Bibliographic 2.8 feat. Gillian Sze
HELLO AGAIN!
When I started this newsletter a year ago I thought I would use it to write monthly essays, but after a few months I realized I wasn’t in an essay frame of mind. I don’t have grand conclusions to make these days. I’m still figuring things out, poking around for answers. This is why I enjoyed interviewing Julie Doiron back in December. I love asking people questions, I love learning how people do things. I’ve done a few interviews now: pre-pandemic I interviewed Jessica Westhead for an event about her novel, Worry. More recently I interviewed Samantha Garner about her Kobo First Book nominated novel The Quiet is Loud for The Quarantine Review podcast.
I want to learn how people write or create art during a pandemic or with the ever present hum of the every day. I want to know how indie press writers do it, how parents do it, how full-time-job-havers do it. So I’m going to be using this newsletter to do just that for a bit: some interviews, to learn.
I don’t actually remember how Gillian Sze and I first became friends, but we started corresponding circa 2014ish, exchanging emails and notes on writing, pregnancy, babies. I remember visiting her in her backyard in Montreal when she was pregnant with her first child and Clara was six months old. I interviewed Gillian shortly after that in the winter of 2015 for the defunct book blog, Bookslut (RIP—even the archives are gone.) It feels like a lifetime ago! I’d just published Escape Plans and Gillian had published a collection of poetry called Redrafting Winter, with her friend Alison Strumberger.
Since then more lifetimes have passed and Gillian has published chapbooks, poetry, essays, children’s books, collaborated on a short film and also had another child. In the last month, Gillian has launched two books - Quiet Night Think (ECW Press) and You Are My Favorite Color (Philomel Books/Penguin USA). Quiet Night Think is a collection that moves seamlessly between essays and poetry. She writes about many things: her earliest experiences with poetry (the title is a direct translation of a line of poetry by Chinese poet Li Bai), early parenthood (including those early newborn days when her mother stayed with her so she could follow the typical Chinese postpartum diet), her relationship with her father and his family stories, gardening. You Are My Favorite Color is her third children’s book, about a mother celebrating her child’s brown skin.
I admire Gillian so much– her generosity, kindness, intellectual rigor. She’s definitely someone I want to learn from, and it was so good to do this interview with her, which we did over Zoom in early May. Also, in a very fortunate coincidence she launched Quiet Night Think when I visited Montreal a few weeks ago. She read in an adorable bookstore called La Chenille while her kids darted in and out of the store and a storm threatened to pour outside. It was my first in person reading after two years, I drank red wine in a plastic cup, and everything about it was perfect.
I wanted to send this out sooner, but life, as usual, got in the way. Like Gillian said during our chat, being a mother and a writer is full of interruptions. An edited version of our conversation is below- we talked about the origins of her books, being a mother and a writer, and more. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
xoxo
Teri
Teri: Our last interview isn’t online anymore but I was reading it over and it was about such a different time in your life. A lot has happened since then. You published Panicle, the children’s books, and had another kid. When did you start writing Quiet Night Think? You write a lot about those early newborn days, which you didn’t in Panicle.
Gillian: Panicle was published in 2017, but it was nearly done, I think, just shortly after I had Aalok [her first son].
Oh, that makes sense.
It was just one of those things I was sitting on. Michael Holmes from ECW, the editor I’ve worked with a few times, reached out about something else but I had that manuscript, which was good because it kind of gave me the push to send it and work on it. But the essay “Quiet Night Think” was written about eight years ago. I was asked to think about writing and I found myself remembering that important poem. I wrote the essay not really expecting it to be part of a larger project– it was just a fun way to write because at the time I was also working on my PhD and reading a lot of theory and literary criticism and doing a lot of research. I enjoyed it. I remember thinking after writing it that I hadn’t written sentences in a long time. I’d been mainly writing poetry, and even with prose poetry I was thinking about things like line breaks. I didn't really go back to the essay until later. Having a kid was one thing, trying to record those moments, but also thinking about my relationship to my culture, my mother. And there were a number of other factors as well. So many things happened in Canlit in the last 10 years.
I remember we talked about it at the time.
I was really moved by a couple of things. Natalie Zed put out research on how many poetry book reviews were of books written by women– it was very startling, like out of 14 reviews 2 were for books by women. There was other research that was done about poetry prizes in Canada where finalists had a “w” next to their name if they were white, and it was just a page of w’s. It made me really, really sensitive and aware to these power dynamics which are always there, but that you just sort of absorb. Like, oh yeah, that Disney princess is going to be white, and of course the main love interest in this movie is going to be white. You take it and move on, but I also noticed that there was a desire in Canlit to rectify it and seek out these gaps. It made me think about how I became a writer. This was also spurred on by having a child, a point of beginning, and I thought about my own sort of beginning, which was met with a lot of resistance.
I loved all the stuff in Quiet Night Think about your dad’s reaction to your writing, which he didn’t understand, and your relationship with him, which was very relatable to those of us who are first generation Canadians. I really love the line in the book where you give him your poetry thesis and he flips through it and is like, it's so empty!
I sent my dad all the passages to make sure that they were okay because there were so many family stories in the book. For the most part everyone in my family is quite encouraging and I think they’ve just gotten used to me taking notes or asking questions. But certainly with the more sensitive stories about my grandfather, or even my relationship with my father, I wanted to make sure he was okay with them. And he’s such an analytical engineer, so he was like- “Oh yes, accurate, yes, it's okay.” But two months ago when we were talking about my books, he still brought up how I lost out on my opportunity to be a pharmacist. I was like, wow.
Still! Even after your bibliography, your teaching – what about pharmacy? My parents would be the same.
It’s funny!
But he was ultimately okay with the book? And your mom was too?
It's funny because I was asked this question recently in another interview. I gave my parents the passages about them just because I felt like it was the right thing to do. I don't exist in a vacuum, and their stories rub shoulders with my stories. I was fascinated by how they entered my text and also how our stories departed from each other as well.
You also write more directly in an essay format, which you haven’t really done in the past. Did you feel more exposed in some way?
I totally did feel more exposed and it's funny because I think some people think that I would feel more exposed in poetry.
I can understand that because poetry is so internal and feelings-y, but sometimes I feel like there's a protective layer with poetry or, for me, with fiction.
Yeah, I feel the exact same way. With poetry, I can insert holes. You can even see it in the format – like the empty space my dad mentioned. With these holes the reader can kind of enter on their own without me, whereas in an essay with that block of text I stay with my reader.
How did you get the book all laid out? Did you have fun ordering everything? Did you work on it with your editor or did it come naturally?
My initial thought was that the book would be a collection of essays. I applied for funding with the Quebec Arts Council and I really did go into it thinking I was going to do that throughout. The title essay was already written and I thought I could write a series of essays like it. And I did write a series of essays, but I wasn’t confident about all of them, so I dwindled them down to the ones I felt most strongly about. Meanwhile, I was also writing poetry. Then it was really just stepping back and assessing the body of work. I thought my poems about motherhood could work in the project.
Also, your poems about gardening– there’s a lot of imagery there that ties everything together.
Yeah. I needed to take some distance from the writing to see it a little more objectively, and I thought maybe these pieces could work well together. So many of my favorite books are like that– Mary Oliver’s books, Ann Carson’s books– there's this play in form. Being a mother and a writer is full of interruptions, and I thought the reading experience could have that sort of stutter, the same way that my translation of “Quiet Night Think” has as well.
That represents your book perfectly.
Yeah, it doesn’t have that smoothness. Those days of sitting in a coffee shop for hours and writing or thinking or reading are not happening. That’s when I thought this format made the most sense.
I really want to talk about the picture book stuff. I want to know how you got started.
I had so much anxiety when I had my son because I had no time. It’s funny because I was prepared for that– I wasn't reading practical or useful books about mothering or breastfeeding or sleeping, I was reading books like A Life's Work by Rachel Cusk. I was reading what other writers were saying.
I remember you recommended to me the collection by the Canadian writers that I love, Double Lives [The book is Double Lives: Writing and Motherhood, edited by Shannon Cowan, Fiona Tin wei Lam and Cathy Stonehouse.]
And you sent me the Louise Erdrich book [The Blue Jay's Dance: A Memoir of Early Motherhood], which spoke right to me. I was attentive to being a writer and a mother– it was one of my primary concerns, how do I figure myself out? In some ways I was really happy to read these books because when you do lose yourself to motherhood, you're not in for such a shock.
It helps to know what it's like and that there’s this tradition of… losing your grip, ha.
You’re kind of relieved because you're prepared. Or at least a little more prepared for it– I don't know if you're ever fully prepared. It's still pretty shocking to be like, who am I?! I’m a cow walking around! I don’t even keep the same hours as anyone, why am I awake at 2 in the morning when everyone else is asleep?! It was jarring, but I was prepared for it a little bit more than if I hadn’t read those books at all. Just like those other mothers, I had anxiety about when the next poem would happen or how I would find the clarity to write.
At the time I was reading a lot of picture books, as most new parents are. We have this wonderful library, the Jewish public library, just a little walk away from us. I sought it out, obviously, for the books, but also because they had those mother baby groups which are always useful in terms of socializing and meeting other people who are in the same situation as you. I found myself regularly borrowing picture books and every two weeks there would be a new pile. I didn't realize that part of my brain was researching, learning the form. And my son was a very poor sleeper— two hours at a time for two years. It was really hard, but he liked bedtime books. I really enjoy the bedtime book genre too because it kind of worked on him in terms of quieting down. He enjoyed listening to them.
I read one– I can't recall its title– but I remembered its rhyme and its repetition. I remember thinking after reading it, hmm this sounds like a villanelle. After my son went to sleep, I scanned it and it wasn’t that, but I thought a villanelle was a perfect poetic form for a bedtime story: it’s short, it has a distinct rhyme scheme. It has repetition, which is by default boring, but perfect for bedtime. I spent a lot of time just thinking what a cool idea it would be to write one. And then I started to take notes or write down images that I thought would be interesting. It was really rejuvenating in terms of writing. It was also low stakes: a single 19 line poem with all these rules you have to follow. And then one morning I just wrote it [“it” became The Night is Deep and Wide].
How did you get it published?
I thought Orca Books would be a great place to send it to because they publish books by Lorna Crozier and Susan Musgrave so I knew they were into Canadian poets. So I sent it to them.
You just sent it, like in their slush pile?
Yeah. As a poet, I’m used to waiting! They got back to me by the end of the year.
Wow!
I was really happy about it because I just thought I would make a little book for my kids. I really thought they would be the only readers, and I also thought this was an experiment to myself as a writer, could I do another format? So I was very delighted to have the book happen. They paired me with the illustrator Sue Todd, who is really, really great. I love the black and white approach she took to the illustrations.
I love The Night is Deep and Wide. Recently whenever a coworker has a baby, I’ll send them a copy along with a baby blanket. It’s a perfect gift.
Thank you!
So you decided to keep up with children’s books?
I thought that would be it, but then I had the idea for My Love for You Is Always. Again, it was another idea that just stayed with me.
[My Love for You is Always is Gillian’s second picture book about a mother and child preparing a delicious Chinese meal.]
I got the idea looking at all the ingredients my mother used during my postpartum care.
It was so interesting following you on Instagram during that time.
It was interesting to me too! It would’ve been different if I were around a bunch of Chinese people all the time or if it was something I grew up knowing about, but it wasn't and just hearing and reading about the process, from my mom and the women in my family, was very fascinating for me.
You write about it in Quiet Night Think too. I remember you telling me like, my mom's here and she's cooking me this food and I can't go outside just yet. [If you’re unfamiliar with Chinese postpartum care, it’s a tradition in Chinese medicine where women follow specific rules in the month after childbirth with respect to eating, going outside, etc.]
Yeah. I get asked sometimes if I wanted to do the postpartum care or if I was asked to do it, and honestly I wasn't. My mom just started doing it—it was expected. When I think about it, I didn't really have a choice but I didn't really fight it either.
I feel like in some ways it’s kind of freeing to not have to make certain decisions when you’re so wrapped up in having a newborn. Knowing what you have to do, being given food you know will make you stronger. That's kind of nice.
It is. I also didn't fight it because I saw my mom drop everything to leave Vancouver to come be with me and do all this work, to cook. I felt like it would’ve been such an insult to be like, sorry, no.
Did she come for both kids?
Both. The first time I was more resistant. It was June and in Montreal it's so nice, the weather's beautiful. I remember Aalok was two days old and there was a street festival and some friends asked me if I wanted to go with the baby, and right away my mom was like, no way, 100% no.
So I was resistant, but then after having my second baby, Eider, and also having a rambunctious three year old, I decided to really embrace it.
Then you wrote the third book. When did that happen?
The idea for You Are My Favorite Color came when I was pregnant with Eider. It was just before Aalok’s third birthday and we were sitting on the bench in the park nearby. We were holding hands and he looked at our hands and asked “Why is my skin brown?” My initial reaction as a person of color was, Why? Did someone say something? Where is this coming from? I was very anxious and protective at the same time and scrambling to come up with an answer in a way that wasn’t like when he asked me something like why the sky is blue. It felt urgent that I must find an answer. I remember the feeling I had interrogating him and realizing that it came from my own experiences and knowledge about things like racism. But he was also at the age where he just asked interesting questions. Only later I was like, oh he was asking just to ask.
Yeah, they're not necessarily loaded questions yet!
But the fact that he asked it and that I was really disappointed by my answer on the spot, I realized it was a question that I wanted to find a proper written— celebratory!— answer.
What was your answer on the spot?
I think I was just kind of reassuring. “Oh, your skin is brown because it's just the way you're made and and, you know, like… your daddy's brown and I’m lighter and that’s why you're in between the two.”
Just like paint mixing!
And then this anxious, “Anyway, you’re so beautiful! You’re the perfect colour!”, which didn’t answer anything either. It stayed with me: did I answer the question appropriately, did I put myself too much into it? I had the idea for the book but I didn't really get down to writing until i talked to my agent who said it was a great idea and that she hoped one day I would write it. So that's how the book got started.
I was very nervous about writing it because I started overthinking. I started learning about all the children in the world who identified as brown. I felt a lot of pressure.
It's a big topic.
In the end I sat down one morning when Eider was taking a nap and told myself that the only people I would think about when writing the book— the you in this story because it was in the second person— was going to be Aalok and Eider. I wasn’t going to think about everyone in the world. I was just going to write the answer I wished I had given. And that was how I got past that block. It came out looking like a prose poem.
The prose poem that Gillian wrote turned into a beautiful book, which just came out. I’ve read it to Clara too, who agrees in her 7 year old way. Gillian and I kept talking and that morning she’d just seen the cover of Quill and Quire, which was an illustration of her writing- the quote “What is this space that poetry offers?”
It’s a wonderful summation of her own work, which allows for that expansiveness. I hope that those of you aren’t familiar with it check out Quiet Night Think or her earlier poetry collections, or the picture books for the children in your life. You will be enriched for it.