Interview: Novelist Thaddeus Rutkowski Seeks a Change in Outlook

Thaddeus Rutkowski has the credentials: Cornell grad, three novels published, nominated for literary awards, reviewed books for the New York Times, teaches writing at City University of New York and the Writer's Voice of the West Side YMCA in Manhattan, and flaunts a name any middle linebacker would be proud of.

The popuar Asian-American author from central Pennsylvania offers prose that is sparse...each word weighed carefully. Each paragraph like a painting; each chapter possessing the power of a one-act play. His latest novel, Haywire, drops this December and it seemed like a good time to have a talk with Thaddeus Rutkowski.

Thaddeus Rutkowski Reads "Instead of Sleeping"

My Conversation With Thaddeus Rutkowski

Planet Green: It seems to me that your novels blur the line between fiction and memoir. Do it bother you when people ask if the material in, say, Haywire, is all true?

Thaddeus Rutkowski: Let me tell you a story. About ten years ago, I ran into a woman who'd read my first book, Roughhouse. After we'd exchanged greetings, she asked me, "Well?" I didn't know what she meant, so I asked, "Well, what?" "Is it true?" She meant, are the events in the book true? Did those things really happen? Well, a lot of them are true, and quite a few are made up. I try to create scenes that ring true, that could possibly have happened, but that might seem far-fetched or unlikely. My fiction, I think, exists on the border of what's real and what's imagined. In any case, it doesn't bother me if people ask if the material in Haywire is true. I might reply, "Well, if it makes you want to give me a hug, go ahead." In my workshops, I try to remind people that the fact that something really happened doesn't give it literary value. The presentation is what makes a scene worth reading. I draw on my life experience for my fiction, but I select, reshape and distill for intensity or dramatic effect.

[b]PG: You also instill a steady cadence, I

[b]PG: You also instill a steady cadence, I

TR: Here's another story: I recently did an writing exercise with my adult students. After I read my paragraph aloud, a person said, "One thing I always notice about your writing is the pacing." I do try for a certain cadence, probably as a result of participating in many open readings and poetry slams over the years. The sound or pitch of the words can convey emotion as effectively as the meaning of the words. I try to vary the sound to suit the topic or feeling. Much of this happens instinctively or subconsciously. I don't read my written work aloud just to hear how it sounds. But I play it over in my mind. As for the idea of fractals, yes, I work in snapshots. Some can be as short as a paragraph; others can be as long as a couple of pages. These are put together in a sort of collage to form stories or chapters. But while the vignettes may seem discrete, they are arranged deliberately, so that they add up.

PG: They definitely add up. I might even say they sneak up on the reader, in a way, gaining momentum as I read. This makes me wonder how how you teach your writing classes. Do you feel you're playing an important role in helping others express themselves?

TR: I like your phrase "sneak up." That's a good description of the effect I'm going for. Another way to put it is that a section may start out in a traditional way; then it goes wild or does something unexpected. In my workshops, I give prompts that focus on some dramatic element—character or plot, say—and I let people take the initial ideas and run with them. Often, a simple beginning can become a full-fledged story. That's the best result. I suppose I help others express themselves, perhaps by encouraging them to say whatever they want to say. On a more "instructive" note, I lead critiques where the group gives a writer advice on work-in-progress. The idea is to strengthen the voice, make points more clearly, improve the structure, that sort of thing. I also teach literature as an adjunct at Medgar Evers College, but that's a different story. That's hard-core teaching, with grades and credit, and all the concerns that come with having to work with prescribed goals and guidelines.

PG: Whether it's text shorthand, e-mail shortcuts, or shorter and shorter blog posts, there seems to be a de-valuing of the written word. Of course, writing and books have survived plenty of other scares (movies, TV, etc.). What are your thoughts on the state of writing today what role writing plays in an increasingly techno, image-driven culture?

TR: You know, I'm kind of low-tech. I don't have a blog or a BlackBerry, at least not yet. I've been invited to join the blog of Dzanc Books, the partner of my new publisher, Starcherone, and I'll try to post some entries there. But when it comes down to it, the use of words and language hasn't changed. The technology has become faster or more diffuse, but you still have to put sentences together to get your message across.

PG: On a planet besieged by myriad social, economic, and environmental crises, what do you see as the role of the professional writer?

TR: I can't speak for other writers, but my role is to tell things as I experience them. When I'm talking about a social crisis—the existence of racism, say—I try to get the attention of a reader or an audience, and then I make a comment. But I don't say it "on the nose." I might add a level of interest through live performance. I often use humor. But I don't interpret. I leave it to listeners to decide, for example, what my piece "White and Wong" is about. Most of the crises I discuss are personal. In pieces about our young daughter, I talk about home life. I have one prose poem that suggests a way to increase our living space: Stand on our heads and pretend we're lounging on our ceiling. Or warp the space-time continuum so we can actually sit on the ceiling. The change I'm trying to bring about is a change in outlook. I want people to say, "Yes, I've been there" or "Yes, I've felt that way," even though they may not have expected it. I realize this may not answer your question.

PG: How can Planet Green connect with you, your new book, and your classes?

TR: I grew up in rural Pennsylvania, in a house that was not on a farm, but that sat between farm fields. I spent much of my free time outdoors, hiking with my father and brother and sister. On many of these walks, we would go to a fallow farm—a farm where the fields had not been worked, and where the stream was not often fished. We would collect butterflies or dig in the ground for antique bottles (my father's hobbies). We did not, however, use the rainwater in the cistern under our cement porch. Likewise, we didn't use the outhouse in our back yard. Indoor plumbing had been installed by the time we moved in. Anyway, I came to appreciate nature in a way I would not have, if I'd grown up in a city. This is the context for the first part of my new book. I suppose that Planet Green readers could look up my website and see if it interests them. My focus is fiction and creative nonfiction, but that doesn't exclude green issues.