Kevin Sampsell
Susannah
Breslin talks with author/bookseller/publisher Kevin Sampsell about
Beautiful Blemish, his new short story collection
Kevin Sampsell is a writer, a publisher, and an
“ambassador to visiting authors” at Powell’s
Books in Portland, Oregon, where he lives. Last year saw the
publication of his new short story collection, Beautiful
Blemish, and an anthology of stories he edited about nighttime,
The
Insomniac Reader: Stories of the Night. In 2002, Sampsell
self-published A
Common Pornography, a flash fiction collection from his
independent press, Future
Tense Books. The authors he has published include Zoe Trope—whose
Future Tense chapbook, Please Don’t Kill the Freshman,
was published in hardback by HarperCollins, as well as Mike Topp,
Dayvid Figler, and Magdalen Powers. His day job is working with
visiting authors who come to read at Powell’s, including Salman
Rushdie, Alice Walker, and David Sedaris. Today, he is working with
Manic D Press to expand his publishing empire and on a forthcoming
book by Eric Spitznagel called Fast Forward. Of Beautiful
Blemish, Publishers Weekly wrote: “For readers
with tastes that range outside the mainstream, this is a gem of
warmhearted idiosyncrasy and oddball observation.”
Susannah Breslin: Why did you choose Beautiful
Blemish as the book’s title? It seems to capture one
of the preoccupations in the stories—a fascination with bodies,
moments, people, and places that are beautiful due to their imperfections.
The title made me think of the Japanese term wabi-sabi,
which describes something beautiful but impermanent.
Kevin Sampsell: I am indeed attracted to the imperfections
of people, both real and fictional. It makes for better stories.
That's something I always point out to writers that I work with—the
more flawed a character is, I think the reader likes them more.
I mean that in many ways: spiritually, morally, mentally, and physically.
And in those flaws or blemishes, moments of grace or beauty surprise
us even more. Like when you meet someone that's really mean and
then you're shocked when they do something nice. The contrast of
what you expect and what you get can be jarring to the senses, but
it's good for us. It's educational.
So, in a way I hope I'm presenting something authentic and true.
There are trends happening that try to cover up blemishes in today's
society, especially on TV. You got all these makeover shows or people
telling you what NOT to wear, and you also have "Extreme Home
Makeover" and "Pimp My Ride" and shows like that.
I often watch these shows—especially the people makeovers—and
think to myself: That person looked much better in the before shot.
I liked her big nose or her dirty jeans.
SB: Reading this book, I wondered if certain things had actually
happen. "Locker Room" is a story in which the narrator
is in a locker room with his son, another boy starts snapping his
towel at the narrator's son, and the towel snapping boy looks at
the narrator and says to the narrator's son, "My dad's penis
is bigger than yours is." How much of the book is fiction,
how much is true, and how much is between the two?
KS: That's the trick. I hope that my fiction seems real or rings
true. Of course, I tell people that much of it is true but maybe
not in a first-person sense. In “Locker Room,” it's
simply a case of me exaggerating certain parts. The kid didn't say
that line but maybe I thought his expression did. And the locker
room was noisy but I thought it would be funny to play that up more
in the story, so in that way, as a writer, you can fuck around with
details. If it was a short film, I would have had the ambient sound
turned way the hell up. Sometimes I crack myself up with stuff like
that. That whole fiction/real life thing is oddly more apparent
to me these days. I think it's because I wrote A
Common Pornography and decided to call it a memoir. Up
to that point, and even when I was writing parts of A Common
Pornography, I just figured it was all fiction. But it wasn't
really.
I have to face up to non-fiction creeping into my work now. I mean
I can't use that as a crutch. It's a great place to start, but I
want to launch stories from that real or real-seeming place and
make them go somewhere unexpected. Along the way I might sprinkle
some really naked or embarrassing things about myself in there,
but those parts are surrounded by fiction so people won't find out
it is actually me. I'm not really ashamed of much though. And I
don't want to give away too much, but I will say that most of the
middle stories in Beautiful Blemish are very true.
SB: You also offer an unusual peek into masculinity in your work.
You play with the stereotypes of being male. There's a fair amount
of homoeroticism in your work. There's a certain uneasiness between
men in your stories, a sense of unique intimacy between them. These
sorts of nuances are mostly absent in popular culture representations
of men. The men in your fiction are "unsteady," in their
masculinity. Is that something you're aware of or what you intend?
KS: I don't think I do it enough, actually. Unless
you're seeing it in stories that I'm not. There are times, of course,
when I am aware of doing it, a story like “I Heart Frankenstein”
or parts of A Common Pornography. I probably write more
assuredly about younger characters, drawing from my own experiences
and sexual confusion—so again, I think awkwardness has a lot
to do with it. There were times when I was younger when I was very
obsessed with sex and the way it makes you closer to people. Sex
came before people in most of those cases. I was close to some gay
friends and I have a lot of gay friends now, and though I don't
pester them about their sex lives, I am always intrigued by their
exploits and fantasies. Two of the writers I've published on my
press, Carl Miller Daniels and Shane Allison, are both extremely
generous with all their dirty little sexual details and I think
that's what attracted me to their work.
It's very primal and completely blunt, and in a way I think that
makes the work very funny as well. People read those books and say,
Oh my God!, and they laugh. Sorry if I got off track there. But
let me mention a couple of other writers. When I first read Gary
Lutz and Benjamin Weissman, I was intrigued by the fact that I didn't
know anything about those guys—if they were gay or straight
or young or old—their stories went all over the place and
from various perspectives. I was really won over by that. I want
to do that too—write about old people and young people, gay
or straight, or write from a female voice, or a child's voice. I
don't really want people to know what to expect. I wrote a story
earlier this year that is in the new Daphne Gottlieb anthology,
Homewrecker,
and it has a straight couple speculating about the neighbors being
lesbians. I really enjoyed writing that. It was like a funny mix
of both lifestyles, and at the end it gets pretty surreal.
Maybe I'm not able to answer this in a simple way. Maybe these
details are important: I'm a pretty macho guy—I like football,
eating meat, "The Shield," and slapping my girlfriend's
ass. But I also like hugging my friends, slow quiet movies, nice
clothes, and Belle & Sebastian.
 SB:
Awhile back, you wrote an essay, "Bookseller
by Day, Editor and Writer by Night," in which you talk
about your work as a publisher with Future Tense and your day job
as an "ambassador to visiting authors" at Powell’s
Books. How did your experiences publishing lesser known writers
and meeting big name writers shape your own writing career?
KS: That's a really good question. I guess I am really lucky in
this strange way, being a writer and publisher and working at a
bookstore. I see the book world from all sides. And meeting authors
who are more established is inspiring. It's easy to hear their stories
and think, I could have a story like that someday. George Saunders
had some funny stories about writing and publishing and his early
failures. James Lee Burke said his first book was rejected by more
than 20 publishers or something like that. People in the audience
always ask the writers about how their book got published. There
aren't many writers who haven't struggled at one time. One big lesson
of course is to be patient. Writing and publishing take a long time.
Being realistic is just as important as patience. When I publish
newer writers I always hope they're going to go on to bigger and
better things. I truly want to be their stepping stone. So many
writers work in a vacuum and by getting their work out there, even
if it's just a chapbook with a few hundred copies in print—it excites
them, and hopefully gives them a small taste of accomplishment.
As a writer you have to strive for accomplishment, for completion.
You can't expect to have readers if you have a bunch of half-finished
books in your sock drawer.
As far as my writing goes, like I said, I can see things from many
points of view, from newer writer to famous writer. I don't get
jealous or resent other writers and I don't compare my writing career
to others.
SB: What are you working on these days at Future Tense? I believe
you've got a book in the pipeline by Eric Spitznagel. From what
I've heard, it has something to do with pornography. Is the mission
of Future Tense to continue to publish smaller books by outre writers
who may not necessarily be published by more mainstream publishers
or is Future Tense something you would like to see grow bigger?
KS: Eric's book is a memoir about how, when he was trying to break
into screenwriting, he reluctantly took work writing porn scripts.
It's called Fast Forward. It's hilarious and there are
some parts that are pure genius. It's part of the series that I'm
publishing through Manic
D Press, which allows me to publish longer books with better
distribution. As far as the Future Tense mission goes, I think continuing
to do one or two books a year through Manic D will really help get
the word out about all the titles I publish. How other people see
the press is out of my control, though. I started doing this in
1990. Then I moved to Portland in 1992. When the Zoe
Trope chapbook came out in 2001, the exposure of the press kind
of exploded. It was nice. I'd like Future Tense to have a very large
audience but that wouldn't stop me from publishing what you might
call outre writers. Overall though, I like where I am, doing little
books with my stapler and also doing some bigger things through
Manic D.
SB: You're a publisher, a father, a boyfriend to another writer,
and your writing can be rather out there. By way of example, in
Beautiful Blemish, the story "Blowjob" begins:
"She said she was going to give me the blowjob from Hell. So
we found a place to park on the way home. It was a cemetery."
I'm wondering how all these facets of you cohere. That is, for you,
is the act of writing an escape from reality, an ongoing personal
vivisection leading to exorcism, or the real truth of who you are
underneath it all?
KS: I don't want to sound like a cop-out but it's all those things.
It's a mix of all that: an escape, a personal vivisection, the real
truth—usually in the same story. I think what you're asking is
if I worry about my son or my girlfriend reading one of my stories
and freaking out about it. My son is 11 and he knows I'm a writer,
but he isn't interested in knowing what it's about. Not yet anyhow.
My girlfriend writes under the name Frayn Masters and she's great.
Her stories are wild, hyper, and funny. And she sees and helps me
edit all my stories these days. But I can't lie to you—in the past
I was worried that she would be bothered by some stories. Maybe
she'd see a detail from our life and then see something that I threw
in as fiction and take it personally. But she hasn't done that.
She read a story of mine recently that mentioned something very
personal—something we fought about once—and she didn't even raise
an eyebrow. She read the story straight through and told me what
she thought it was about. And what she said was both totally accurate
and something I hadn't even noticed.
SB: Your book's title story is about an older married couple. They
talk dirty, they use a lot of rubbing oil, and the man draws a map
across the woman's nude body. I don't think I've ever ready anything
quite like it. I wonder if you think of your audience when you write
and if there is a desired emotional effect you're after? That story
conjures up feelings of wanting to run in horror and not being able
to stop reading.
KS: One thing that I try to do—and sometimes I just accidentally
do it—is write a story or a scene in a story that hits more than
one emotional button. I want to write something that is funny but
I want it to be a little shocking or depressing too. Or I want something
to be gritty and realistic but I want it to be fucked up and funny
as well. I'm not really trying to shock people. I want the shock
to resonate more than usual. People do and think about strange things
all the time. There's no limits to how high or low people will go.
SB: Generally speaking, it's not clear where things are in terms
of literature these days—possibly stuck somewhere between
the desire to generate the kind of neo-experimental writing Ben
Marcus invites writers to pursue in "Why
Experimental Fiction Threatens to Destroy Publishing, Jonathan Franzen,
and Life as We Know It" and the lingering appeal of what
Franzen did in The Corrections, which was make mainstream
audiences feel like they were being spoonfed what approximated postmodern
fiction. You are someone who writes and works on the "frontlines
of fiction.” Where are we now and where are we going? Some
are wondering how long writers are going to cling desperately to
realism.
KS: I hear people criticize contemporary literature too often.
I would bet that the past several decades have had their literary
doubters as well. It's hard to live in an era and predict how people
will see it ten or twenty years from now. Did people in the beat
era really know that Kerouac, Burroughs, etc. were going to all
become legends? I loved Ben Marcus's argument in Harper's.
It's a valid discussion. But I don't have to love all experimental
writing and I don't have to dislike more traditional writing. People
may like to complain about Dave Eggers and how precious he might
seem, but I think he will be admired and respected for a long time.
The least that he and McSweeney's has done is inspire and influence
countless people. He's just as DIY as anyone but he's become really
successful. That's no crime.
The other thing people worry about is the supposed lack of readers,
and I have harped about this at times too. But I do think it's not
as bad as people think. There are probably way more readers and
writers now than ever. The main problem, you could argue, is that
there are too many books put out every year. You can't find the
gems when there are lots of polished turds around them. The print-on-demand
companies are the main culprits. They're the bane of publishing.
SB: You write what one might call postmodern fiction with a heart.
At the same time, your fiction includes a lot of sex. Why do you
think some writers use sex as a way of getting at matters of the
heart?
KS: I'm glad you see a heart in my work. I can't speak for others,
but I use sex in my work because it's one of the most interesting
and secret parts of every individual's life. When people say, “What
turns you on?”, the key words there are You and On. People
are like machines in that way. We have these switches inside, deep
inside, our very core. That's a big part of who you are, or maybe
who you aren't...but want to be.
SB: You are a writer of flash fictions. Would you be willing to
give a sample?
Your main character is sitting at a window. He is a writer. He
is trying to concoct a theory of his own identity.
You have 250 words.
KS: Okay. This is fun. I've taught workshops before and I always
give students about ten minutes to write something, so I guess this
is payback.
****
I always wonder who can see me through the window. I never look
out myself. I just sit here and stare at the computer screen. Sometimes
I sit here in my underwear and socks while my girlfriend sits on
the couch reading or doing Sudoku in her pajamas. She calls them
her "night uniform." When the time comes, I will take
off the rest of my clothes. I usually sleep naked. This is what
I call my night uniform. I make sure the window blinds
are closed but I still wonder—can people see me in my night
uniform? I can't write. I'm tired. I wonder if I accomplished anything
today. I procrastinate by checking the basketball scores online.
I don't know why I get so invested, sometimes so upset, by the performance
of my favorite basketball team. How did these emotions, this strange
sort of sports loyalty become ingrained in me? Can I really brag
to anyone if a group of total strangers puts a ball in a hoop more
than another team? Total strangers that make more in a year than
I'll make in my life. I look at the blinded window and see a glimpse
of my eyes reflecting back through a slit. I grab some yogurt from
the fridge and return to stare at the screen some more. I pour a
handful of peanut butter M&Ms in the yogurt. I'm confident that
the screen will turn into something. A field of words. Words that
mean more than words.
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