Tom Druryâs âPacificâ features several characters that appeared in two of his previous novels â" âThe End of Vandalismâ (1994) and âHunts in Dreamsâ (2000). In The New York Times Book Review, Daniel Handler wrote that âPacificâ âgives us the wondrous and engaging stuff of real storytelling, of actual inquiry and investigation into the haunting and jokey puzzles of the world.â Mr. Drury will read from âPacificâ at BookCourt in Brooklyn on Saturday night. In a recent e-mail interview, he discussed why he returns to the Midwest in his fiction, Celtic mythology, authors who taught him about dialogue and more. Below are edited excerpts from the conversation:
Do you think of the Grouse County books as a series meant to be read in order?
I think they could be read in any order, or you could read one and not the others, and still get the meaning. If you were to read âPacificâ first and go on to read âEnd of Vandalismâ and âHunts in Dreamsâ it would be natural â" as if meeting people, asking about their past (how did Dan and Louise meet? why did Joan leave home? whatâs this about a tornado?) and getting really detailed answers.
Is Grouse County in Iowa? Signs point to yes, and many reviewers say it confidently, but Iâm not sure itâs ever explicitly stated in the books.
Iâve heard Minnesota and I believe Illinois, too. I think you are right that the state is never named. It never seemed necessary, or right, somehow. Because itâs not Iowa or Minnesota or Illinois. Itâs imaginary (though people can leave it and go to real places).
Born in Iowa, youâve lived in several parts of the country since. What is it about the Midwest that appeals to your imagination and keeps you going back to it in your work?
I go back to a very specific aspect of the Midwest â" small towns surrounded by farmland. They make a good stage for what I like to write about, i.e., roads and houses, bridges and rivers and weather and woods, and people to whom strange or interesting things happen, causing problems they must overcome. Once I understood I was free to use the setting as a stage â" to bring in elements from Vermont, say, or Key West, or anywhere â" and that my version of the Midwest would not be obliged to represent the actual Midwest, then it seemed like the place offered all the freedom I needed, with the added benefit of being well remembered.
One member of the large cast in âPacificâ is Charles âTinyâ Darling, who played a key role in the two previous novels. How would you sum up Tiny to someone who had never met him? Do you consider him the central figure in this universe youâve created?
I would say he is the one who stole a television from the loading dock of Big Wonder with the sole intention of taking it around to the front of the store and leaving it by the doors for the morning people to find. That suggests his contradictory impulses pretty well. You could make a case for him as the central figure, but I have to give that place to Louise [Tinyâs ex-wife]. She is the one in the last Grouse County scene of âPacific,â walking her dog through the fields.
One new character here is Sandra, who, if I may say, is a full-fledged nut. She challenges people to sword fights and seems to believe in the magical properties of a particular rock. What inspired her addition to the crew?
The books of Celtic mythology that inspired her creation as a character can be found on her bookshelf in the novel, although there are other books there as well, such as âBest of Mad Libs.â I was reading âThe Tain,â an Irish epic translated by Thomas Kinsella, and that led to a number of other books. I wanted to see how a character from Cuchulainnâs mythological era, and with his knack for spontaneous mayhem, would get along in a more contemporary setting.
Your characters feel fully human, but some of the laughter they inspire comes when they seem dim or a bit disconnected. Do you worry about readers laughing at their expense, or is that part of the point?
I donât worry, because I donât hear that very often, and it isnât part of the point. I can only think of this in terms of specific examples, such as when Tiny has been drinking and watching the Ironman Triathlon and he says the entire event has to be completed in 17 minutes rather than 17 hours. As a reader I might laugh at that point, but I would do so because it presents an absurd picture of an impossibly fast competition, and not because Iâve never made such mistakes myself.
Your books are full of incidents, but the larger plots donât necessarily move or resolve in conventional ways. Do you map out individual scenes as mini-stories more than you think of a larger plot for any novel as a whole?
I always have some kind of outline of whatâs going to happen, but I have to write the book to see if the outline is right, and usually itâs off to some degree. Iâll make minimal notes to remind myself of the order of the scenes. I do get very involved in making a scene work without giving too much thought about how it affects the overall, which I think is hard to know in any case.
Your dialogue seems custom-made for a certain kind of movie, but only one of your works â" the short story âPath Lightsâ â" has been made into a film. Have there been or are there plans for your other work to make it to the screen?
Yes, a film version of âThe Driftless Areaâ is scheduled to shoot before the end of the year.
Are there any particular authors who influenced your idea of what dialogue is and what it should do?
Too many to name, but I do know that Mary Robison and Padgett Powell would be at the top of the list.
Do you plan to write about Grouse County and its residents again?
I donât plan to, but I might. As with the previous books, there are characters whose futures Iâm curious about. What will happen next?