JS: You seem to be mostly known as a travel writer--
AH: That's funny. I could point you toward a whole subset of readers who'd be like, "She writes what now? I thought she just wrote about her kids."
JS: Yet you've written in many different genres, including the famous East Village Inky zine--
AH: Say what? On what fabulously informed planet are you huffing them paint fumes? tell me another one!
JS: ... memoirs, children's books, and now a novel. How do you answer when someone asks what you write?
AH: I tell them that it felt like I was in danger of milking the self-mocking autobiography genre dry, so I've turned to fiction to give that tank time to replenish itself.
JS: Do you think it really matters how a writer defines him or herself?
AH: Well, yeah, not that I've been able to figure it out to my financial advantage. My first book, The Big Rumpus, did indeed deal with motherhood, and the minutiae of birth, breastfeeding, and hanging out with little kids. Around about the same time, I noticed that the word 'momoir' was being disparagingly applied to any piece of non-fiction that dealt with a woman's experience of having children. The only time this subject seemed above contempt was in these rare, cynical instances where the author had a well established writing career, and a really bad attitude. Copping to a near-psychotic hatred of this mewling mutant who erupted out of your formerly taut and much mourned lady bits, who screeches for your breasts every time you sit down to read the Times Literary Supplement, until you feel like taking an ax and killing everyone in sight... this seemed the only surefire way to hang onto your writerly street cred outside of parenting circles.
Given the constantly reinforced, and to my mind mostly artificial schism in this country between those who have children and those who do not, it wasn't surprising that writing about kids has wound up as a much abused sub-genre, whose appeal must never ever be allowed to extend beyond those who find themselves in the same boat. I think it's a crock. Since when must a reader's experience duplicate the author's? Some of the feedback I've treasured most has come from readers who begin their correspondence by saying, "First off, let me say, I don't have kids, don't want kids, don't even particularly like the little buggers, but I liked your book." Very gratifying!
That said, back in 2002, I was like, no way is my second book going to rehash this same territory. I didn't want to get stuck in the ghetto the powerful publishing folk had cordoned off for us inconsequential little 'mommy writers'. So, I did a little armchair traveling of my own, rehashing my down and dirty days as a childless low budget backpacker. I made sure it had a really sexed up author photo, which may be part of the reason why you know me as a travel writer!
Ironically, had I stuck with parenting as my main subject, I might be more of a quantifiable commodity. But maybe not. I mean the first thing I did in the Big Rumpus was bash the mainstream parenting magazines. And I once asked an editor at American Baby whom I had to fuck for my kill fee, which resulted in a kill fee, but strangely, no further assignments...
I reckon I'm one of those who's destined to hop from millstone to millstone, and that includes the one I've hung around my neck.
JS: Do you have one genre that you prefer?
AH: As long as it can be passed off as a comedy of misguided manners, I'm happy.
JS: What do you like to read?
AH: Graphic novels, The Onion, big complex novels, New Yorker film reviews, essays by the likes of Chuck Klosterman and Susan Orlean, a couple of humorous zines, and d-listed.com.
JS: What are some of your favorite books and what have you read lately that you'd recommend?
AH: I was just thinking about my favorite books because god forbid my facebook profile should not be an accurate reflection of my tastes. Take a gander:
Ship of Fools, The Grapes of Wrath, In Cold Blood, Sex and Death to the Age Fourteen, Stuart Little, Clumsy, Dungeon, Blankets, The Undertaking, Stiff, I Love You More Than You Know, A Cook's Tour, Peops, Need More Love, The Road, Crackpot, Love and Rockets, Hate, When We Were Very Maakies, Karma Cola, Safe Area Gorazde, Up in the Old Hotel, Mrs. Bridge, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Slaughterhouse Five, The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, and Fancy Froglin's Sexy Forest.
The only thing I might be tempted to do is to swap out Stuart Little for Charlotte's Web. I love them both, but I didn't want the ghost of EB White to get a swollen head.
The thing I've been recommending right and left lately is a graphic novel series by Joann Sfar and Lewis Tronheim, called Dungeon, which follows the rise and fall of this for-profit dungeon populated by all sorts of monsters and dragons, and a duck named Herbert. It's so funny, the art is delightful and incredibly detailed, and I experience it as a sort of wonderfully breathless soap opera, since certain volumes are a bit tricky to get hold of and I'm always scanning the shelves at Rocketship to see if they've gotten one in that I've not read before. My seven-year-old son has discovered Dungeon in a big way too, which is sort of inappropriate given the cartoonish violence, and to a much less graphic degree, sex. It's just a few frames, but the scenes of the skinny but lusty rabbit, Marvin the Red, wooing a zaftig, nude, bird-beaked cat princess on a table in front of the fire will probably turn out, in hindsight, to be a very formative sexual memory for the little nutball.
JS: I often get questions about what it's like to be married to another writer. You're married to Greg Kotis (the playwright of "Urinetown" fame) and I was wondering if you think there are any advantages or disadvantages to being married to another writer. If so, what are they?
AH: Mos def. I glory in his triumphs, and come out like a biting sow when some critic fails to appreciate his insane gifts. On the other hand, I get really pissed when he asks me what I think about a certain scene and then gets mad because I can't resist saying, "Hey, instead of saying it that way, you should say it like this." For a private person, he sure divulges a lot about what he's working on as he's working on it. Whereas I'm this excessively sociable type who reverts to third grade, curling my arm around my paper so nobody can see what I've written until it's available for purchase by the general public.
Also, I do sort of wonder what sort of low budget nursing home options will be available to us when we're feeble, aged, and broke as all hell. I don't think I"m the type to retire to the quiet pleasures of rural Vermont.
