interview
Steven Arntson (SA): When I first learned to read and write, the two seemed like the same thing—as I read other people’s stories, I wrote my own. My parents encouraged me. My mom lent me her Remington typewriter so I could produce my first six page (as-yet-unpublished) fantasy epic. I also received good encouragement from teachers and friends, and ended up studying writing when I went to college.
SA: I consider The Wikkeling to fall pretty squarely into the territory of the dystopian novel, representing contemporary troubles through hyperbole, so the ideas are mostly creative extensions of my own experiences. Henrietta’s school, for instance, came from my own educational life—first as a student and later as a teacher (I was a college instructor for ten years). I’ve long been frustrated with the education systems I’ve known. The degree of standardization that’s considered normal, especially grades and testing, mystifies me. I took my experience one step further, and ended up in Ms. Span’s classroom.
SA: It was one surprise after another, if by “surprise” you mean “a series of ill-thought blunders resulting in a nearly intractable labyrinth of confusion.” Which has been my entire experience of writing novels so far. There must be a better way to do it, but I started The Wikkeling with almost nothing—just an image of a girl finding a wounded cat in her attic. I began writing a story to lead up to that image, and the rest followed. The problem with writing this way is that the result was a total mess. The first draft took a month to complete, and revising took two years.
SA: I was a voracious fan, and utterly indiscriminate, consuming everything that crossed my path. Libraries and bookstores were my favorite places. I loved Edgar Rice Burroughs’ John Carter of Mars books, Madelaine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time series, Piers Anthony’s Xanth novels, and many others. There’s an ineffable quality to fantastical literature that I’m drawn to. I don’t know what it is, but I still seek it out.
SA: There’s so much about the world that confounds me, that I’m still struggling to understand. I hope The Wikkeling doesn’t make me seem like someone overconfident in his positions, though I’m sure at times I am. Regarding surveillance, I see the situation being sold, often, as “privacy versus safety” with safety in the preferred position. That’s ridiculous on the face of it, but Henrietta’s world shows this perspective embraced, with the result that safety becomes harmful—the kids are so sheltered that they’ve hardly developed their capacities. I’m in favor of safety as a general proposition, but when is enough enough? It’s not something I’m finished ruminating over. In Montaigne’s essay “On the Education of Children” he quotes Horace: “Let him live beneath the open sky/And dangerously.” It’s a beautiful quote, but kind of a terrifying idea.
SA: There’s a quote I’ve always liked from the experimental musician John Cage: “If you’re going to eat mushrooms, it’s imperative you don’t eat one that’s deadly. Whereas in music I take the position that no sounds are deadly.” Cage was a founding member of the New York Mycological Society, and he used mushrooms in cooking. If you find a new mushroom, the only way to discover if it’s edible is to eat a little of it. Then, years on down the line, a later person runs across the mushroom that you (or your friends) named “Death Cap,” and that seems like a good one to leave out of the soup—the name says it all. Not to be flip, but that’s a very straightforward illustration of the value of history!
SA: I’m not the first to lampoon advertising, and I’m sure I won’t be the last—it’s such a huge part of our culture, it’s impossible to exclude. Dystopia in literature is often deployed as a critique of oppression, making it a good fit for examining the role of advertising in capitalism, which is quite oppressive, reinforcing bigotries, prescribing desires, and modeling behavior all for the purpose of accumulating profit.
SA: I identify at least a little with all the characters, and I hope they all seem human in the way they face their dilemmas. Were I forced to pick, I’d say I identify most with Henrietta’s grandfather, Al. I’m a young man compared to him, but his essential struggle is mine, too: trying to keep traction in a world that’s moving quickly, and all the while the old knees keep getting more tender.
SA: I leave this question somewhat open in the book, and I hope readers aren’t let down by that. I want it to be something to think about. For me, the Wikkeling can serve as an example of an age’s animating philosophy. Henrietta is born into the middle of it all, as we’re all born into the middle of a story that started long before us. We’ve got to figure out what’s already happened so we can make a good guess what to try next.
SA: I’m working on several things at once right now, but one is indeed a sequel to The Wikkeling. It’s called The Draageling, and I hope for it to be the second of several books I’ve imagined for Henrietta. In fact, she’s in a tough spot at the moment, and I should get back to her . . .
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