled all of my resources to get through the rough parts,
primarily the network of friends I’ve been blessed with who keep
me centered.

-Your book is quite unsentimental in its tone. What helped you to

be able to find a distance to what you write?

Nf-during the years of writing I spent some time in Vietnam, some

time in Tanzania, and to be in places where the people have truly
suffered and where they are suffering still can be very humbling,
and can drive whatever self-pity one carries away. Self-pity was
present in many drafts of the book, believe me, but with
perspective I realized it just wasn’t true.

4.

In your book you describe your father's efforts in writing, or better

in being an author. Where do your own roots in writing lie? Did
you write all your life or started when you were a teenager? Can
you describe your own attitude toward writing, in contrast/in
relation to your father's?

Nf-for some reason I’ve been attracted to writing all my life, I don’t
know why this is.

As far as I can tell, my father is primarily a storyteller, in that he

functions best in a roomful of people, getting that immediate
response. It seems that a writer must learn to spend massive amounts
of time in solitude, and the payoff, if it comes at all, comes much
later.

5.

You write about your father in a very honest, often unfavorable

manner. Did you sometimes have to weigh your description to not
let his impression get too unsympathetic and protect him, or was
truthfulness your main force while writing this?

Nf- my attempt throughout was to portray the compassion I have

come to feel toward my father and his life, but, hopefully, it is a
compassion that does not try to pretty up the reality of his life, but
rather acknowledges the struggle.

6.
As the book was finished, did you have feelings of some sort of
"completion" on a personal level? How has your relationship to
your father developed since then, as your story gained quite a lot of
attention in the public/media?

Nf- whatever feelings of completion I felt beyond having the book

out in the world have to do with the process I went through in the
writing, which forced me, reluctantly at first, to have, finally, a
relationship with my father. I think if that hadn’t happened I would
in some way feel forever incomplete. One surprise from having the
book published is that my father seems to be holding himself
together more so than ever, as if the book has given his life some
meaning, some reason not to get completely lost.

7.

You took care of your father, although he never was there for you.
How would you explain this? Is there something like an invisible
bond within family members that can be very strong?

Nf-it’s nice you say I took care of my father-others could read the
book and wonder why I never took him in when he was homeless.
I think I did the best I could, and perhaps now I do a little better
even. But even as I say that I wonder if its true. I think there’s a
bond between all living things, actually--its just that the bond
between blood is somehow even stronger, or at least more intense,
which sometimes causes us to turn our backs on those closest to us,
maybe out of fear.

What is the most striking thing you learnt about Fathers and Sons?

Nf-We’ve got to resolve our relationships with our fathers. A lot of

difficulties seem to arise from these unresolved relationships (i.e.
bush fighting a senseless war to outdo his own father)
8.

My last question is about "homelessness" as a common issue (apart

from the personal aspects with your father)? What was your
motivation in 1984 to start working in the shelter? Is homelessness
a problem that is dealt with openly in the U.S., or –as often here in
Germany- rather ignored? What insights do you think German
readers could get from your book about this problem in the U.S.?

Nf-my book isn’t written as a sociological text, in that it doesn’t

propose any answers to the ever-growing problem of homelessness,
though I am always tempted to point fingers at the causes.

In 1984 I began working in the shelter in part because it seemed like a

political thing to do, in part because I was somewhat lost myself. I see
the mid80s as when homelessness as we now know it was invented
in America, due to the regentrification of the inner cities and reagan’s
enduring legacy, which has made reckless profiteerism a virtue. The
problem has gotten worse every year in America, and will likely get
much worse in the near future under our current drunken cowboy
government. We Americans have developed a very intricate
internalized system of delusions which allow the problem to remain
essentially invisible, but the pressure of these delusions is becoming,
perhaps, too much to bear, and so we are increasingly lashing out at
phantoms in the world, when we should be doing much more self-
examination. I wouldn’t even venture a guess as to what germans
should do, beyond keeping their eyes open and asking difficult
questions, which is the opposite of what passes for public discourse
in America today.