An Interview with Nam Le
How has living in places across the globe influenced your writing?
To be honest, I'm not sure. It seems counter-intuitive but there's neither a very strong nor a very obvious correspondence between my travel experiences and my fiction's material. I tend to quarantine the two from each other. That said, traveling does continually recalibrate my awareness of the world—and my relationship to it—in a way that feeds directly into my fiction: it deconditions me—my expectations and assumptions of people and places—and keeps me in that crucial, charged discomfort zone. It forces me to really bear down on things.
You are a graduate of the Iowa Writer's Workshop. How do you feel about your experiences in the MFA program?
I'm familiar with the criticisms of MFA programs, and the work (and attitudes) they're said to promulgate, and I think there are elements of truth, albeit exaggerated, in these criticisms. That said, I had a great time at Iowa. I met and worked with writers from all stages and stations—from luminaries such as Frank Conroy and Marilynne Robinson to authors-in-waiting, some of whom I'm lucky to call my friends and readers to this day. I loved being surrounded by serious writers—which is not to say self-important writers—and I loved testing my work and sensibilities against theirs. It broadened my reading and my mind. So many of my fellow students had left behind careers and/or loved ones to gamble on writing, and this, for me, honoured the enterprise. I enjoyed Iowa City, a funky little town in love with literature, and I enjoyed living in a farmhouse encircled by corn fields and feral cats my first year—especially after my time in the glass boxes of the corporate world. Most of all, I enjoyed having the time to write, to do nothing but write, to come to terms with the notion that it was worthwhile—and worthy—work.
Your debut collection of short stories, The Boat, was recently published to high acclaim. What's the inspiration behind the title of the book?
The book is titled after the last story, "The Boat." The last story was originally titled "Escape." I'm not very imaginative when it comes to titles (or names). When, with carte blanche, I had trouble coming up with a title for the book, we decided to limit ourselves to the story titles. "The Boat" seemed the most suggestive candidate: it's clean, yet heavy on connotation at the same time.
How has living in places across the globe influenced your writing?
To be honest, I'm not sure. It seems counter-intuitive but there's neither a very strong nor a very obvious correspondence between my travel experiences and my fiction's material. I tend to quarantine the two from each other. That said, traveling does continually recalibrate my awareness of the world—and my relationship to it—in a way that feeds directly into my fiction: it deconditions me—my expectations and assumptions of people and places—and keeps me in that crucial, charged discomfort zone. It forces me to really bear down on things.
You are a graduate of the Iowa Writer's Workshop. How do you feel about your experiences in the MFA program?
I'm familiar with the criticisms of MFA programs, and the work (and attitudes) they're said to promulgate, and I think there are elements of truth, albeit exaggerated, in these criticisms. That said, I had a great time at Iowa. I met and worked with writers from all stages and stations—from luminaries such as Frank Conroy and Marilynne Robinson to authors-in-waiting, some of whom I'm lucky to call my friends and readers to this day. I loved being surrounded by serious writers—which is not to say self-important writers—and I loved testing my work and sensibilities against theirs. It broadened my reading and my mind. So many of my fellow students had left behind careers and/or loved ones to gamble on writing, and this, for me, honoured the enterprise. I enjoyed Iowa City, a funky little town in love with literature, and I enjoyed living in a farmhouse encircled by corn fields and feral cats my first year—especially after my time in the glass boxes of the corporate world. Most of all, I enjoyed having the time to write, to do nothing but write, to come to terms with the notion that it was worthwhile—and worthy—work.
Your debut collection of short stories, The Boat, was recently published to high acclaim. What's the inspiration behind the title of the book?
The book is titled after the last story, "The Boat." The last story was originally titled "Escape." I'm not very imaginative when it comes to titles (or names). When, with carte blanche, I had trouble coming up with a title for the book, we decided to limit ourselves to the story titles. "The Boat" seemed the most suggestive candidate: it's clean, yet heavy on connotation at the same time.