What books are on your night stand?
There’s always one middle grade, one nonfiction about psychology or systemic injustice, one incredibly dense history of the ancient world, one informational guide about homesteading and one David Sedaris.
Describe your ideal reading experience.
On a train, alone. I’m wearing COMFORTABLE pants. My socks are thick and so is my latte. The book is probably about the human brain, or the human condition, or the overlap between the two. I love to read about evolutionary neurobiology — what is it in our brains that makes us do this or that? When you look at the human being as an animal, at human behavior as a series of evolutionary adaptations, the whole thing starts to make more sense.
What kind of reader were you as a child?
I loved nonfiction just as much as fiction, and still do. My favorite books were ones about how to rehabilitate injured wild animals, and how to build a simple motor out of magnets and wire. There was a WONDERFUL book on iguana care that I lived by. Word to the wise: Iguanas are not meant for suburban homes.
Do you have a favorite literary mad scientist?
The great literary mad scientists are all guys and they’re all violating nature for their own gain. I wanted to create a mad scientist whose highest goal was to respect and protect nature, more like an Alexander von Humboldt than a Dr. Moreau. For me mad science is an interesting stand-in for the torments and blisses of the artistic life; for this nostalgic yearning I have for the preindustrial era, when many stones on this planet were still unturned — a time when magic and mystery was still possible, even probable; for the struggle between capitalist greed and environmental justice. Most importantly, the outfits and the hair are great.
A favorite literary weirdo?
Pippi Longstocking. When I was in kindergarten my mother gave me two braids with pipe cleaners in them and I went to school dressed like that for many days out of the year. Also, Peter Pan — I dressed like him for a whole year, too. Though Pippi lacked any social intelligence, she had a strength of character (and of biceps), an intelligence of the imagination and a connection with animals that I wanted badly for myself.
Who was the Millicent Quibb in your life?
There have been so many. My mother — a progressive social worker, an avid reader, a beautiful writer and speaker, still the funniest person I know. My father — a solar architect, an environmentalist, a musician, a creative, sensitive soul. He strived always to live in accordance with nature. My high school music teachers, my high school drama teacher, my middle school chorus teacher, my mother’s earthy, funny friends … I grew up in an artsy town surrounded by artsy people. I was incredibly fortunate.
Which of your “Saturday Night Live” characters would especially appreciate this book and why?
I hope that Ruth Bader Ginsburg would have enjoyed it. I once played a mermaid named Shud that was part blobfish — I know she’d like it. She’ll probably wind up in it.
How many Millicent Quibb books have you already mapped out in your head?
I know the mythology of the whole series and where it’s going and how it ends, but as for how to get there — that’s going to require a little bit of mad science! I thought I would have the whole thing mapped out before I wrote a single word but I was surprised to find that much of the plot came out of actually writing it — little weird things I’d think of while typing became huge parts of the story.
What’s the most interesting thing you learned from a book recently?
In “Braiding Sweetgrass,” Robin Wall Kimmerer says that in the Potawatomi language, 70 percent of the words are verbs, as opposed to 30 percent in English. There is no noun for “bay,” but there is a verb that means “to be a bay.” The verb assigns agency to the water that has chosen to shelter between two shores. The language itself holds more regard for nature than English does. Every chapter of that book is mind-altering in its own way.
You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?
I’d like to have a sort of spiritual poetry party with Anne Lamott, Mary Oliver and Ani DiFranco. I’d like to sit back and listen to those three try to make sense of where we are now. I’d cry the whole time. I’d make lentil soup.
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