Writing from Fierce Love: Mira Sethi in Conversation

This is an excerpt of a free event for our virtual events series, City Lights LIVE. This event features Mira Sethi in conversation with Miranda Popkey, celebrating Sethi’s new short fiction collection Are You Enjoying? published by Knopf. This event was originally broadcast live via Zoom and hosted by our events coordinator Peter Maravelis. You can listen to the entire event on ourpodcast.You can watch it in full as well on our YouTube channel.

Miranda Popkey: I wanted to ask you about your protagonist at the end of that story [“Tomboy”]. And I won’t spoil the twists and turns that the story takes, but she has a moment with her husband, where she’s remarking on a mutual friend. And [the protagonist] describes her as “brave.” And I think that “brave” is a word that’s overused when describing works of literature, but I’m curious what it means for her, for your character, but also for you, to be publishing work that is quite daring and that is really trying to paint a picture of different pockets, different communities, in Pakistan that we ignorant Americans may not be familiar with.

Mira Sethi: Miranda, thank you so much for asking that. And I’m not just saying this because I’m in conversation with you, but this has to the most thoughtful question I’ve been asked about my book, because a lot of the questions I’ve been asked so far have been about Pakistan and politics, and we’ll get to that. That’s also very important. But thank you for asking that.

As far as my protagonist–without giving too much away–she calls the other lady “brave,” because that other lady is living life on her own terms. And it’s not easy to live life on your own terms in a country like Pakistan, even if you have a lot of privilege, because of issues around sexuality and the often burdensome imperatives of family and your clan or your tribe and your parents. And then the larger superstructure above that, which is the state and the things that trickle down from the state. So my character says [the other woman] is brave because she, herself, is living this dual life and she hasn’t yet been able to come to terms with what it is that she wants. Although this, I imagine, is a turning point for her.

And for me, yes, I did think a lot about what the repercussions might be for writing about queer lives in Pakistan. But, you know, I’m in my thirties now, and I believe very strongly in a certain set of principles. I’m an outspoken feminist in Pakistan. That sometimes gets me into trouble. And I am going to write the things that I know and I love deeply. This book actually comes from a place of fierce love, and trauma and heartache and comedy, but mostly it comes from a place of love. And buttressing my fear is my love for people who are struggling to live life on their own terms. And so I wrote this hoping that if there are–I know I have so many queer friends in and out of Pakistan–I’m hoping that maybe if they read this, they can glimpse their lives and feel seen, because fiction is ultimately the desire to write, the desire to be seen fully.

Miranda Popkey: Absolutely. I completely agree that it’s hard to imagine a life that you have not seen represented. And I think that’s the experience that your protagonist is having. In that moment, she’s seeing the life that she wishes she could live. Instead, as you say, she’s living sort of a double life where she’s married, but she does have queer desires.

Mira Sethi: Absolutely. And I didn’t just struggle with this. I was kind of petrified while writing some of these, and not just “Tomboy” but also the title story, “Are You Enjoying?”because it’s about infidelity, a love affair, an illicit relationship, a taboo relationship.

So I’m writing about sex, you know? Yes, I worried a lot about that. I’m worried about if somebody screenshots a really vivid passage and then says, “Look at her. She’s spreading vulgarity.” I mean, this is something I deal with in my life as an actress as well. But yes, at the level of the sentence, it’s definitely something I think about, but I didn’t ever let that stop me from saying what I wanted. And in many ways, Miranda, I think it actually makes you more creative. I am not wishing censorship upon anyone. God knows, when there was censorship in Russia, people still wrote. There is a ton of censorship in Pakistan, and we still manage to tell stories. And it’s not great, but it does force your most creative instincts out of you in a way that when you can say things very openly and very clearly, the mind isn’t concentrated. It leads to a certain concentration of the mind when you’re forced to say things in code. And I did for “Tomboy” a little bit.

Miranda Popkey: I think just from the craft perspective, it’s also interesting that the story that is most explicit in its treatment of queer themes, and most affirming and its treatment of queer themes, is also the only first-person story. I think that’s an exciting, exceptional choice.

Mira Sethi: May I tell you a cute little story? So I wrote this story, which had a very different shape and form, literally three weeks before I submitted it to my editor. And I showed it to a friend who was queer. And she said to me, very politely, she said, “You know, Mira, I love you, and you’re a great writer, but you’re not queer. And you’re writing this queer story from the point of view of queer desire.” My protagonist in the early drafts would look at women in a certain way. And she said to me, “You’re great, but this is not working. You don’t know what queer desire is like, so don’t try and enter that consciousness. But you do know about patriarchy. So why don’t you reframe this story from the point of view of patriarchy.”

And man, that was such a hallelujah moment, because I was really struggling with the story in the early drafts. And then as soon as she said that, I was like, “Oh my god, yes.” This was actually reading as comic writing, because I don’t know about queer desire. And then I reframed the whole story. And it was a real breakthrough moment for me, because then the story just ran when I started reframing it from the point of view of patriarchy.

Miranda Popkey: Well, I’m glad that your friend gave you this wonderful piece of advice.

Can you talk about your editing and revision process?

Mira Sethi: Oh my god. The most false thing about becoming a writer is that you have a book and you get to show off your book, and nobody talks about how much real writing went into it. I mean, I’m practically tripping over my words right now because I rewrote the shit out of all of these stories. And the writing takes you to places that you hadn’t anticipated.

I often say that I think in order to write. The writing is what tells me what it is that I think. So after I’ve written the thing, I know what it is that I think. So the editing process works like this: I write something. It’s very raw. I’m actually not self-conscious when I start writing, because I know it’s vomit. And I know there’s nothing to be done with the vomit, you just do it. And then later on, you can go and clean it, but it gives you something to work with. And so I write, and then I clean it up, and then I think around draft fifteen, I show it to my editor. It takes at least fifteen drafts. And then they say “Okay, you’ve got a scaffolding, but where is this going?” So I’ve worked on these seven stories for five years. That’s a long time for seven stories. It’s almost a story a year. Writing is really quite grueling.

Miranda Popkey: I agree. My joke about my first novel, my only novel, is that I had to think about it for twenty years before I could write any of it.

Mira Sethi: And you said that in your acknowledgments as well, which I actually really appreciate.

Miranda Popkey: Are you the kind of writer who plans it all in advance or are you one of those who need to surprise themselves and somehow, through the writing itself, the ideas emerge?

Mira Sethi: It’s the latter. It’s exactly what you said. I don’t think, in order to write, I write so that I may know what it is that I’m thinking. And I don’t plan in advance. And honestly, this is not a critique of writers who plan in advance. I can’t relate to it at all, because so much of the beauty of me writing fiction is discovering things that I didn’t know. For instance, my take on identity politics. Yes, of course, I’m progressive, and I have a take. But it was only after writing this book that I really understood what I felt about the world. And I think that is one of the most beautiful things about writing fiction. There is a kind of slow dredging up of your subconscious. And then you’re like, “Oh, this is what I think about this issue.” It’s really quite amazing.

Miranda Popkey: I completely agree. I write in large part to figure out what it is that I think and when I get the words on the page, I know if they’re right, and I know if they’re wrong, and if it’s just a thought it’s much vaguer.

What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Mira Sethi: If it consumes you, you’ll probably end up doing it. Because I find that is the case with most writers.

And have a community around you! Something that I don’t have in Karachi is a community of writers. And I miss it. I have a community of actors, but I don’t have a community of writers.

And workshop your work with people you respect and admire and keep going. And, you’re not going to get it right the first time or the tenth time or the twentieth time, but you might get it right the fiftieth time, and you’ll have to be in it for the long haul. It’s actually quite painful.

Because you don’t get it right. And then one day you get it right.

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PurchaseAre You Enjoying? from City Lights Bookstore.

Listening as an act of love: Marie Mutsuki Mockett in conversation

This is an excerpt of a free event for our virtual events series, City Lights LIVE. This event features Marie Mutsuki Mockett in conversation with Garnette Cadogan discussing her new book American Harvest: God, Country, and Farming in the Heartland, published by Graywolf Press. This event was originally broadcast live via Zoom and hosted by our events coordinator Peter Maravelis. You can listen to the entire event on our podcast. You can watch it in full as well on our YouTube channel.

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Marie Mutsuki Mockett: You don’t see me talking about love or the importance of love very much. Maybe I would have a larger Instagram account if I constantly put up memes about love. I should probably do that.

I consider [American Harvest] to be an investigation of something that I didn’t understand and that I thought was important. So I asked questions and wanted to try to answer those questions by talking to people who were very different than I am. To sit with them and find out what their genuine experience in the world is, and then see if I could answer some of the questions that I have.

I did not tell myself, “This is a book about love,” or “You must employ love.” I also didn’t spend a lot of time saying to myself, “This is a book that’s going to require you to be brave.” I just really was trying to focus on the questions that I had and on my curiosity. I was trying to pinpoint, when I’m in a church, when I’m in a farm, when I’m around a situation that I don’t understand, what’s actually happening. And that was really what I was trying to do and how I was trying to direct my attention.

Garnette Cadogan: But love comes up a lot in the book. And for you, a lot of it has to do with listening. In many ways, this book is a game of active listening, and listening–as you’ve shown time and again–is fundamentally an act of love.

You decided to go and follow wheat farmers and move along in their regimens and cycles and rituals, and not only the rituals of labor, but rituals of worship, rituals of companionship, and issues of community. When did you begin to understand what is the real task of listening? Because in the book, time and again, you remind us that there are so many places in which there is this huge gap, or this huge chasm, in our effort to understand each other.

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: Well, that is where love comes in. Because that is the only reason why you would spend time listening to people or talking to people. What would be the motivation for trying to be open to others? Why should you be open to others? We don’t have to be. So why should one be?

And you’re right that things do get reduced down to this question of love. I had always heard that Christianity was the religion of love. And that love was one of the things that was unique about Christ’s message. I didn’t really grow up with any one religion. Also, my mother was from Japan, so I also grew up always hearing about how for a long time, the word love didn’t really exist in Japanese. There really is no way to say “I love you.” Linguists still debate whether or not you can say “I love you” in Japanese and there are ways in which people say it, but it doesn’t have the same history, and it doesn’t have the same loaded meaning that it does in Western English.

So I was aware from a really early age, because I heard my parents and other people talk about this, that this question of love was very much a part of Western culture and that it originated from Christianity. And I really wondered what does that mean? And if it means anything, is there anything to it? And if there is, what is it? And there’s a scene in the book where I talk about my feeling of disappointment that no one had ever purchased me anything from Tiffany, the jewelry store, because if you live in New York City, you’re constantly surrounded by Tiffany ads. When you get engaged, you can get a Tiffany box. And then on your birthday, you can get a Tiffany box. And then in the advertisements, the graying husband gives the wife another Tiffany box to appreciate her for all the years that she’s been a wife and on and on. I know that that has nothing to do with love. I know that that that’s like some advertiser who’s taken this notion of love and then turned it into some sort of message with a bunch of images, and it’s supposed to make me feel like I want my Tiffany ring (which I’ve never gotten). That’s not love. But is there anything there? And that was definitely something that I wanted to investigate.

I think I started to notice a pattern where I was going to all of these churches in the United States, and I’m not a church going person. And the joke that I tell is that I decided to write American Harvest partly because I wasn’t going to have to speak Japanese. I could speak English, which is the language with which I’m most comfortable. But I ended up going to all these churches, and I couldn’t understand what anybody was saying. I would leave the church and Eric, who is the lead character, would say, “What do you think?” And I would say, “I have no idea what just happened.” And so it took time for me to tune in to what the pastors were saying, and what I came to understand is that there were these Christian churches that emphasized fear, and churches that didn’t emphasize fear. And then I started to meet people who believe that God wants them to be afraid and people who are motivated by fear or whose allegiance to the church comes from a place of fear, in contrast to those who said, “You’re not supposed to be afraid. That’s not the point.” That was a huge shift in my ability to understand where I was, who I was talking to, and the kinds of people that I was talking to, and why the history of Christianity mattered in this country.

Garnette Cadogan: So you started this book, because you said, “Oh, I only need one language.” And then you ended up going to language training.

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: I needed so many different languages! I mean, even this question of land ownership that we’re talking about: I feel like that’s a whole other language. There are places in the world and moments in history where people didn’t own land. It didn’t occur to them that they had to own the land themselves. So what’s happening when we think we have to? Like with timeshares. I’m really serious. What need is that fulfilling? And you don’t need to have a timeshare in Hawaii, where you visit like one week out of the entire year, right? So what need is that fulfilling?

Garnette Cadogan: Rest? Recreation? I’m wondering … has the process of living, researching, and writing this book changed you in any way? And if so, how?

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: I mean, absolutely, but it’s so hard to talk about. I think that I have a much better and deeper understanding of the history of our country, and a much greater understanding of the role that race plays in our country. A deeper understanding of the tension between rural and urban, and also of our interdependence, which is something I sort of knew, but didn’t completely know. And why just kicking out a bunch of states or getting rid of a bunch of people isn’t actually an answer to the tension that we’ve faced. And it’s because there’s this great interdependence between people. So understanding all of that and realizing how intractable the problem is, oddly, has made me feel calmer about it. Because I realize it isn’t as simple as if I just do “X” everything will be fine. I think, when you feel like, “If I just master the steps, if I can just learn this incantation, then everything will be fine,” I think when you live that way, it’s very frustrating. And I realized the problems are deeper than that. And some of the problems the United States is facing are problems that exist all around the world. I mean the urban rural problems: it’s a piece of modernization. It doesn’t just affect our country, it affects many countries.

Garnette Cadogan: You know, we’ve been speaking about land, God, country, Christianity, urbanity, and in this book, a lot of it is packed in through this absolutely wonderful man, Eric, and his family. Part of what makes it compelling and illuminating is we get a chance to understand so much through this wonderful, generous, and beautiful man, Eric. For those who haven’t read it yet, tell us about Eric, and why Eric was so crucial to understanding in so much of what you understood, and also some of the changes that you went through.

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: He’s a Christian from Pennsylvania. He’s a white man who’s never been to college, but has a genuine intellectual curiosity, although not immediately apparent in a way that would register to us. Because we’re at an event that’s hosted by bookstore. So when we think of intellectual curiosity, probably the first thing that any of us would do would be to reach for a book, right? That’s not what he would do. He wouldn’t reach for a book, he would find someone to talk to. He’s a person who is very much about the lived experience. But he was very open to asking questions and trying to understand other people’s experiences and how the world works, and he was very concerned.

He was the person who told me in early 2016 that he thought that Trump would probably win, when none of us thought that this was possible. And he said this is because we don’t understand each other at all. And he’s a very open-hearted, very generous person. And you see him change over the course of the book.

He called me the other day. He said, “I’ve been hearing a lot about violence against Asian Americans.” He’s met a couple of my friends. He wanted to know, “Are they all right?” And then he said, “I just want you to know that we talk about racial justice all the time in church,” because of course, that’s the way that he processes life’s difficult questions: through church. And I was kind of moved by that, because one of the points that American Harvest makes is that these difficult questions don’t get talked about in church. And he said, “I just want you to know this is something that we talk about.” So you see him really develop and change as a result of his exposure to me and to seeing how I move through space versus how he moves through space. And it’s a big leap of imagination for people to understand that other people have other experiences that are legitimate and real. It seems to be one of the most difficult things for people to understand, but he really made a great effort to do that. And I think that’s kind of extraordinary.

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PurchaseAmerican Harvest from City Lights Bookstore.

5 Questions with Chet'la Sebree, Author of Field Study

Chet'la Sebree is the director of the Stadler Center for Poetry and Literary Arts at Bucknell University and the author of Mistress, winner of the 2018 New Issues Poetry Prize and nominated for a 2020 NAACP Image Award. Her poetry has appeared in the Kenyon Review,Guernica,Pleiades, and elsewhere.

Chet'la will be in conversation with Dantiel W. Moniz, discussing her new book Field Study (published by FSG) in our City Lights LIVE! discussion series on June 5th!

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Where are you writing to us from?

From my birth month of May.

From the left side of a rented duplex in central PA.

From the third floor in a patterned, blue-velvet armchair across from my teal-painted desk.

And, because I didn’t finish this all at once, from the first floor enjoying the afternoon sun.

What’s kept you sane during the pandemic?

I want to be the kind of person who says exercise. I certainly spent some time on my mat and pounding the pavement, but it has really been food, wine, and fellowship that have held me together. These have always been the things that kept me sane. In grad school, I loved having people over for potluck dinners. But this sort of fellowship surrounding food took on new meaning in the pandemic. It wasn’t just that I learned how to make gluten-free pasta from scratch or placed orders for specialty wine shipments, but it was the sturdy calendar of happy hours and dinner dates kept me going. I did everything from virtual wine tastings to learning how to make injera with poet Diana Khoi Nguyen with home-ground teff to have boozy brunches and movie nights with friends from high school and college.

Right before the pandemic, I transitioned into a new job as a tenure-track professor and director of a university literary arts center and was traveling for my first book, Mistress, which meant sometimes I was in two different cities in one week, while also teaching classes and hosting events. This meant that I spent little time with my friends. Moving around less meant that I could not only reconnect but deepen relationships. Nearly every week since the beginning of the pandemic, I’ve been meeting with prose writers Dantiel W. Moniz and María Isabel Álvarez—both of whom I’d met at a writing residency in 2017. Our first Zoom was an attempt to heal the wound of not seeing each other at a March 2020 conference. What started as a conversation, led to salons, led to work sessions, led to us planning for our own future residencies. We’ve cried; we’ve rooted each other on; we’ve held each other accountable. They kept me going through the last rounds of writing and editing Field Study, and I can’t wait to talk to Dantiel about it on June 5th!

What books are you reading right now? Which books do you return to?

Right now, I’m primarily reading emails and my students’ final portfolios, but I’m so excited for the pleasure reading this summer will bring. When I can sneak a moment, though, I am toggling between three books: Felicia Zamora’s newest collection I Always Carry My Bones; Nana Nkweti’s brand neew Walking on Cowrie Shells; and Philip Pullman’s The Subtle Knife. That last one is a reread; I first read the His Dark Materials series in high school. I often return to books I read in those pre-college years—fantasy and sci-fi novels like Ender’s Game but also Toni Morison’s The Bluest Eye, Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea, and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. I like thinking about who I’ve become since first reading them.

The book I would say I return to the most, however, is probably Audre Lorde’s Sister Outsider, or maybe even just specific essays in it: “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power,” “The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism,” and “The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House.”

Which writers, artists, and others influence your work in general, and this book, specifically?

I’m such a sponge, which is part of what made writing Field Study so fun. The patchwork style of quotes interwoven with my own language gave me a space to name names of those that influenced me. It gave me the chance to be in conversation with literary legends and thinkers like Audre Lorde, bell hooks, Tressie McMillan Cottom, and Maya Angelou, while also calling on my brother, best friend, and cousin for insight.

I’m inspired by visual artists like Georgia O’Keefe, Nekisha Durrett, Alison Saar, Carrie Mae Weems, Stephanie J. Williams, and Deborah Willis, but I’m also inspired by theatre, films, dance, television. Who knows what Field Study would be if it weren’t for the TV adaptation of Sally Rooney’s Normal People that came out in April 2020. I am an early-to-bed person, but I finished watching the series at around 11:45pm, got out of bed, and worked on Field Study until 7am. Then, I slept for four hours, got up, and worked for the rest of the day. In watching that well-orchestrated chaos and intimacy, I was taken back to my early twenties, on which Field Study is loosely based. That’s how I work—something gets me in my guts, as poet E.G. Asher would say, and I find my way into the work. It could be a good show, Max Richter’s recomposed Vivaldi, or a nice food and wine paring that gets me going.

I also wrote to an erratic playlist that’s also representative of the diversity of conversations in Field Study. The music included everything from Foo Fighters and Paramore to Erykah Badu and Lauryn Hill to Henryk Górecki and Sol Rising.

If you opened a bookstore, where would it be located, what would it be called, and what would your bestseller be?

My bookstore, URGE, would double as an integrative wellness center with a mind / body / spirit focus. We’re talking incenses and essential oils along with your book of the month picks. There’d be two locations: one on Whidbey Island, where I finished my first book Mistress,and laid the groundwork for Field Study; and the other in DC, which still calls to me even though I moved from the city seven years ago.

My bestsellers would be a tie between anything Audre Lorde (probably not surprising) and anything Bob’s Burgers-related, since my inner circle would know I got the name of the bookstore from the show’s Season 11’s Valentine’s episode: “Romancing the Beef.”

Eileen Myles is an acclaimed poet and writer who has published over twenty works of fiction, poetry, nonfiction, and libretto. Their prizes and awards include a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Warhol/Creative Capital grant, an award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and a poetry award from the Foundation for Contemporary Arts.

Eileen Myles will be reading from their new book, For Now in our City Lights LIVE! reading series on Tuesday, September 29.

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Where are you writing to us from? 

Right now, Greenport Long Island. The water is right there.

What’s kept you sane this year? 

Yoga, reading, lifting weights, long phone conversations writing poems. My dog.

What are 3 books you always recommend to people? 

La Bâtarde by Violette Leduc; Maud Martha by Gwendolyn Brooks; The Book of Frank by CAConrad.

Which writers, artists, and others influence your work in general, and this book, specifically?

Laurence Sterne, Cesar Aira, Chantal Ackerman.

If you opened a bookstore, where would it be located, what would it be called, and what would your bestseller be?

Swan Place, it would be on the island in Spy Pond in Arlington, Massachusetts. Frank B. Wilderson III’s Red White & Black: Cinema and the Structure of U.S. Antagonisms.