Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

An Interview with Percival Everett

2005; Johns Hopkins University Press; Volume: 28; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1353/cal.2005.0051

1080-6512

James R. Kincaid, Percival Everett,

Education, Technology, and Ethics

An Interview with Percival Everett Jim Kincaid (bio) and Percival L. Everett The following is an interview with Percival Everett I conducted partly by telephone, partly by e-mail, partly by forcing myself on him and grilling him during a hike. I am tempted to add, "partly by consulting what I suppose he would say and making up answers for him," but that would be misleading. He actually said the things I represent him as saying, if you can believe it. KINCAID: Why on Earth do you do it, write novels, I mean? EVERETT: I don't have a good excuse, I think. I love to read novels. I have a strong belief that art is as close as we get to truth. But that's a boring answer. I have said a number of times, so I guess I believe it, that deciding to write a novel is like knowingly entering a bad marriage. There is no good excuse, it will end badly no matter what you do, and you will alienate all those close to you. KINCAID: Yeah, but why these sorts of novels? EVERETT: I write what I see. I don't see "sorts" of novels. I write what is interesting to me at the time. KINCAID: Would you describe yourself as an "experimental novelist"? EVERETT: All novels are experimental. I have written quite a few novels, but I cannot tell you that I know how to write a novel. I know only that I have done it and will probably do it again. Every novel is different, has a different shape, a different mission, a different feel. Either all novels are experimental or none are. KINCAID: Avant-Garde? EVERETT: What the hell does that mean? KINCAID: Do you yearn to join the fiction collective? EVERETT: Again, what the hell is that? Writing is a solitary business. Though I have many close friends who are writers, I don't seek out a room of writers to chum around with. [End Page 377] KINCAID: Okay, then how would you describe yourself, smart-ass? EVERETT: As a smart-ass. You're very astute for someone of your advanced years. KINCAID: Why are you an academic—seriously now? EVERETT: I am not an academic. By the way, what does that mean? KINCAID: Is there a connection between your teaching and writing? EVERETT: Yes. Teaching means less time for writing. Actually, I don't believe that. I've found that watching the eagerness of undergraduates makes me eager to work. I try to help them think like writers and they help me think like my mind is still fresh and awake. KINCAID: How has the reading of other writers gotten in your way? EVERETT: I read as much as I can and I don't think any writers have gotten in my way. I feel motivated when I read somebody really good and encouraged when I read somebody really bad. KINCAID: Any other writers you admire? EVERETT: That's a long list. A very long list. From Cervantes, Stern and Twain to Hurston, Coover and Pynchon. KINCAID: You write a lot about Native Americans: do you regard yourself as one? EVERETT: That's a very strange question. No. KINCAID: What, for you, is race? EVERETT: It's when two or more people, dogs, horses or cars try to get to a distant point as fast as they can. KINCAID: Why do you suppose reviewers always mention race, even when you're writing about fishing or shopping malls? EVERETT: Because people are dumber than anybody. KINCAID: Are you in some way a black writer? [End Page 378] EVERETT: I am a black writer the way you are a white professor or that man over there is a fat banker. You might point me out as a black writer when trying to betray me to the KKK or the Bush administration. If I get lost and you're trying to tell the police what I look like, you will say, "He's devastatingly handsome, tall and black." You might then add, "Look for him in office supply or bookstores; he's a writer." KINCAID: You live on a ranch, that right? EVERETT: You...