Brian Kaufman [photo credit: Columpa C Bobb], writer, editor, and publisher, has been active in publishing for over thirty years. He has ushered over 250 Anvil Press books and over 100 issues of subTerrain Magazine into print since 1988. In 2009, Brian received the City of Vancouver’s Mayor’s Arts Award for his “significant contribution to Vancouver’s arts and cultural community, for shaping Vancouver as a creative city, and for enriching the lives of Vancouver’s citizens.” He was given the Lifetime Achievement Award at the 2014 Western Magazine Awards, and the Jim Douglas Publisher of the Year Award. He writes fiction, poetry, memoir, and drama. Cascadia Subduction Shift is his first book of fiction.
1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Well, my first “book” was a publication of one of my plays, Fragments from the Big Piece, so the production was the big thrill, in my opinion. Having it in print was also great, but not quite the rush of seeing it mounted on stage. So this is a whole new experience, being a first book of fiction. Funny, though, both works are told in “fragments”, or smaller pieces that culminate into a larger whole.
2 - How did you come to plays first, as opposed to, say, poetry, fiction or non-fiction?
I had a fantastic Grade 10 English teacher. He turned us onto Beckett, among other great writers, and Godot got me. My brain turned into a blooming flower. But around the same time I also read Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath and was deeply moved by the story, so much so that I set out to write my own family’s sprawling story. The first novel attempt petered out after about 30 pages. But maybe it was typing on the Remington manual typer that wore me out!
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
It varies, depending on the project. Sometimes I get an idea and it just seems to pour out, other times it is protracted — research, thinking, revising, drafts, etc. But I find that my final version is often fairly close to the original idea, or inspiration. I make notes, on scraps of paper, and toss them in a box and then later I “go fish” and see what that note says to me. Does it make any sense? Does it inspire a bigger idea? I like David Lynch’s idea of “baiting” ideas. Putting a little bit of bait out there (or a small idea, or part of an idea) and maybe the bigger fish takes that bait and on you go. But as he says, if you want the “big fish” you have to dive deep, because that’s where they hang out.
4 - Where does a work usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
In the case of Cascadia Subduction Shift, the idea was there from the start. I wanted to write these very short “fictions” that were between three hundred and a thousand words, give our take. Very much inspired by Joy Williams’ 99 Stories of God and Thomas Bernhard’s The Voice Imitator — as a form. I wanted to plumb childhood memories, explore those — what did those events mean? How did they affect me, form my world outlook, if they did? And what do they mean to me now?
A work usually arises from an image or a voice in my head. How does a character talk? Who are they, what are they all about. I have a novel percolating based on a photograph I saw, taken in the ’60s sometime. It is a photo of a young couple walking down Burrard Street, I think, holding hands. It appears to be late spring or summer. They are lightly dressed. It just struck me. Who are they? Where are they going? What is happening in their lives? I wanted to unfold their story. And it has been driving me crazy for a few years now that I can’t recall where — what book, gallery — I saw the photo! I want a copy to stare at, and now I can’t find it. But I will!
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
No, readings aren’t really part of my creative process. I quite loathe public speaking and doing readings — though I will do them if it helps to promote the book. It’s funny, because when I was young I wanted to be an actor. I’d dress up and entertain my friends and crack them up. But I lost that somewhere along the line — probably one of the ills of puberty. So when I got interested in theatre I went backstage, did some directing and worked on writing scripts. I am in awe of actors. I don’t know how they do it: the theatre goes dark, the lights come up, and you walk out onto an empty stage in front of a theatre full (one hopes) of people. Amazing!
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
Well, with this project I was concerned with the blurry line between memoir and fiction. That disputed non-genre of “autofiction”. Most of the pieces in this collection are based on real events, things that either happened to me or things I heard about when growing up in Vancouver in the ’60s and ’70s. But, of course, I’ve tried to turn them into art, make them interesting and engaging. I’m not trying to answer any questions, but I do hope to inspire some discourse, and, hopefully, entertain the reader. I think there’s only one question we should be concerned with in the current age and that is How should we live and engage with one another? In an increasingly polarized world, I think that is humanity’s major challenge.
7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
Well, they don’t have a prescribed role like a dentist or a plumber. I don’t think there is any specific role “the writer” — in general — should be expected to fulfill. Aspiring to be a journalist and aspiring to be a poet are two very different endeavours, yet both deal in words and language. If you’re doing “creative writing” then the key is in the first word: be creative. You should want to engage, entertain, or inspire wonder in the reader or audience member. Or what are you doing, self-flagellating your ego and expecting others to be interested? Writers — and any artist, for that matter — should not feel any obligation or responsibility to the culture at large. They need the freedom to create whatever they are driven to produce.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
As I am most often in the “editor” or “publisher” chair, I’ve had very little experience being “edited”. But with this collection, and working with Stuart Ross, it was fantastic. Everyone needs an editor, a fresh perspective on the work. A good editor pulls you up in front of yourself in a way most of us can’t do on our own. Like Hemingway’s “built-in shit detector” — maybe he had that, but most of us have a hard time detecting the shit or “killing our darlings”. A good editor calls you on your shit.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
“Push through to the end.” I don’t know who said it to me, but I always keep that in mind, whether or not I adhere to it is another matter. But good advice: don’t get hung up, just push through, even if it’s not how you envisioned the work by the time you get to the end, keep going, get from A-Z. Think of it as a fence — just build the entire thing, you can always go back and replace a post or a few slats, or whatever later, but get the basic frame in place in one go if you can. Now I just have to listen to myself!
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (plays to fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?
I’m interested in multiple genres, and have been since a young age. My first serious attempt at writing was poetry. But I got a nasty swat-down from an editor at a press. Not “constructive criticism” in the least and that pretty much killed my desire to write poetry for a couple of decades. To me, the project dictates what it wants to be, or has a feel that tells me it should be expressed in poetry or prose, fiction or drama. So right now I have project ideas for a poetry collection, a suite of longer short stories, a novella, a play, and a series of monologues. I tend to work on different manuscripts/ideas at the same time.
11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I have to squeeze the writing in between a lot of other things — so my writing “routine” is erratic at best.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I don’t tend to get “stalled” so much as run up against problems that need to be solved. Inspiration doesn’t seem to be an issue (thankfully!) … I’ve got all sorts of ideas churning about. But logistical things, plot related stuff, that is often what stalls me. Figuring my way through the thickets, sometimes to the point that I want to abandon an idea. But then I say to myself, there’s a way through, you just haven’t found it yet.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Good question, and nothing is springing to mind. Is that sad? Boiling potatoes, perhaps.
14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
I think that’s true, “books come from books” — to a large degree. But writers and other artists are influenced and inspired by everything around them. Music, for me, is a big thing, a big influence on me. And images, photography, painting — as I mentioned earlier, that one photo I saw of a couple walking down the street in the late ’60s triggered something in me. I think inspiration can spring from anywhere, if you’re open to it.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
These are a bunch of writers that have been (or continue to be) important to me: Beckett, Pinter, Mamet, Ionesco, Kafka, Cormac McCarthy, Sam Shepard, Mary Gaitskill, Paul Auster, Ottessa Moshfegh, Diane Williams, Thomas Bernhard, Martin Amis, Burroughs, Kathy Acker, Sam Lipsyte, Mark Jarman…there are so many…
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Get hypnotized or sawn in half as part of a magic show. Swing from a trapeze.
17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
Maybe a psychoanalyst. I’m apparently a very good listener. I’ve been doing it for free all these years. Or a detective with a sideline in rare art restoration.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Since my early teens it has been music and writing. The two things that having really interested me and I have toggled between them my whole life. I completely abandoned music (playing it, that is) for about thirty years and have just come back to it in the last decade.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
It Lasts Forever and Then It’s Over by Anne de Marcken. The last great film I saw — or one that has stuck with me — was Poor Things. It has so much of what I love in films or novels. Unexpected turns, messing with reader/viewer expectations, something that explores the weird, the strange.
20 - What are you currently working on?
More stories — longer ones— inspired by beer names; a poetry manuscript all about those things at the ends of our hands — fingers, I think they’re called; a play about greed and corruption and a reprehensible CEO of a huge corporation; and a novella about a guy that treats all the people in his life horribly, but for some inexplicable reason everybody makes excuses for him, and think he’s really quite an amazing guy. As I say, no shortage of ideas! There may be a shortage of time, but not ideas.

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