KB: You’re stressed. You’re running around like a headless chicken. What’s going on?

 

CC: Well, I just decided I'm tired of life and so I booked a holiday, starting tomorrow. We talked about it last time I saw you, how I was like I just really need to get away, so I’m going to Venice. 

 

KB: I love Venice.

 

CC: Yes, me too. I know it relatively well and my friend Thessia, a sound artist I did that residency with in Finland, is doing an installation as an extended part of the Architectural Biennale. She's normally in New York. So I just booked it. Fuck it. Last week, my electricity went, then my boiler went and now I have a problem with the plumbing. So I was just like, you know what?

 

KB: It's really, really chic to be like, no, no, no, I am going to Venice. That will be so nice. And I feel like also last time you're in Venice, you ended up writing loads as well. 

 

CC: Yeah. exactly. I will not be in charge of any domestic requirements. I will simply be eating.

 

KB: Are you a traveller who does stuff or will you just chill?

 

CC:  I’ll walk around and do some stuff but mostly chill. I haven't been to the Peggy Guggenheim in about ten years. 

 

KB: I have two recommendations for you, which being a woman of culture you have probably already come across. One is The Passion by Jeanette Winterson - I don’t know why I resisted reading it for so long. Sexing the Cherry was so good that I wondered if it could get any better, and then my editor said, you have to read The Passion. And it was all of my favourite things at once. Napoleon. Mermaids. You should read it when you’re there.

 

CC: I love that book. I met Jeanette Winterson when she did a speech as part of the Sydney Writers Festival when I was a teenager. I went up to get my copy of The Passion signed by her - it was completely threadbare - the cover literally hanging off.  It looked so shit - there were pages basically falling out of it and she looked at it and was like - what the fuck? And I said I know, I’m sorry, please just sign it anyway and she looked at her assistant and held it up between her finger and thumb and was like - are you seeing this? And then she signed it. 

 

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"Maybe you do have to read it twice and that's okay, because then you get to participate in the questioning. That’s the whole joy of it, you’re part of this, you’re co-creating this with the author." 

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KB: There’s also this movie I want you to watch while you’re there - it’s called Summertime. It's a David Lean movie set in Venice and Katherine Hepburn is in the autumn of her life and she's from middle America and she's like  - I need to go to Venice. And she meets this incredibly handsome Italian man. 

 

CC: That sounds very up my street. 

 

KB: Oh, I'm glad you're going away, though, to get a break. 

 

CC: Yeah, me too. I will not be on my phone. I will not be contactable. How are things with you?

 

KB: I was in Athens on the weekend, which was super nice. I saw Francesca and my other friend Izze and we had so much fun. I got French tips and I got another piercing in my ear so I feel like a new woman. I read this book by Laurie Colwin called Happy All the Time. I read it on the plane and I cried thrice. One of the female characters, I just loved her so much. She’s called Misty and she calls herself the scourge of God because she’s really grumpy. I've realised that everything I read is miserable, and everything I write is miserable also. And I read this and was like - oh. Maybe I should write something where people are, I don’t know, having a nice time? It feels politically irresponsible but maybe one should. By the way, I saw your note about the title for the issue being DOUBLE TAKE. I really like it because - wait, no, you say your thing first. ​​​

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CC: Well, I was thinking about it in terms of seeing something quickly and then having to look again to see something else in it. Or, reassessing off the back of a quick impression. I like that it has a playful feeling to it. ​​

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KB: I like that, about it being the kind of writing that you maybe need to read a couple of times. I think it's really nice to have work that asks questions instead of answering it. I feel like all the pieces that we've chosen kind of do that.​

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CC: We talked about this obviously like many times, it goes back to all the conversations we’ve had about the workshop context and how that relates to genre and how adhering strictly to genre convention is a place of safety. It’s a place of recognition and familiarity. You know what that structure's going to be, and that's why you adhere to it, and you enjoy it, right? Because you know what you're about to read. And I feel like everything we're publishing is trying not to do that actually. That's why I was really drawn to what Umiemah is doing with the ghazal. It’s taking a form that is recognisable and playing with it. Right now, it feels like there's not much grace offered to something that isn't explaining itself. This kind of counters that. I mean, literary fiction is as desirable as ever, but there's this feeling of ‘make it digestible so we can justify the snobbery’. I like things that are not trying to either adhere to or reject the snobbery that falls along those genre lines. To me, it comes down to - do you like it? Yes or no?

 

KB: I think there’s something in the pieces that we’ve chosen where they are less easy to categorise in terms of genre and form. I feel with all of them, there’s a lot of playing around. As I say that I’m thinking about Saffron’s - you can hear the voice so loudly and it’s very intimate. It’s great to see people messing around and then ending up with these pieces that are very self contained, but don’t necessarily feel like traditional poems or short stories in the way that you expect. Max also has this amazing drive and voice with these lightning bolts of imagery that you are left to think about. All of the pieces engage with ideas around subverting expectations; having to double take your understanding of the world or where you fit into it. They’re doing this in their form but also their content. Salma's piece, the Ode to the Teacup Rescued from Goodwill. This asks - what do objects mean to us? Where is meaning created? 

 

CC: They’re all taking an institution in a way and questioning it. Whether it’s family, or masculinity, or something else. Questioning a paradigm, or what more could be offered by that paradigm, and at what cost? By not being didactic, you get to participate as the reader. But it reminds me as well of when you and I went to see Maggie Nelson speak, and she was talking about what’s fair to ask of your reader and is it okay to ask them to read things twice or look things up? Maybe you do have to read it twice and that's okay, because then you get to participate in the questioning. That’s the whole joy of it, you’re part of this, you’re co-creating this with the author. 

 

"The idea of glut is about wanting and more more more. We love maximalism in this household."

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KB: I feel like often when you are trying things out and experimenting with form people can say well, this doesn’t feel like a short story. But what does that mean? I like that our authors have followed an instinct and tried things out. I think we as readers can give writers the benefit of the doubt and say well, maybe it doesn’t work for me but I trust that they’re doing it that way for a reason.

 

CC: Like an invitation to come and play together. Very glut. I feel we should say the fact we’re so interested in process and instinct is why we’re also including author’s notes. We are interested in exploring that instinct behind the work. 

 

KB: There’s something almost Brechtian about exposing the construction. Writing and theatre either work in the moment or don’t. You won’t be there when someone reads it. It has to work without you. But I also think this idea of the author up on the mountain makes no sense - you should be allowed to ask questions. I like to think of the author not as someone dictating to you but as a playmate - a book alone in a room is meaningless. The meaning is activated when it’s read. I think the demands of the author being perfectly in charge often limits your ability to actually write. You don’t have to adopt a pose. When I realised writers were just people who also do laundry, it made it much easier. If it’s always serious and important it’s a lot of pressure. You and I are friends and writers and we talk about this shit all the time.

 

CC: At some point we’re going to need to do an edition called “Important Work”! But yeah, it’s a meeting of subjectivity and the page. Language is expansive, and an invitation to connect. With this first edition of glut, we can celebrate that this connection is a work in progress. It’s not a mysterious perfect process happening off screen - the author is present in the words and you can engage in that conversation. If you want to! 

KB: Yes, I love that. I also like DOUBLE TAKE because the idea of glut is about wanting and more more more. We love maximalism in this household. And there’s two of us!