Lisa Tuttle was born in the United States, but has been
resident in Britain
for almost thirty years. She began writing while still at school, sold her
first stories at university, and won the John W. Campbell Award for Best New
Science Fiction Writer of the year in 1974. She is the author of eight
novels, most recently the contemporary fantasy The Silver Bough (2006) and many short stories, in
addition to several books for children, and editor of Skin of the Soul: New Horror Stories
by Women (1990), a work inspired by the feeling that women did write horror
stories, but were overlooked as a few male authors tended to dominate and
define the field.
Ghost stories were her first love, and short fiction of the
strange and supernatural variety continues to be her favourite form. Many of
her stories have appeared in various “best of the year” collections, and
‘Closet Dreams’ won the 2007 International Horror Guild Award. Her first
collection, A Nest of Nightmares, published
in 1986, was included as one of Stephen Jones and Kim Newman’s Horror: 100 Best Books (1988). Others
followed: A Spaceship Built of Stone and
Other Stories (1987); Memories of the
Body (1992); Ghosts and Other Lovers (2001); and My
Pathology (2001). In 2010 a small Canadian publisher, Ash-Tree Press, which
specializes in fine limited editions, published Stranger in the House: The Collected Short Supernatural Fiction Volume
One. Two or three more volumes are expected to follow.
AB: Whose work have
you been most influenced by?
LT: That's always a hard question because I can't really know
for certain in many cases... and there's a difference between the writers I
would LIKE to be my influences and some possibly indelible works that were
imprinted upon my burgeoning writerly consciousness at the age of seven or
eight—authors now long forgotten.
But there are a few writers that I consciously imitated when I was younger and
trying to teach myself how to write a story that worked. Ray Bradbury was
possibly the major one—I even remember in my teens and early twenties on more
than one occasion deliberately setting out to write "a Bradbury story".
Theodore Sturgeon was also a huge influence. E. Nesbit,
maybe not so obviously, but I would often hear her written
"voice" in my head. Ditto a children's author called Edward Eager. The
short stories of Ernest Hemingway and Willa Cather, Edith Wharton
and Walter de la Mare. Harlan Ellison—although I never tried to
copy his more pyrotechnic style, he taught me a lot. He was one of my
instructors at the Clarion Writers Workshop, and went over at least
two or three of my stories making pencilled editorial amendments, just
showing me where improvements could be made, or where I'd fallen into
obscurity or cliché. Although he's obviously had a deeper influence even
than I thought; I wrote a children's book called Mad House which has a moment in it that's straight out of ‘I Have
No Mouth and I Must Scream’—but suitable for younger children, I hasten to add.
It's my own take on the idea, yet I must admit I probably never would have
written it if I hadn't been profoundly affected by Harlan's story so many years
ago.
I read my first Robert Aickman story when I was 18, and
he instantly became a model I aspired to, for a certain type of story. There
was a thrilling moment when I was in my twenties when Ed Ferman, the
editor of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science
Fiction, who published Robert Aickman (it was in the pages of F&SF
that I first read his stories) and who also published some of mine, told
me he thought one of my stories was EVEN BETTER than Aickman. Wow.
Success!!
AB: I think that
authors return to many themes that haunt them throughout their lives. Are there
any themes you explore time and time again?
LT: Oh, absolutely! Every time I have put together a collection
of my short stories, meaning that I've sat down and reread a lot of my work in
one go, it is made abundantly clear to me that I keep going back to the same
ideas again and again. And I think my novel, The Pillow Friend, is like a compilation of all my big obsessions—so
much so that when I finished it, I even felt: right—now I'm DONE with all that;
now I never need write about any of those particular
tropes/themes/incidents/ideas ever again! And yet I'm afraid I probably have revisited
more than one or two of them.
As to what they are....well, some are so major I probably
never will get over exploring them, e.g. relationships between men and women,
between parents and children. The fantasies women have about true love, about
sex, about being a mother. Fear of abandonment. Fear of NOT being abandoned,
but being held too close; of being lost in another person. Thoughts about
death. Ideas about consciousness. Ideas about how gender is established, and
about power struggles in intimate relationships as well as in society. Is that
enough?
And wanting to be even more specific....breakdown and
changes in the body—sexual transformation and sexual confusion. People who turn
into animals. Sinister inanimate objects. Unhappy love affairs. Strange
children.
AB: Which of your
stories are you most proud of and why?
LT: I can't help feeling that none of my novels are entirely
successful. None of them are entirely what I set out to write, they all fail or
go wrong somewhere, and I don't feel completely happy with them. The Pillow Friend seems to me to be the
nearest I've written to being satisfactory on its own terms—but those terms are
pretty damn weird!! When I reread it (to proofread it for a paperback edition)
a few years ago it struck me as being an utterly INSANE
book, reflecting the persona of a madwoman. I don't think I have ever been
insane, and I can't quite understand how I produced such a thing—yet it is
undeniably mine, stamped throughout with my deepest fears and dreams.
If I am to be remembered, I think it would be for my short
stories—and probably just a handful of those. OK, time to put my cards on the
table and say that, personally, I think my best stories (and novellas) are the
following:
‘My Death’
‘My Pathology’
‘The Wound’
‘Replacements’
…and for the fifth (five is a handful of stories, right?) you
can chose from among these: ‘Turning Thirty’, ‘Bug House’, ‘Riding the
Nightmare’, ‘The Nest’ and ‘No Regrets’.
AB: Ramsey Campbell has
put forward a question about narrative control—do you feel that the story is
directed by the author or do you think that the subconscious takes over at any
point?
LT: Very often I find I've written things I did not intend to
write or didn't realize the implications of until afterwards... like a lot of
writers when they comment that a character "took over"—it happens to
me sometimes. I presume that is my subconscious (or whatever we call it
nowadays) but maybe there is a great story-pool in the collective unconscious
that works through writers, or there is some other force at work. I don't
really know where some stories come from.
I do sometimes feel some authors are a bit disingenuous when
they try to distance themselves from something readers find in their
writing—I'm thinking about, for example, works in which there's a lot of
violence, or women characters are victimized, and there might be more than a
hint of misogyny, which the (male) author quite understandably might wish to
deny having done with conscious intent. I remember—vaguely—an argument years
ago with a fantasy writer, where I said rather mildly that I didn't care for
the way the women were treated in his novel...he argued that in a society such
as he was writing about, this was inevitable—women were downtrodden and
subjugated—I could not argue against that, but would only make two points: 1)
he CHOSE to write about such a society (and it was his own INVENTED society,
even if based on real-world models) and 2) women's experiences, even when they
are at the very bottom of the social scale, can be represented in different
ways and they don't always have to be depicted as victims, or as existing only
in relation to the men around them—as those men perceive them to be. But I did
not mean, or feel, that the author was himself egregiously sexist or anything.
I realize the above really has nothing whatever to do with
what Ramsey is talking about, but possibly has something to do with the notion
of "narrative control". We make choices, as writers—but even the
conscious choices may be directed by subconscious or other forces, and reveal
things we may not have intended...whether what is revealed is something like
the writer's own unconscious (or simply unexamined!) sexism or racism, or
some ambiguity which means a story can be read, and appreciated, in more than
one way. I was enormously affected by a book I read when I was at school (or
Uni? Can't even remember now), Seven
Types of Ambiguity by William Empson—I loved the way he unpicked lines of
poetry, showing all the subtle shades of meaning or suggestion hidden in a
single phrase. I think that must have been the first time I realized that
different people could take different meanings from the same piece of
writing....and that writers could be saying more than they even knew
themselves.
AB: Are there any stories that you find
too painful to return to—that perhaps you poured your heart into at the time of
writing and don’t want to go there again?
LT: I feel that way about my old diaries, but stories are different. Whatever the
personal investment in them or painful incident that may have inspired a few,
the act of writing them, turning my emotions into a piece of fiction,
becomes a distancing mechanism for me—and the story, if it works, has
achieved its own separate existence. So I don't have a problem reading them
again. (Unfinished fragments are somewhat different, as I discovered recently
when I was going through some old files .... wince, wince, wince! More like
reading old diary entries; not a pleasant experience.)
AB: Is there a theme
you'd never touch?
LT: I can't think of a "theme" that I feel compelled to avoid. There are
things I am less interested in writing about, and some subjects I feel I'm too
ignorant about to treat as they deserve. There are also some subjects (e.g.
child abuse, torture) that I would only approach with great caution.
AB: Joel Lane asks…Why
did you choose to use the medium of speculative fiction to explore issues of
politics and identity? What kind of power or freedom did speculative fiction
offer you that realistic fiction did not?
LT: I could answer this in several different ways—I think I have
at some point in the past written about how SF offers imaginative possibilities
for constructing plots and characters etc that simply aren't there in
"realist" contemporary (or historical) fiction; basically, it's
because the writer gets to make up the rules. I recall Joanna Russ writing
somewhere—this was probably back in the '70s—about the appeal of science
fiction/fantasy for anyone who wanted to write about a female hero, for
example. Strong, clever, ambitious, powerful women could be presented as
the norm, and not (as almost any mainstream writer of the 1950s-1960s would
have been obliged to do) depicted either as some sort of freak who comes to a
bad end, or hedged around with all sorts of excuses and back story (she was
raised by her father like the son he never had BUT she's really tender-hearted
and definitely heterosexual and will stop having adventures as soon as she's a
wife and mother) to make her both believable and sympathetic to readers of the
day.
Of course, things have changed in the decades since, and
female heroines and female villains are found in contemporary thrillers and
novels without a speck of speculative-ness to them.
But there are other aspects to the appeal of SF—the thought-experiment
aspect of it is one thing I've always liked. Also, I like the way you can take
something like a figure of speech or a joke and just by pushing it as far as
you can, turn it into a story. That was the origin of my story ‘Lizard Lust’—I
always thought of it as a "fantasia on a remark by Freud"—although I
can't now remember exactly what the line from Freud was, the story grew out of
my speculating on the idea of the phallus as SYMBOL rather than bodily
organ...and what if it was detachable? And people who had them were quite
reasonably terrified of "penis envy"—because people who didn't have
them WERE actually literally likely to try to steal them, for the power that
was invested in the idea of having one... Anyway, that story was me making fun
of both "penis envy" and the notion that there are enormous, innate
differences between men and women that make certain types of relationship
"natural."
Another example: the idea for ‘The Wound’ started simply
with an image, or scene, of a man waking up in the morning to discover a smear
of blood in his bed. He knows then that he is going to turn into a woman, and
there's nothing he can do about it, and he is miserable and terrified by the
prospect. So then I had to figure out how to write this story about a man who
is turning into a woman. I thought it would be a horror story, but I knew that
if I set it in the present day, in the real world, that I'd immediately have to
deal with the question of whether or not what was happening to this man was
real, or simply in his head. I wanted it to be unambiguously real. But if something
like that happened in OUR world, it would be a freak show. It would have to
involve doctors and the media...and I wasn't interested in all that. I knew I
didn't want to go down that route; therefore, the story was going to take place
in a world where people did regularly change sex, and the change was not under
their conscious control. That meant it was science fiction....and of course I
was well aware of other writers (especially Ursula Le Guin) who had written
about such a society.
Part of what I was doing when I wrote ‘The Wound’ was
questioning my own beliefs that most (if not all) aspects of gender are
imposed or learned rather than inborn; also the belief (popular with many of my
generation of feminists) that if boys and girls were raised in the identical
way and treated from birth as equals that we wouldn't have the problem of
sexism.
I could go on...but I think you probably get the general
idea.
AB: Can you tell us a little about how you came to write one of
the most fascinating stories I have ever read…‘The Nest’—from Nest of Nightmares?
LT: ‘The Nest’—or at least a
draft of it—was the first story I wrote after leaving the US to settle in the
UK. For reasons I don't now recall, a whole year passed before I rewrote it and
then sold it. I was living in London
with Christopher Priest in a rather tumultuous relationship, swinging between
plans to marry, and thoughts of splitting up. We actually hardly knew each
other, but we shared a fantasy about this life we wanted. We would drive off
into the country to look at houses, which we would fantasize about buying and
settling down to domestic bliss together. The story was inspired by this
situation, and also by my first sight of rooks' nests—I think they're
called colonies—enormous shaggy things hanging in the high branches of
winter-bare trees. They looked eerie and sinister to me. By the time
I rewrote the story, Chris and I were married and living in a little
cottage on the edge of Dartmoor. I'd also
had a visit from my sister (two years younger than me) and we'd gone to
Paris together; the experience had made me think about how certain aspects of
close relationships can get stuck in time—elements that are no longer
appropriate, because you should have outgrown them, can still shape the way you
respond to each other— I'm probably not expressing this very well; what I
mean is, I'd find myself playing "big sister" and sort of
bossing her around—or she'd defer to me—or we'd bicker about something—
and this wasn't to do with our present situation, but rather the
relationship we'd had as children. I realized that as we had grown up, our
relationship needed to grow up, too. (Does that make sense? We lived in
different cities and hadn't spent much time together since we were grown up). Anyway,
that experience kind of opened my eyes to something and it fed into the story.
The story is dedicated to my sister, Megan.
AB: Have you been
tempted to revise any of your stories for Ash-Tree Press?
LT: Oh, the temptation!! It is hard to hold back sometimes, when
I see an unnecessary (or just plain wrong!) word or phrase.... but I have been
very strict with myself. NO REVISIONS. I love Henry James, but I think his
project of rewriting all his novels for a new, uniform edition was just WRONG,
and there's no way I was going down that route.
Although, having said that, I think there's more point in
revising a novel—if you feel you got it wrong, were unreasonably obscure, maybe
because you were too young, or overly influenced by others. (As for example
John Fowles revising The Magus).
But this many years later... if I've got something new or better to say in the
short story form, I will just write a new short story on the same subject. I'm
not going to second-guess my younger self and mess with stories that were found
worthy of publication in their original form.
AB: Are there any
projects in the pipeline that you can tell us about?
LT: I currently have three unfinished novels in hand. One, I
wrote the whole draft of but was not happy with it, so I've set it aside. I
know I will go back to it, but possibly just to take the main idea and do
something completely different with it. Two, a new novel, it was going well
until summer holidays and various deadlines for shorter projects interrupted
me... this has the working title of Blood
of the Host and is a dark fantasy, set in contemporary Scotland and
drawing on old Celtic legends— this puts it in a similar category to my last
novel, The Silver Bough, except I
think this one will be much darker...and at the moment I'm thinking it needs to
be more erotic. Three, a YA novel, about 1/3 written but put aside because I
can't seem to work on two books at the same time, alas.
Also, I seem to have more ideas for short stories than I
have in years, and that includes an idea for a series of supernatural detective
stories set in the 1890s... I'm writing the second one at the moment. I should
have at least three new stories coming out later this year—or early next—as
well.
This interview was originally published in the
Fantasycon 2010 Programme.
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