George Saunders on LIFO.gr: ‘We are temporary, celebrate life’.

The popular American author, George Saunders, immediately after his book ‘Forgetfulness and Lincoln’ was awarded the 2017 Booker Prize, gave an exclusive interview to LIFO and Dionysis Marinos. You can read it below:  Mr Saunders, are you the same person you were before the Booker? Has the prize changed you in any way?I hope I am the same. My self-admiration is already beginning to wane in a quiet way. What is the real prize for a writer? To develop confidence in his vision. In this way, as you move forward, you can strive with greater intensity to create beautiful things. Is it acceptance, admiration or the struggle with words that drives you to embark on the process of writing a book? Honestly, all of the above. But the moment I’m writing, the moment I’m in the midst of developing a book, those things come last. The most important thing is the feeling that you’re creating a coherent world that emerges from chaos. And it is that feeling that something like this came ‘from’ you and ‘because of’ you. In reality, my self disappears momentarily or is neutralised by the artistic work: that is Paradise.    We know you as a short-story writer. You have been accepted as one of the ‘artists’ of the genre in contemporary American literature. What made you write a novel? Every story dictates for itself how it should be written. For a long time I had decided to abandon any attempt to write a novel – I might even say I felt proud of that. I had accepted that I was a fan of the short form. However, I discovered that this particular story was so moving that as soon as I started writing, it was as if a mind (and a DNA) distinct from my own emerged from within it.  And now that you’ve completed your first novel, and a successful one at that, will you return to short stories? Yes, I will. That’s where I belong. I love the short form. If another novel comes along in the future, I think it will arrive in the same way this one did – insisting, despite my own objections, that it must expand and become longer.      Do you find it easier to write short stories, or is it actually harder given that you have to be precise in such a limited space? Sorry, but do you feel you have to be precise? No, I don’t need to be precise, I don’t think so. On the other hand, perhaps, yes, you do have to be concise. The difficulty with short stories is that they behave like a joke: in the end, they’ve either worked or they haven’t, and only the reader knows. And part of the pleasure lies in the effectiveness of the delivery to the reader. Therefore, I consider the short story to be a very demanding form. I have to ‘burn’ the less interesting scenes and then discard them in favour of the more intense ones – and that takes time and many discarded pages.  Speaking of your book Oblivion and Lincoln, the American title includes the word ‘Bardo’. A state between death and rebirth into another form of life. Is that what we are, Mr Saunders? Are we constantly in such a state? Yes, I believe so. The word ‘bardo’ can be used in all transitional states – like the one we are in right now, between birth and death. I suppose we can view every single moment of our lives as a ‘bardo’, with our selves dying and being reborn at every moment. The fact that we carry on basically has to do with a mental construct we create – perhaps for Darwinian reasons, or because we might go mad if we truly realised we are only temporary. Yes, mad, or perhaps with a certain insight.  What was the first thought that came to mind when you decided to write the novel? How did it all begin? Many years ago – in the 1990s – I had heard that Lincoln’s beloved son had died whilst he was President of the United States. He was so overcome with grief that he had visited the grave several times to hold his son’s lifeless body in his arms. That idea has stayed with me all these years – it was all so strange, sad, yet beautiful. Mr Saunders, are you a religious writer? What do you think of yourself? I’d like to think I’m a religious person, or at least someone who’s certainly interested in spiritual matters. I mean, if a person is alive, interested and curious, then a certain set of questions arises in their mind. Why are we here? How are we to live, given this mad contradiction: 1) we were made to love one another AND 2) everything we love (especially our precious selves) is entirely temporary. So, if a writer takes these questions on board and incorporates them into their work (or thinks about them every day), are they a religious writer? I would say yes, even if the result—their work—is not ‘religious’ in the traditional and literal sense. Is your book accessible? I mean, what do you think—can it be read by everyone? It certainly won’t appeal to everyone. You can see that if you look at the reviews on Amazon (laughs). My hope is that it isn’t a difficult book for no reason, if you see what I mean. As the difficulty unfolds, it should lead to increasing beauty. So, what I’m trying to say is that the difficulty rewards the reader in the end. I hope the book teaches the reader how to read it, so that by the end, they’re reading in a new and completely mad way. That offers even greater beauty. How strange is it to give a voice to spirits? In your book, the dead speak. It is just as strange as giving a voice to the living. It is difficult. But it brings great joy. I sensed a strong spirit of understanding from you in the book, and I think that is one of the novel’s key ‘strengths’. I hope so. I think that is precisely what literature does so well in a unique way: it allows us to step into another person’s mind and, in doing so, reassures us that we are not so different from one another – we exist within a continuous and, as a result, greater understanding, empathy and comforting action. In theory, we do this by making an effort within the framework of our perception. Let me take you somewhere else. What is your view on Trump and the fear arising from the rise of populism in the US and Europe?  I think it is yet another manifestation of a human tendency that has always existed: in difficult times, it is easy and somewhat enjoyable to demonise the Other. It is harder to do what I described earlier (i.e. to live with empathy and understanding) or what I mentioned in my speech when I received the Booker Prize. The great story of human activity (I like to think and believe) is the gradual spread of love. Even with a few steps backwards, we are gradually getting better at realising that understanding and empathy are extremely Darwinian tools that the human species needs in order to survive. In the meantime, did you live in fear? Do you think the world is heading towards madness? No, not at all. It has always been this way. Our world is no crazier than it has always been. I think it is crazier for some people at certain moments. I believe in the theory of the Conservation of Madness. The root of madness is spiritual – it is our deluded belief in our separate existence in this world or in our permanence, which leads us to behave badly, and, suddenly, when we die or make a big mistake or suffer, then we realise that things are impermanent. I think this madness has followed us ever since we lived in caves. And I think it’s important, even when we find ourselves in the midst of crazy times, to remember and celebrate those aspects of life that are neither crazy, nor frightening, nor bad. The simple pleasures, the small actions that truly make up the fabric of life. It is the sun shining. It is that face passing by, smiling, beautiful and in love. To ignore these things is to give despair and evil an unfair advantage. What is the role of literature, of art in general, in all this? I see you’ve saved the most important question for last. I think the best way to answer this is to immerse oneself in a beautiful work of art and see what effect it has within you – to observe the positive changes in your mind and spirit, and how these changes make the hours that follow better and richer. That is the role of art: this pleasure and this transformation.