RB: Ryan Bradley is a figure skater. He is also a failed pitcher who spent years (and possible still toils) in the New York Yankee farm system. However, I imagine you’re actually speaking about the Ryan Bradley that is me. Above all things the Ryan Bradley that is me, who often pretentiously puts a W in his name, is a father and a husband. A guy who works really hard at crappy jobs and also at this thing we call writing.

MB: Let’s talk about this thing we call writing, Ryan W. Bradley the non-figure skater, although if figure skating were part of your repertoire that would be rad and I might demand pictures. I still might demand pictures of you working really hard at crappy jobs because that’s even harder than figure skating and speaks volumes about character. Are you a character, Ryan W. Bradley? And why writing? Goddamn. What is it exactly about this thing we call writing? Why, Ryan W. Bradley? Tell me why!

RB: I can certainly pull off at least a photo of me working at one or two crappy jobs. Me in figure skating outfits is something I’m not about to reveal, even fictitiously. I don’t know that I’m a character. That’s the kind of thing I feel Humphrey Bogart might accuse some bit player of in a old school crime drama, and I’d much rather be Bogart.

As for your more pertinent question: many writers, of much higher intelligence than myself have tried to explain the compulsion to write. And it is a compulsion. But beyond that I can’t explain why. I can, however, explain how. I came to writing through injury. I always loved reading, but hated writing. I was more into sports. And acting. But when I suffered a severe back injury in high school I found myself in a lot of physical pain without any of the outlets I normally took advantage of. That is when I began writing. I was lucky to recover from the injury, but my addled brain has yet to recover from the writing compulsion I developed.

MB: Do you subscribe to the notion that we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be? And that everything that happens in our lives happens for a reason? If you were never injured in high school where do you think you’d be now? Do you think you’d have found your way to writing through other, perhaps less painful, events, seen or unforeseen? And if so, would the association be different? Where would the writing inspiration squirt out, if not from between your vertebrae? Do you ever find yourself feeling grateful for the bad things that have happened to you in the past? And if so, doesn’t it feel goddamn good to be so wise and mature?

RB: Honestly the easiest thing in the world is to feel bad for one’s self, especially in the face of bad or hard times. And it’s not that I’m past that, by any means, but I’m getting better. I was told my whole life that things happen for a reason and it always seemed like such a crock. When I met and fell in love with my wife I realized all the crap my mom had always told me was true, and I’ve got to tell you it pissed me off a bit.

As for whether or not I’d be a writer without all those things I’m not sure. I think I would have been doing something creative, there are so many creative outlets that I love, I know I would have been doing something, but I kind of doubt that I was destined to be a writer. Maybe that’s me being ignorant once again.

But, yes, I am very grateful for all the stupid and horrible shit I’ve gone through in life, not necessarily because of the writing, but certainly because of my wife and sons, which I know only came about because of everything I’d gone through in life.

MB: Tell us about some of the creative outlets you love, Mr. Bradley. More specifically, tell us about Artistically Declined Press. The genesis? The progression? The authors? The offshoots? And do you see any correlation between your press and your family?

RB: ADP is a labor of love. It spawned out of two things, my love of book design (which has grown into one of my favorite outlets of all-time) and the support and encouragement of my co-publisher, dear friend, and amazing writer, Paula Bomer. We have had the good fortune to work with writers we love, which is what it’s all about for us. Ken Sparling took a leap of faith in being the first writer to work with us, and he has really become an important figure in my life, as a writer, an influence, and someone I consider a friend.

Between doing books and our journal, Sententia, I feel an overwhelming sense of pride in what we’ve been able to accomplish so far, and what we will accomplish in the future.

Along with my own writing ADP is the most important creative outlet in my life, but there are many things that I’d like to do down the road. Including other literary related ventures, as well as one day returning to music, and even filmmaking, which I briefly majored in during college until the head of the department and I had a falling out. And I really hope that I’ll get to expand my book designing, working with other presses and writers. Is it too much to ask for me to have a media empire? Books, design, music, and film? Sometimes I have these realizations of how ridiculous my goals are and I start to feel self-conscious and like I should learn to be happy with what I have. This is one of those times.

MB: I don’t think having a media empire is too much to ask, Ryan, if it makes you feel any better. In many ways you already have one, and from the sound of things it’s only going to grow. We’re gonna have to start calling you Genghis pretty soon, or now. Tell me, Genghis, about your own writing. What are some of your favorite things to write about? And what are some of favorite pieces?

RB: It’s good to have one supporter in my pocket, so I’ll take that vote of confidence, Mr. Bosworth. I will also accept Genghis as a nickname, because I am a big fan of giving nicknames, but have rarely been the recipient of any decent ones.

I primarily write about people trying desperately to get along with one another through difficult situations. I’m fascinated by the human ability to have relationships that function, especially for extended periods. I also like to write about my home state of Alaska and the blue collar jobs I’ve worked.

To be honest my favorite stories comprise the Alaska-themed story collection I’ve been sending out, GLACIERS, but many of them remain unpublished. One will be coming out with the Potomac Review at some point, and I’m excited about that, and one recently ran in Pear Noir 4. The two stories that I consider the best things I’ve written are still making the rounds and I look forward to the day that more people get a chance to read those. I think they will show people a lot about my work and what I’m striving for.

MB: You’ve got some big things out there and some big things coming up, Ryan. What’s the scoop with your chapbook Aquarium? And what’s the scoop with your forthcoming novel Code For Failure? GODDAMN, Genghis! You’re a busy bee. And feel free to babble all you want here. The floor is yours.

RB: First, you should know better than to give a writer so much freedom.

AQUARIUM is a collection of my quirkier poems. It’s the middle section of my full length collection, MILE ZERO which I’ve been sending out. In the midst of that collection it acts as a intermission between the other two sections of mostly confessional poems. As a standalone I think it’s a fun set of poems that highlights a lot of my different poetic influences. From Bukowski to Peter Sears. The chapbook turned out quite gorgeous, I’m really thankful to Amanda Deo at Thunderclap for liking my poetry enough to undertake the project.

CODE FOR FAILURE is an adorable little novel based on when I was kicked out of college and worked at a gas station. I really can’t stress how many ways the main character of the book screws up, but I can tell you there’s enough juicy that you’ll want to pick it up just to try and surmise what stupid stuff I actually did and what I made up.

I realized after writing the book how much it leans of the style of Kerouac. The book is part of an imagined trilogy of novels based on my college years, the others highlighting my time working in a mechanic’s shop on the Oregon coast and being the frontman in a punk band, respectively. There’s no saying if those other two will ever be finished, but they have been started.

CODE FOR FAILURE will be out in 2012, so I’m trying to pace the buzz, but I’m really excited for people to read it and start thinking “WOW, that dude Ryan is really messed up.” In the meantime I’ll be brainstorming ways to build up the buzz for the book as it draws nearer so if you or any readers have ideas let me know.

MB: Building up buzz can be a tricky thing but I’m pretty sure that nudity might help, and you’d be amazed at what people on craigslist will do for $20. “Always keep your camera at the ready,” is my motto. But anyway.

I’d like to thank you for being such a good sport, Ryan, and for taking the time to do this interview with me. Huge congrats on all of your projects, brotha. I think you’re gonna be doing some big world shaking before too long. You’ve already got the tremors going. Just one last question and then you’re free to go. I’ll even make it multiple choice.

One of your sons comes to the foot of your bed one night and says that he wants to be a writer. Do you:

A) Embrace him
B) Cry uncontrollably
C) Push your face into the pillow and pretend you didn’t hear him
D) Other (feel free to elaborate)

Actually, whatever answer you pick, feel free to elaborate. I like the way you talk.

RB: At first I thought you meant me being nude, which would only work if it was a threat…. which still might be something to stew on.

It was a true pleasure doing this interview, and I was honored to be asked, so thank you, sir. Hopefully I can live up to this hype I’m always trying to build about myself!

I’ll try not to get too longwinded here, but I think the best way to answer such a question is to start with the story of what my stepfather told me. Early on in my road toward writing, making music, making short films, my first year or two in college, my stepdad sat me down and told me how talented he thought I was. Being an amazing artist of many kinds, I knew he wasn’t just blowing smoke. He told me if I wanted I could make money doing the creative things I enjoyed. But, he told me, that I was currently on the path to being more avant garde, which wasn’t the way to make money if that’s what I wanted.

That’s always stuck with me. There’s a choice in anything we do, whether it’s a creative outlet or otherwise. I have made the choice to follow my inspiration rather than to worry about whether or not it made me financially successful. I would pose this reality to my sons. And I would give them one other piece of advice that my stepdad gave me. There will always be better. Which means you always have to work as hard as you possibly can to achieve the type of success you want to make for yourself.

So, I guess that’s option D. Though I’d probably cry for them later, worried about the torture they’d be putting themselves through.

**visit Ryan W. Bradley HERE.

**visit Artistically Declined Press HERE.

**Quick Contest(!): Ryan W. Bradley had kindly offered to give away a free copy of Aquarium to the first person to request it in the comments below. Jam on it!

(Jessica Smith) In the wake of the best picture academy award for the film The Hurt Locker, what is your poem’s connection to that movie? It seemed like every review of the movie tried to connect your poem “The Hurt Locker” to Kathryn Bigelow and Mark Boal’s decision to title their movie the same, is there a connection? Either way, has the movie’s success filtered back to you/your work?

(Brian Turner) Not sure about any of its success filtering back–Alice James might be able to address that question. I had no connection to the movie itself. I wrote the poem while I was in Iraq. I was there from 2003-2004 and the poem was written sometime late summer of 2004 (while near Mosul, in a small town southeast of there). My squad leader said the phrase to me, while talking about those we were fighting against: “Sometimes I just want to put them in the hurt locker.” It was a bizarre phrase that stuck with me. I wrote the poem about a week or two later, once it had brewed a bit. (I’ve since learned the phrase has been traced back, at least, to a small Texas newspaper article in 1966. So it’s not a new term. Still–I’m certain my boss also sort of made it up on his own in a kind of cycle of invention, without knowing the term outside of himself.)

(JS) You’ve been compared to Bruce Weigl and several other great war poets. In Weigl’s memoir, The Circle of Hanh he says, “The war took away my life and gave me poetry in return…the fate the world has given me is to struggle to write powerfully enough to draw others into the horror.” Do you identify with that? Did you feel the need to draw others into your experience?

(BT) There are things that need to be remembered. There are things we, as a country and as a people, are now very much responsible for and responsible to. It is my hope that we will not allow the sand to wash over, the next news cycle to cloud our memory, to dilute our resolve to attend to that for which we are responsible.

(JS) I read that early on, the title for Phantom Noise was going to be Talk the Guns, what does “Talk the guns” mean, and why did you decide not to use it?

(BT) I was a an infantryman in the Army. Talk the Guns is a phrase soldiers use to conserve ammunition during a firefight (while still keeping a continuous and steady rate of fire). Each soldier fires their weapon in a given sequence while the others wait their turn, basically. While writing the book, I realized that it wasn’t the right direction for the book. I needed something that spoke of ghosts, of being haunted, and of being the one who haunts others. This is the war after, not the war during. Also, at a more fundamental level–I needed to put the guns down. I no longer wish to give the order for others to fire.

(JS) This book has these beautiful/disturbing couplings of poems. I’m thinking of “Puget Sound” followed by “Al-A’Imma Bridge” where it feels like you tie The United States and Iraq together with the dumping of bodies into water. Was Private Reynolds from “Puget Sound” a real or fictional soldier?

(BT) Real, but–the events in Puget Sound slightly different than here (even more complicated) and it’s a long, long story to tell.

(JS) “Al-A’Imma Bridge” feels like a plea to us to learn about and understand the people of Iraq and their history. The idea that the dead and the djinn awake to whitness these people falling and drowning into the Tigris was haunting. Did you know about djinn while you were in Iraq? Did you have an interest in Iraqi history before you went to war?

(BT) Thanks–exactly what I was hoping to do. And yes–I was very interested in Iraqi (and Mesopotamian) history, art, culture, etc. prior to going to war. My going there heightened my interest and has since added to it.

(JS) Your poem “THE DISCOTHEQUE” is dedicated to Tony Logouranis, a retired Army interrogator and author (he co-authored it) of Fear Up Harsh: An Army Interrogator’s Dark Journey Through Iraq. In your notes it says that you only realized your connection with interrogators like Tony after reading his book. I found that interesting, do you think the Army operates like that, one hand unaware of what the other is doing? Did you think about what happened to the detainees after you handed them over at the time?

(BT) Ah, I probably wasn’t clear enough in the notes. I was asked to introduce Tony and his work at a literary festival in Ireland (along with Arkady Babchenko). While reading his book I realized that he was talking about me–in the sense that we’d been in the exact same place at the same time. I don’t remember seeing him. I didn’t know what went on beyond what we could see while turning the detainees/prisoners over to the MPs. The scandal at Abu Ghraib took place and was revealed while I was in-country. I didn’t realize (while there) how systemic and how very, very high up the chain of command the culpability lay. In reading Tony’s book I did realize that (some of) the actual people that I brought in were taken into that Discotheque. And so I thank Tony for his hard honesty in revealing what he does in his book–it’s something all American’s can learn from and it has helped me to much more clearly see my own complicity and culpability in the overall scheme of things. I share the poem not as a confessor in the confessional mode–my hopes are that it might offer a reader an inroads into the discussion of torture, the contemplation of it, the contemplation of one’s own complicity and culpability.

(JS) Have you spoken to Mr. Logouranis? Does he know one of the poems in your book was written for him?

(BT) In addition to the answer above…I don’t know if knows of my second book yet. I need to send him a copy and see what he thinks.

(JS) I think one of the poems that packed a lot of punch for me was “Insignia”. Phantom Noise is about the ways a soldier is haunted. But according to statistic you quoted at the begining of the poem, 1/3 of female soldiers will be hurt by the men they have sworn to fight and die with. It is hard to wrap my head around that. It is a powerful message. Did you work closely with women during your time in the service? Are there women in Stryker Brigades? *I had to edit this question, because it didn’t make a lot of sense, thankfully I still got a coherent answer.

(BT) The problems with sexual harrassment and abuse in the ranks were made much clearer to me after I came back and visited the VA hospital in Palo Alto. I was given a tour of the facilities there as part of a project being developed by the NEA. One of the things I was surprised to learn was that they also treat male soldiers who have been raped by other male soldiers. After learning more, the poem emerged with an intensity that surprised me as well. …The vast majority of soldiers I served with were men, but there are a few women in Stryker Brigades now. There are also women in other units which work in conjunction with these brigades. I think the services available to women veterans not only need to be augmented and improved–they need to be a major focus in the modernization of our Veteran’s Administration. Tammy Duckworth is doing a good job toward making some of that happen.

(JS) Are there any female war poets that you know of?

(BT) Yes–check out Powder, from Kore Press, as a beginning.

(JS) Did you ever regret going in to the army as an enlisted soldier? You had an MFA, presumably you could have gone in as an officer, did you ever wish you had?

(BT) My paycheck wished I had, but I came from a long line of sergeants and good working-class stock. We have a bit of a chip on our shoulders when it comes to officers, I have to admit. I will say that I was fortunate enough to serve with some excellent officers–especially the PL we had while in Iraq.

(JS) You have said you didn’t intend to write a second book of war poetry, Phantom Noise is just as powerful and intense as your first book, if not more. Do you think you might have another book of war poetry in you?

(BT) I don’t think so–at least a book of poetry about Iraq. I say that, of course, but I’m learning that the work chooses us (and not the other way around). There are three or four books clamoring to be the next book now. I wrote a book last summer and fall (called Summertime). I don’t intend to publish it–it was simply something that called itself to be written. It seems that I’m allowed to throw the dice, but not to know what numbers will come up.

(JS) Your poetry books have gotten a lot of positive attention and praise, so I think it is safe to assume you know how to make poetry meaningful. I began my love affair with poetry very early on so I’m always surprised when people I know say they have no interest in reading it. What do you say to critics of poetry as a literary genre? Why should people care about it?

(BT) There are many paths to follow in this life–and not enough time. For those who have read poetry widely and still not found anything of lasting value, I suppose the art simply doesn’t line up with the way their hearts function. For the vast majority of others who say they don’t like poetry (but have read very little of it)–I think many of them were turned off early by poems that didn’t sit well in their ears. They haven’t come across the right poem at the right time. They haven’t been transported. They haven’t experienced the timeless qualities a fine poem offers. I hope they do one day.

Brian Turner earned his MFA from the University of Oregon before serving seven years in the United States Army. Brian deployed to Bosnia-Herzegovnia with the 10th Mountain Division and was an infantry team leader for a year in the Iraq War beginning November 2003, with the 3rd Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 2nd Infantry Division. Turner has seen his poems published in The Cortland Review, Poetry Daily, Atlanta Review, Crab Orchard Review, Georgia Review, Rattle, Virginia Quarterly Review, and ZYZZYVA. He also wrote a series of essays for The New York Times blog, Home Fires. His first book, Here, Bullet (published by Alice James Book) received the Beatrice Hawley Award, a New York Times “Editor’s Choice” selection and a whole lot more critical acclaim I won’t list. His second book Phantom Noise (also AJB) powerfully captures the haunting ghosts of war that accompany a veteran back home.

JMG: You’ve quite a large portfolio of published poems. How did you first pursue publication of your poetry?

DM: First I sent in a few I wrote in 1994, after maybe four acceptances I just stopped since I felt it was pointless being a large scale customer of the postal services then. Three years ago I wrote again more seriously, and noticed that email was much better.

JMG: What elements, do you feel, make for a “good” piece of poetry?

DM: Earth, air fire and water. Not ether though. Mainly that the writer, in the course of her/his entirely justified ripping off of some canon, introduces some personal slant. I don’t like the idea of assembling elements, poetry like amateurish cookery where the writer/cook slavishly follows a recipe.

JMG: Do you gravitate more towards contemporary or classical pieces when you read? Who are some influences?

DM: As influences Trakl, Larkin, Eliot, Plath, Sexton, Dylan Thomas, WH Auden, Pound. A few others. I don’t read modern poetry much, though I am exposed to it by reading e-zines that I might submit to, a bit like prostitutes, who are exposed to the risk of infection in the course of submitting to their work.

JMG: Do you wrestle with the line between writer and salesman?

DM: Never, I can let you know if I ever sell things

JMG: Can you point to any events or life-milestone that have shaped your style or influenced your output?

DM: I don’t really know that. Possible being born, though I seem to have forgotten that, unlike Dali. More the slow process of attrition.

JMG: You’ve been living in Sweden since the late eighties. How has that affected your poetic slant? Do you write exclusively in English? If so why?

DM: I only write in English since I don’t have much of a feel for Swedish poetry. I tried writing poems in Swedish a few years ago and they were all crap. I only ever speak Swedish, though. I think that it’s best, at any rate for me, to write poetry in my native language. It also works well since never speaking English means that it retains a special status as purely literary in my usage.

JMG: How much fiction do you write?

DM: I have written one novel, I would be highly surprised if that ever gets published. It’s a sort of novel where very little happens.

JMG: You have a number of chapbooks as well as some full-length collections out. What can you tell us about these works?

DM: I have very little idea about the best way to do these things, most have been spontaneous. Planning things seems craven. Of the three full lengths I think Cadaver’s dance may be most unpopular and best, at least the one edited best by Dylan Garcia-Wahl at Whistling Shade. The new laughing at funerals is pretty OK. I want to sell more of Pushing Lemmings though. That’s pretty good if not very edited, since I was lazy. The chapbook living dead girl was written while watching the Jean Rollin film of that name. And reading Verlaine, thus the content. It’s pretty good I believe. The collection of dead snakes was put together by Humphrey Astley at Rain over Bouville – that one’s pretty good too I think.

JMG: How do you feel about the state of print publications? Do you think the internet has helped or hindered contemporary poetry?

DM: I don’t actually read any print publications so I am perplexed a little here. The Internet, however, is good. It activates people, gives free venues, gives more opportunity for peer help. It is also hugely entertaining to watch the M$ Windoze fuckwads constantly fuck up.

JMG: Are you a dog or cat person?

DM: Both. I don’t like small dogs though. Who does? (Small =df less than a Labrador)

JMG: Anything to share about your particular creative process?

DM: Nothing, except to say that the idea of writer’s block is a cheap excuse for lazy pussies.

JMG: How do you get beyond “writers’ block?”

DM: I don’t know what it is, I’ve never experienced it. Sadly, lots of poets nowadays think that they are obliged to be “artists” which implies they are Bohemian and profoundly creative and thus entitles to be “difficult” and “deep” and “madmen” and have lots of pussified little problems. We who do have various diagnoses know that this glorification of the difficult, mad, and isolated artist struggling against problems, or what i call “being a whiny little pussy,” is garbage. Just write ffs.

JMG: Formal education. You have quite a bit of it. Has that helped you as a poet? How relevant is a master’s degree to the aspiring writer?

DM: As long as it’s not an MFA, which is not really a proper degree at all, and not taught at the better universities, education does not hurt. Of course if most of the poets who discuss philosophy knew some they might shit themselves with embarrassment when they realize how stupid they are. You know, the ones who talk about non-being, the subjectivity of whatever, about various categories of ill-defined “nihilism.”

Intelligence combined with education will often cure nasty tendencies to religious belief too. Education on its own, without thinking, is useless. Thinking without education can go wrong easier, but is better than a chain of qualifications and a dead head.

JMG: From what areas of study does your education come?

DM: I have an MA in philosophy from Stockholm, majoring in ethics. Also an unrelated BA in History taken much earlier, and much more lazily, from Balliol, Oxford. I also studied the history of ideas, philosophical aesthetics, feminist philosophy, and gender studies.

JMG: We live in a reality of labels. If “poet” were not available to David McLean, what label would people likely apply to you? What would you fill your time with?

DM: I don’t like the label “poet” and hope it isn’t applied to me too often. Psychiatrists like labels too. I would rather collect new and fundamentally incompatible diagnoses just for kicks.

JMG: Any interesting projects on the horizon?

DM: Not really, at least no literary suchlike. I want to get the new dog to understand that the recall “command“ isn’t just a joke.

For a listing of McLean’s available titles, follow the electronic breadcrumbs . . .

http://mourningabortion.blogspot.com/

Alan first contacted me, years ago, by the invitation in one of my first publication author bios: “He welcomes conversation via email.” I intended the trailing line to garner no more than a grin from the few who read it. But Alan’s willingness to contact a stranger should have clued me in early on to what a true individual he is.

We have been communicating online and following each others work since. When I first heard about his novella, Let Me Die a Woman, I was quite excited. As the title and cover art suggest, this book is unabashedly pulp. Having developed a sense of Kelly’s style, via his many reviews, interviews, and essays on the topic of b-reel pulp, I knew that this man is someone who takes great pride in his material. Though I wasn’t familiar with the nuances of this genre before reading Let Me Die a Woman, I knew that I was in very capable hands.

Caleb J Ross: It’s damn obvious that you love and respect the genre in which Let Me Die a Woman exits. It seems every one of your interviews and every essay you’ve written touches on, and pays homage to, the heroines that have come before yours. Angel Dare from Christina Faust’s Money Shot and Choke Hold, Bella from Helen Zahavi’s Dirty Weekend, Ariel Manto from Scarlett Thomas’ The End of Mr Y, Eloise Murphy from Danny Hogan’s Killer Tease, and Diana Kemp from Cathi Unsworth’s The Not Knowing all are referenced in a single question from your Five For interview at 3AM Magazine. How does Let Me Die a Woman’s Bunny Flask fit within this family of heroines?

Alan Kelly: I’ve always wanted to write a heroine (or anti-heroine) though Bunny is as much a homage to real-life horror icons such as Heidi Martinuzzi (editor of Pretty Scary) Shannon Lark (founder of The Chainsaw Mafia) my “Monster Kid” Alice Fiend has similar red hair to Rue Morgue’s former editor Jovanka Vuckovic and of course the lovely filmmaker, Gorezone columnist & Scream Queen Suzi Lorraine. Both Heidi and Jovanka are both in The Top 15 most influential women in horror and they are both brilliant at what they do, No, not brilliant, they are spectacular. Of course I’m not saying Heidi has ever cut anybody in two with a double-barrelled shotgun or Shannon is a murderous, chainsaw wielding vixen or that Jovanka is a vicious Alien queen with a pet monster who carves people up.

I reckon Bunny would love Diana and Angel and see them as wiser older sisters. Bella is a cold, calculated psychopath and I’m sure Bunny would appreciate her sense of humour. She’d never beat Eloise in a fight and would probably think Ariel was too academic and snooty. So Bunny, Alice and Kiffany are sort of an amalgamation of real and imagined heroines. I return to all these fictional characters now and again and am really excited about Choke Hold and Cathi’s forthcoming book. The world needs Angel Dare.

CJR: We both come from small towns, though I won’t be brash enough to compare our upbringing with any depth, as I’ve only been to Dublin once, and during that trip, though I stayed in a few small towns (hello to my family in Co. Sligo!) the trip wasn’t long enough to give me the ability to truly assess the areas. However, I’m sure we can both relate on the idea of returning home, after having been gone. Do you return to your village ever? What sort of reception do you get, considering the themes of your writing?

AK: I moved back home last year full-time. I was sick of the city and a family member was having health problems so I came home to stay with them. The village I live in is two miles from Wicklow Town (which is The Garden of Ireland) – oh it’s been insane since LMDAW was published! People have been lovely and very supportive. There are a lot of misconceptions about people who live in rural areas, a lot! In a way coming from a small village is sort of like having a lot of relatives – I realise how corny that sounds – I’ve lived in London and Dublin and to be honest I’ve become isolated and depressed in both cities which has led to me becoming really quite self-destructive. But moving on – In primary school every time my class was assigned an essay, I’d write fan-fiction and gleefully kill off all my classmates! The teachers used to be horrified and I was sent home several times but my classmates loved them! I even talked one of my teachers into letting the class watch Alien 3! Well I didn’t actually say it was that film! He switched it off almost immediately! I switched the cover with another film – The Neverending Story I think it might have been. Fun times. I would never show anyone my poetry, not family or friends and certainly nobody from my village – it’s something which is very personal, often brutal, something belonging to me and is none of anybody else’s business.

CJR: True, corny. But so be it. I understand the feeling of family. And like a true family, I assume there is always that urge, whether embraced or not, to somehow make those hometown neighbors proud. Even the bullies and town jerks, somewhere there is a kinship there that warrants at least the striving for respect. Do you feel like you have this respect now that you have returned?

AK: I think there is a common decency which exists in small-places that is absent in any city. But of course, small places are not without the scum element. My family are a fairly close bunch and I mostly keep to myself. I have very few friends having lived away for many years. I like the country, I like walking down to The Monkey Pole on the beach in Wicklow Town or going to the lakes and looking out over the estuary or sitting in my local supping cider. Of course there are so many drawbacks to living somewhere so remote. No cinema, no culture, hard to meet new people, though there is a great little bookshop called Bridge Street Books. The bullies I couldn’t give a flying fuck about, I never did when I was growing up and I sure don’t now. I do go to the city quite a bit – mostly for books and to hook up with people I haven’t seen in a while. For now, I’m ok where I am, For now.

CJR: In your 3AM conversation with label-mate Danny Hogan, you briefly mention your current project: “The book I’m writing now is very different from Let Me Die A Woman: weird, visceral and inspired by an investigative piece I wrote while studying on missing migrant children in Ireland – 300 missing children in five years and its low profile. I was horrified by it and completely disgusted nobody seemed to give a fuck.” How did you get involved with the investigative piece that led to this project? Can you tell me more about this project?

AK: I was in my first year of journalism at BCFE and read an article in one of the broadsheets on missing migrant children. At first I didn’t really believe what I was reading so I phoned the journalist who had wrote the piece and contacted The Irish Refugee Centre. Still not entirely sure what I was hearing, I went further to the Irish Office of Migration and spoke to a man there. When I asked why this was so low profile and wondered why the media weren’t all over it he told me “it’s a matter of resources…”

Recently a 17 year old boy called Daniel McAnapsie was brutally murdered when he was supposed to be in the care of the HSE. His parents died when he was a child. He’d been in and out of care for most of his life. How can such precious life be so easily lost? Why don’t people try harder? This is appalling. Here is a piece about the migrant children. It is reported that 200 died while in care.

My next book will be an act of vengeance and retribution for children like this.

CJR: In Cathi Unsworth’s interview with you at Bookmunch, she says Let Me Die a Woman “is possessed of such audacious wit and originality that it seems the author has created a whole new trans-genre of his own.” Do you agree with this?

AK: I think she was very kind with that review, and she is an extraordinarily generous and supportive person and friend. I like that LMDAW doesn’t fit into any boxes and I do borrow from horror, noir, grindhouse and sci/fi quite a bit with it. At first I wasn’t even aware I was doing this, it sort of happened organically. I suppose you could describe is as “trans-genre” almost. It’s a mash-up of a lot of things. Quite chaotic and less ordered than what I am writing now.

CJR: Have you any experience with the Bizarro genre? As of the last few years, there have been many books released as part of this new(ish) genre, which you may find interesting. Basically, it is an anything goes category, where it is not uncommon to find men dressed in suits made of cockroaches, houses built with human bricks, and haunted vaginas. I’m not comparing your work to this (as I feel yours takes itself more seriously), but I’m wondering if you have any thoughts on this genre.

AK: I’ve read quite a bit of Bizarro and recently interviewed Jeremy Shipp (Cursed) and D. Harlan Wilson. I agree that it is an anything goes category and is sometimes slipstream, sometimes noir, sometimes comedy, sometimes horror. There are infinite permutations within this ‘genre’ and I think that is why I find it quite appealing. I can understand why others wouldn’t. But I like it. There is a literary website called Sein und Werden which publishes quite a lot of excellent, twisted, experimental fiction which you should definitely check out if you find the time. You could perhaps describe some of the content as the dark older sister of Bizarro. Other writers of Bizarro I like are Jordan Krall, Gina Ranelli and Tom Bradley. All fantastic.

CJR: I, being comparatively unschooled on the ladies of noir, found your roundtable discussion at Bookslut extremely informative. You seem intent on promoting hardboiled fiction, as almost every other word from you is in honor of writers who have come before you. Why such interest in pushing this genre? Why is it so important that other people read it?

AK: Thank you. Hardboiled/noir/horror and outsider fiction are all areas I feel quite affectionate towards. They offer us glimpses into the gritty, the gory, the depraved and introduce us to characters we’d never meet in real life. I suppose a part of me is very much drawn to the dangerous element that exists in these fictions. As to pushing interest in the genre – I think for the most part it’s an area of literature which can be sometimes overlooked. They speak to and for the outsider, those who exist on the margins, the sort of characters you won’t see on The New York Times Bestseller lists. I would say my love affair with the weird and the brutal and the smart began with Poppy Z Brite and continued from there. Her writing led me to others – and being gay and liking aggressive writing I was like a moth to a flame picking up Matthew Stokoe and Dennis Cooper and Christa Faust. All writers who write about transgressive sexuality in a way that is intoxicating, intelligent and sometimes slightly insane. I ADORE Hard Case Crime and have nearly read all of their titles. Charles Ardai is just brilliant and I hope he continues to publish hardboiled fiction.

CJR: Bunny Flask’s situation is unique in that, without giving too much away, she is fighting against a force that is intent on ridding the world of all males. However, given the argument by many transgendered people that gender is inborn, Bunny, who is physically male but inherently female, could be either spared or slain by this force, depending on the above argument. Do you fear any backlash from the transgender community considering that Bunny’s willingness to destroy this force implies that gender may not be inborn?

AK: For Bunny, its personal and by the time the credits roll she is pretty much left with no choice but to stop Psyche and The Sisters. There are many variations of gender, I am inclined to agree with Kate Bornstein (101 Alternatives to Suicide, Gender Workbook) that the male/female binary does not exist and there are not two but several genders and that gender is linked to identity which is constantly changing and throughout our lives evolution of character is always happening, that change is an on-going process and that nothing is written in stone. The human race is on the brink of extinction. Bunny fights for them. Psyche is as much a threat to women as it is to men. Her fighting for the survival of men has got nothing to do with gender. It’s for the survival of humanity. I also think Bunny is a gender queer who identifies as female and that a lot of what happened to her in the past formed who she became.

Visit:
Alan Kelly (the author)
Pulp Press (the publisher)

Buy:
From Amazon.co.uk

Read:
The Outsider Writers Collective review of Let Me Die a Woman

Subhankar Das : The Hungry Generation literary movement was launched by you in November 1961 with the publication of a manifesto on poetry in English from Patna where you were residing at that point of time and nobody could believe that a behari can have any say about Bangla literature. During the course of the movement you got arrested, lost your job, dragged around town by the police with rope on your waist…how far it is true? Do you still feel the relevance of the movement exists? If not, why?

Malay Roychoudhury : Everything is recorded in the trial papers which may be retrieved from the records of Bankshal Court, Kolkata. The case No etc are also available in various publications. Why don’t you make a little effort and spend a few silver to get certified copies of those papers to enable yourself to get enlightened about the facts. The Hungryalist movement has changed the course of Bengali literature once for all. We definitely created a rupture in terms of time, discourse, experience, narrative diction and breath span of poetic lines. The lecturer of Assam University who is writing his dissertation for a Doctorate on the subject gleefully informed me that Bengali academicians are even today scared to utter the word Hungryalism. Well, I guess that speaks a lot.

S.D : I need a little more explanation on the word ‘behari’ — the causes behind the rejection etc. ‘lost your job dragged around town by the police with manila rope on your waist’ do you still remember that day.. I need the story of that day. Can you elaborate a little –’rupture in terms of time, discourse, experience, narrative diction and breath span of poetic lines’

M.R : I don’t want to recall those days; it gives me pain in my present loneliness. I want to forgive everybody. There is a rupture; in Bengali we call it ‘Bidar’. Look around you and you will get the answer. Manila ropes were not there in our time. Ropes were made of coconut husks. I don’t think you will fathom the diasporic plurality of a Behari Bengali, or a cultural bastard.

S.D : Keeping in mind the Hungryalist movement made a big difference in the attitude of Bangla Lit Scene don’t you think any kind of movement finally aspires for a kind of regimentation, closed groups where the freedom of the authors needs to be sacrificed to keep the movement going? Please share your experience.

M.R : Arrey yaar, don’t think in terms of your knowledge of the movements in Western literature. Hungryalist movement did not have a centre of power, high command or politbureau. Any one and everyone were free to join the movement just by declaring himself that he was a Hungryalist. In fact some of the later Hungryalists are not known to me even today! Participants were free to publish their own broadsides, pamphlets, booklets, magazines etc. The movement was not confined to Kolkata only. As you have just said, I was from Patna; Subimal Basak was from Patna as well; Pradip Choudhuri was from Tripura; Subo Acharya was from Bishnupur; Anil Karanjai was from Benaras. The Little Magazine Library and Research Centre at Kolkata is having an archive, you may like to check out.

S.D : What initiated you to leave the literary hub Kolkata to live a life of a recluse in Mumbai/Bombay?

M.R : I sold off my Kolkata flat, gifted entire collection of books, gramophone records, discs, cassettes etc to friends and readers and donated all furniture’s in my neighborhood. I felt very sad about Kolkata. As you know, once upon a time Kolkata belonged to our clan; I found it is just leaching. Not that I wanted to come to Mumbai; I would have preferred to go anywhere. I came to Mumbai because I have a one room flat in this city.

S.D : Why you found Kolkata is now just leaching and nothing more ?

M.R :  I just stopped myself from uttering the expression ‘The City of Lechers’. I had experienced the city some sixty years back; it was completely different. Ask any one of my age, anyone who is not a part of the present power nexus.

S.D : Do you still feel like an outsider after all these 49 years?

M.R : Oh, yes. I am ‘The Other’.