Jennifer Trudeau on "Earthquake Season"
Issue 17 of STORYGLOSSIA features Jennifer Trudeau's "Earthquake Season." In this mini-interview Jennifer and I discuss "Earthquake Season."
Steven McDermott: Why "Earthquake Season?" Where'd this story come from?
Jennifer Trudeau: In 1994 I was in Los Angeles for the Northridge earthquake. Everything about that experience fascinated me—the sense of controlled violence, the intensity, the direct presence of the earth in a way I otherwise would never know it. How three million people's lives effectively shut down in its wake, after literally only a few minutes of activity. The earth became a living thing in my mind after this. I got hooked on seismology.
That earthquake—it was a good size, 6.7—had emotional effects on people I knew, and broke a few friendships. Some of our group were deeply frightened by the experience, though none of us were actually hurt; those who weren't frightened wanted to discuss it, relive it, compare notes, speculate. Others wanted to pretend it hadn't happened, or responded dramatically, like they could hardly hold themselves together, or needed triage or something. We were a bit scornful of each other.
People died in that earthquake, horribly. Highways collapsed, buildings. I'm not indifferent to the human element . . . but in my mind it's a separate issue from the natural behavior of the earth. You can't blame gravity when a child learning to walk falls and hurts himself, even if he cracks his skull.
Later, my sister lived in San Francisco and I moved in with her for a while, and we experienced a few small earthquakes there. I now live in Michigan. When I began the story I was missing San Francisco and earthquakes. The seasonality question arose in the back of my mind as I wrote: if shakers were predictable, like hurricanes, so much human carnage might be avoided. That's optimistic, though.
Right now there's a good deal of concern over the neighborhood in this story, over a system called the Hayward fault. Seismologists generally agree it's due for a large rupture. In the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco a phenomenon called liquefaction essentially turned the soil into mud in some places. The same thing could happen today in the east bay area when Hayward goes, because the land properties are similar; this region is reclaimed marshland, heavily populated, residential. Liquifaction here would pretty well guarantee all of these structures to fail, since they'd be sitting on not solid ground but a giant pool of mud. There's some concern about inland flooding, too, should there be a major earthquake on that system. My sister doesn't live there anymore, incidentally.
As we saw with the Indian Ocean tsunami, predictability isn't always enough. Anyway, the story is more about people than science, though it didn't begin that way.
SM: The notion of twins with such differences—it's more typical to see riffs on the similarities—is a strand, if not the spine, of the story. Was that splitting of the characters something you began the story with, or something that evolved through revision?
JT: It was part of the story early on, a small part, and grew proportionately as the story developed.
All relationships have problems, because all people have issues, and sometimes those in a relationship have completely different interpretations of its nature. That's the case here. With these two, their complete difference of talent and dependence on each other was one way to draw a microcosm of human interdependence.
When a cooperative effort has a whole greater than the sum of its parts, whether you like it or not is irrelevant, unless you're willing to deliberately mislead yourself for the sake of emotion.
SM: One of the things that drew me to the story early on was the narrator's conflicted attitude towards her sister, her animosity, and also her recognition of it, for example, she calls herself a "thug" because she's using her sister to get ideas. How did that come about?
JT: We're all complicated emotionally where our close relationships are concerned. It was evident that her own curiosity was Danny's priority, and not her sister. She's aware enough to know it; ironically, maybe as a result of having cultivated her objectivity. But she's also invested enough in her sister to regret that.
People will use and mistreat others for reasons of ambition. Danny had seen it manifested in academia, and it was one of her reasons for leaving. She'd better be conflicted about discovering the same propensity in herself.
SM: The science in the story flows naturally. A product of research? Or do you have scientific training?
JT: No, I'm no scientist. The seismology in the story I've learned on my own over the years, and it's probably full of holes. I did want to study neuroscience at one point. I went back to college to fulfill some core requirements so I could apply for a Ph.D. in neurology. I enjoyed biology, zoology, botany and chemistry in college, and I was able to do some dissections—fetal pigs, sheep eyes, brains, rats—so there was some exposure to scientific methodology, but that level hardly qualifies as training. It did, however, whet an appetite for the sciences which continues to grow. Writing and literature were my first loves all through school, and came easily. I followed those subjects because I wanted to create.
When I went back to school it became clear that to pursue neuroscience, I would have to be monogamous to it. Professionally I wasn't willing to make a commitment that would cost me the opportunity to write. I'd
just come out of six years of higher education, writing and reading only what I was permitted by programs and professors. I graduated then got a taste of intellectual freedom—for about a year—and found it irresistible. Formal study and, later, professional research would demand everything I had and limit every step I took. I resented that early on, the loss of so many types of freedom, as well as the writing it would cost me. You cannot serve two masters. At least, I can't. Then I got into classrooms and labs, and they changed my feelings about the subjects I was studying. I dropped out. But I'm still in love with the science.
SM: What's your revision process generally? What surprises surfaced as you revised this story?
JT: The fact that the relationship ended up eclipsing the earthquake thread surprised me. I didn't expect Daphne to have much of a role. I also didn't expect her to be so sweet. She's more likable than Danny. I was surprised by the story's length. I'd like to take the seasonality idea further; it got way overshadowed.
Revision is different for every piece, because tone and technique vary depending on the subject. If I'm trying something new—and I was in "Earthquake Season"—then revision is slow, and development is slow, and writing is slow and awkward and hateful, and I get irascible and lock the story in a room usually.
I'll reread most things many times. I revise as I write and after; sometimes things sit for long periods between tweakings. I never abandon anything; I revisit pieces years later, sometimes. It's almost like editing someone else then; if there's no immediate connection to the words or what they cost me in the writing phase, I can be more objective about them.
SM: You're working on a novel—The Bible of Hell—what can you tell us about that project?
JT: The title comes from Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell: ". . . this Angel, who is now become a Devil, is my particular friend; we often read the Bible together in its infernal or diabolical sense which the world shall have if they behave well.
"I have also The Bible of Hell, which the world shall have whether they will or no."
The original definition of "hell" is separation from God. The plot is science-oriented with intelligent characters who endure a tragedy (another earthquake, actually). What revenge can a human take upon God, a human who feels betrayed by God, a person who absolutely loves and reveres and admires and believes in God, when something devastating and horrific and incomprehensible is allowed to happen? That's the substance of the story. I'm getting to learn about genetics.
Earthquake Season
STORYGLOSSIA Issue 17
Jennifer Trudeau holds a BA from U-Michigan (Ann Arbor) and a Master's from USC (Los Angeles). She is the author of Left-handed Morpheus (true stories and essays) and Haunted Mad Girl (poetry), and is currently finishing The Bible of Hell, her first novel. Her writing has won two Hopwood awards and has appeared in a number of publications; most recently, one of her nonfiction pieces was featured in Fringe Magazine. Jennifer keeps a blog on writing and the progress of her novel at bibleofhell.livejournal.com.
Steven McDermott: Why "Earthquake Season?" Where'd this story come from?
Jennifer Trudeau: In 1994 I was in Los Angeles for the Northridge earthquake. Everything about that experience fascinated me—the sense of controlled violence, the intensity, the direct presence of the earth in a way I otherwise would never know it. How three million people's lives effectively shut down in its wake, after literally only a few minutes of activity. The earth became a living thing in my mind after this. I got hooked on seismology.
That earthquake—it was a good size, 6.7—had emotional effects on people I knew, and broke a few friendships. Some of our group were deeply frightened by the experience, though none of us were actually hurt; those who weren't frightened wanted to discuss it, relive it, compare notes, speculate. Others wanted to pretend it hadn't happened, or responded dramatically, like they could hardly hold themselves together, or needed triage or something. We were a bit scornful of each other.
People died in that earthquake, horribly. Highways collapsed, buildings. I'm not indifferent to the human element . . . but in my mind it's a separate issue from the natural behavior of the earth. You can't blame gravity when a child learning to walk falls and hurts himself, even if he cracks his skull.
Later, my sister lived in San Francisco and I moved in with her for a while, and we experienced a few small earthquakes there. I now live in Michigan. When I began the story I was missing San Francisco and earthquakes. The seasonality question arose in the back of my mind as I wrote: if shakers were predictable, like hurricanes, so much human carnage might be avoided. That's optimistic, though.
Right now there's a good deal of concern over the neighborhood in this story, over a system called the Hayward fault. Seismologists generally agree it's due for a large rupture. In the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco a phenomenon called liquefaction essentially turned the soil into mud in some places. The same thing could happen today in the east bay area when Hayward goes, because the land properties are similar; this region is reclaimed marshland, heavily populated, residential. Liquifaction here would pretty well guarantee all of these structures to fail, since they'd be sitting on not solid ground but a giant pool of mud. There's some concern about inland flooding, too, should there be a major earthquake on that system. My sister doesn't live there anymore, incidentally.
As we saw with the Indian Ocean tsunami, predictability isn't always enough. Anyway, the story is more about people than science, though it didn't begin that way.
SM: The notion of twins with such differences—it's more typical to see riffs on the similarities—is a strand, if not the spine, of the story. Was that splitting of the characters something you began the story with, or something that evolved through revision?
JT: It was part of the story early on, a small part, and grew proportionately as the story developed.
All relationships have problems, because all people have issues, and sometimes those in a relationship have completely different interpretations of its nature. That's the case here. With these two, their complete difference of talent and dependence on each other was one way to draw a microcosm of human interdependence.
When a cooperative effort has a whole greater than the sum of its parts, whether you like it or not is irrelevant, unless you're willing to deliberately mislead yourself for the sake of emotion.
SM: One of the things that drew me to the story early on was the narrator's conflicted attitude towards her sister, her animosity, and also her recognition of it, for example, she calls herself a "thug" because she's using her sister to get ideas. How did that come about?
JT: We're all complicated emotionally where our close relationships are concerned. It was evident that her own curiosity was Danny's priority, and not her sister. She's aware enough to know it; ironically, maybe as a result of having cultivated her objectivity. But she's also invested enough in her sister to regret that.
People will use and mistreat others for reasons of ambition. Danny had seen it manifested in academia, and it was one of her reasons for leaving. She'd better be conflicted about discovering the same propensity in herself.
SM: The science in the story flows naturally. A product of research? Or do you have scientific training?
JT: No, I'm no scientist. The seismology in the story I've learned on my own over the years, and it's probably full of holes. I did want to study neuroscience at one point. I went back to college to fulfill some core requirements so I could apply for a Ph.D. in neurology. I enjoyed biology, zoology, botany and chemistry in college, and I was able to do some dissections—fetal pigs, sheep eyes, brains, rats—so there was some exposure to scientific methodology, but that level hardly qualifies as training. It did, however, whet an appetite for the sciences which continues to grow. Writing and literature were my first loves all through school, and came easily. I followed those subjects because I wanted to create.
When I went back to school it became clear that to pursue neuroscience, I would have to be monogamous to it. Professionally I wasn't willing to make a commitment that would cost me the opportunity to write. I'd
just come out of six years of higher education, writing and reading only what I was permitted by programs and professors. I graduated then got a taste of intellectual freedom—for about a year—and found it irresistible. Formal study and, later, professional research would demand everything I had and limit every step I took. I resented that early on, the loss of so many types of freedom, as well as the writing it would cost me. You cannot serve two masters. At least, I can't. Then I got into classrooms and labs, and they changed my feelings about the subjects I was studying. I dropped out. But I'm still in love with the science.
SM: What's your revision process generally? What surprises surfaced as you revised this story?
JT: The fact that the relationship ended up eclipsing the earthquake thread surprised me. I didn't expect Daphne to have much of a role. I also didn't expect her to be so sweet. She's more likable than Danny. I was surprised by the story's length. I'd like to take the seasonality idea further; it got way overshadowed.
Revision is different for every piece, because tone and technique vary depending on the subject. If I'm trying something new—and I was in "Earthquake Season"—then revision is slow, and development is slow, and writing is slow and awkward and hateful, and I get irascible and lock the story in a room usually.
I'll reread most things many times. I revise as I write and after; sometimes things sit for long periods between tweakings. I never abandon anything; I revisit pieces years later, sometimes. It's almost like editing someone else then; if there's no immediate connection to the words or what they cost me in the writing phase, I can be more objective about them.
SM: You're working on a novel—The Bible of Hell—what can you tell us about that project?
JT: The title comes from Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell: ". . . this Angel, who is now become a Devil, is my particular friend; we often read the Bible together in its infernal or diabolical sense which the world shall have if they behave well.
"I have also The Bible of Hell, which the world shall have whether they will or no."
The original definition of "hell" is separation from God. The plot is science-oriented with intelligent characters who endure a tragedy (another earthquake, actually). What revenge can a human take upon God, a human who feels betrayed by God, a person who absolutely loves and reveres and admires and believes in God, when something devastating and horrific and incomprehensible is allowed to happen? That's the substance of the story. I'm getting to learn about genetics.
Earthquake Season
STORYGLOSSIA Issue 17
Jennifer Trudeau holds a BA from U-Michigan (Ann Arbor) and a Master's from USC (Los Angeles). She is the author of Left-handed Morpheus (true stories and essays) and Haunted Mad Girl (poetry), and is currently finishing The Bible of Hell, her first novel. Her writing has won two Hopwood awards and has appeared in a number of publications; most recently, one of her nonfiction pieces was featured in Fringe Magazine. Jennifer keeps a blog on writing and the progress of her novel at bibleofhell.livejournal.com.
Labels: Author Interviews
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