Genevieve Hudson: On the Importance of Place, Liminal Spaces and Their Latest Novel, BOYS OF ALABAMA
Genevieve Hudson is the author of the novel Boys of Alabama: a novel (2020). Their other books include the critical memoir A Little in Love with Everyone (2018), and Pretend We Live Here: Stories (2018), which was a LAMBDA Literary Award finalist. In their latest book, Boys of Alabama, Hudson explores life and death, the Deep South, queer love, and finding your place in a world where you don’t seem to fit in as neatly as everyone else. In lush, gorgeous prose, Hudson tells the story of Max and the new life he establishes in a world as mysterious to him as his own power to bring the dead back to life.
I recently had the pleasure of talking with the brilliant Genevieve Hudson (over socially-distanced email) about their new book Boys of Alabama. In this interview we discuss the role of setting in Genevieve’s writing, those in-between places we both find so fascinating, queerness, and their various routines.
Sebastian Murdoch: First of all, as someone who was born and raised in Alabama, I want to commend you on getting the feel and the details of the state so accurate. How important was it to you to get the setting right in BOYS OF ALABAMA? What role do you feel it plays in your writing on a daily basis?
Genevieve Hudson: It means a lot to hear that you, a fellow Alabamian, think that I got the feel and details of Alabama right. In fact, it's one of the biggest compliments you could give me. Bringing the setting and the place to life was extremely important and I thought about it a lot as I wrote and wrestled with each detail. I find place to be one of the most important and foundational elements of story. In Boys of Alabama, I consider the Deep South and the fictionalized town of Delilah to be another character in the novel's cast. The characters exist as they are because of where they grew up and live, and Max, the book's narrator, is captivated by his new home. In order to understand Max's motivations, I think it's important to see Alabama through his outsider's eye. I wanted readers to understand its pull and its sway as well as its perversion.
In an essay about place, Dorothy Allison, one of my favorite writers, and another Southerner like us, writes: "Place is often something you don’t see because you’re so familiar with it that you devalue it or dismiss it or ignore it. But in fact, it is the information your reader most wants to know...All the stuff you’ve got that you don’t see is place—and me, I am your reader, and I want to know all about it. Your reader comes into your narrative to steal knowledge—who you are and what is all around you, what you use, or don’t use, what you need, or fear, or want—all that sweet reverberating detail. "
I've read that essay, which appears in one of the Tin House craft notebooks many times. Each time I sit down to write, I hope to show the reader the specific smells, tastes, sights, and peculiarities of a place. In this case, it was Alabama. The details build the world and the world builds the story.
SM: When I read BOYS, I read Max as occupying a kind of limbo or liminal space. He's' caught between his homeland and his new home in Alabama, between the forces of life and death, between his desires and his shame. What was it like for you writing from that in-between place?
GH: In-between spaces fascinate me. I like to think of them as grey areas, which I think is what most of life is––grey, even when we'd like to think otherwise. Having answers is easier. Being in a state of not-knowing can be hard. We are often in-process during our lives, and I believe we are brought to liminal spaces in times of deep questioning or right before a transformation. Liminal spaces help us change and push us into the next direction in our lives. Max is not a decisive character. He is pensive and thoughtful and he can't quite make up his mind about who he wants to be or what he should believe. This constant state of flux and the inner turmoil he wrestles with throughout the book were interesting to write because it allowed me to lean into the questions and questions, I think, are often more interesting than answers. Max is drawn to people that seem to have answers, even if he is unsure which answer is the right one. I think there is something about people who are sure of themselves and who have strong belief systems that attract him. He envies their ability to know what's right, or at least believe they know what's right.
I also believe there is something inherently queer about in-between spaces because these states resist binary thinking. They are both/and, and that is a queer state.
SM: I noticed in your bio that you use they/them pronouns. I myself identify as nonbinary and have used they/them pronouns myself in the past. Did your understanding of your gender have any noticeable impact on your writing or on the creation of Max, with his otherness as a German exchange student and as someone who can bring the dead back to life?
GH: Writing as a queer person and as someone who has a different experience of gender affects the kind of stories I tell. I am interested in telling stories that center people who feel strange, like outsiders, or need to make up the rules of their identity as they go, sometimes negotiating shame and embarrassment along the way. I want to write characters who exist outside cultural norms and whose very existence raises questions about the assumed power structures that have been constructed around them. Max is definitely this kind of character. He has a secret power to bring things back from the dead, and this alone alienates him. He's ashamed of his power because it marks him as different, and difference, he has learned, can bring pain. He hasn't come to understand yet that difference can also bring a lot of beauty into his life––wildness and creativity and transformation. But he is learning. He is on a journey. Meeting Pan, a transfeminine character that he is falling in love with, is definitely going to help him understand the power of difference and the power of stepping into your highest self. But it's a long process, right?
SM: I grew up in a Baptist church, so this book really hit home for me in terms of how you represented organized religion and the religious community that can surround a church and its congregation. How did your own thoughts on religion affect the writing of this book? I'm thinking specifically of how Max knows implicitly that his power would be seen as bad or dangerous, despite the fact that Jesus was known to bring the dead back to life. One would think that the kind of religious culture in the Deep South might welcome someone with that kind of gift into the flock as a prophet, but the reader, like Max, can intuit that he wouldn't be accepted because he is considered an outsider. Can you talk on that aspect of the book a bit?
GH: This is a great question with so many interesting layers to it. I grew up in a town that was very influenced by the Southern Baptist faith, and I attended catholic school for most of my life. So my worldview was shaped by Christianity. I saw the way that organized religion was a cornerstone of community and outreach. It brought people together, created fellowship, and did a lot of outreach getting food and clothing and other supplies to less-resourced people in town and surrounding rural areas. But I also saw hypocrisy. I saw how religion could be distorted and used to manipulate people, to galvanize oppressive behavior, and to numb critical thinking. There was a time in my life when I was very drawn to Christianity. The spiritual elements of the faith offered a respite, meaning, and sense of community that I longed for on a visceral level. I have always been a seeker spiritually and I'm not sure if that is what drew me to Christianity or if my seeking nature is a result of growing up in a community where belief and worship of a higher power was so present.
As you mention, Max does not want to share his power with his new Christian friends. The fact that his power mirrors the gifts that are revered in the Christian religion is not a coincidence. Max wants to know more about this religion that gives eternal life through death because that is something he is contending with daily. However, Max doesn't feel like he understands his power or where it comes from. His own lack of understanding makes him hesitant to share it, because he can't predict the outcome or how people will respond. It's safer to keep it secret. Also, Max is intuitive, and he sees that the group of boys he is befriending does not take kindly to difference or to things they don't understand. So the risk is too big.
SM: I love learning about a writer's individual process of writing. Can you tell us about your process, how you've learned what routines or lack thereof works best for your writing?
GH: I'm a morning writer. It's when my mind feels most alive and hopeful and buoyant. So I try to do my writing when I wake up before the world has gotten in and distracted me. I often start by reading whatever it was I wrote the day before and doing some light editing. Then I begin writing new stuff. If I'm in a generative phase, I sometimes give myself a word count goal, but other times I just want to touch the page and be in the world of my story for a while.
I have a mantra on my wall that I return to when I get stuck or am feeling discouraged. I found it through the Wild Unknown tarot deck and journal set, but I think Kim Krans was quoting someone else. The mantra says: "Any practice done consistently over a long period of time with love in your heart produces results." That is a powerful reminder to me.
There are a few other things that I do that are not writing-related but that I have to do if I want to write well and fill my imagination and creative cup:
I have a meditation practice where I try to sit quietly and notice my thoughts.
I go on long walks each day, multiple times a day. Walking is essential to writing for me.
I set up my writing area like a little altar and arrange it with books that I love and that inspire me. I have books that dear friends have written and books of poetry (as a fiction writer, I find reading poetry to be the most helpful tool) and books whose genius and spirit I want to channel by their sheer proximity to my creative practice.
I have little pieces of art nearby, too, that friends have made, and plants. Lots of plants.
I love cooking, which is the most tactile practice I have. Cooking helps ground and nurture me.
I pull a tarot card almost every day as a kind of metaphorical guide. I think of it as setting the tone. Sometimes I use it as a writing prompt.
Talking on the phone is something I'm obsessive about. I talk on the phone to my best friend in Brooklyn almost daily. It's become a kind of expected and daily comfort and even if we just talk for a few minutes, it's a nice balm and outlet.
SM: Finally, were you listening to anything in particular while writing BOYS? A specific playlist or podcast or even audiobook?
GH: I listen to theta waves and binaural beats while I write. It feels like it softens my brain (I know that's scientifically impossible) and allows me to be a bit more buoyant in the writing process. I also listened to a lot of Philip Glass, Claude Debussy, Will Samson, and Brumes. I love Brumes. I like soft and ambient background jams and when I find a track I love I put it on repeat and play it into the ground. I guess my obsessive mind extends to music, too.
Genevieve Hudson is the author of the novel Boys of Alabama: a novel (2020). Their other books include the critical memoir A Little in Love with Everyone (2018), and Pretend We Live Here: Stories (2018), which was a LAMBDA Literary Award finalist. They hold an MFA in fiction from Portland State University, and their work has appeared in ELLE, McSweeney’s, Catapult, Bookforum, Tin House, Bitch, and other places. They have received fellowships from the Fulbright Program, The MacDowell Colony, Caldera Arts, and The Vermont Studio Center. They are a Visiting Fiction Faculty member at Antioch University-Los Angeles’s MFA Program, a freelance writer, and also work in advertising. They live in Portland, Oregon.
Follow them on Instagram @gkhudson, on Twitter @genhudson, and on Co-Star @gehudson.
About the Interviewer
Sebastian Murdoch is a fiction writer living in Jackson, MS with her two cats, Kafka and Yoshimi. Sebastian is a graduate of the Lesley University Low-Residency MFA program, where she studied under experienced and talented writers such as Hester Kaplan, A.J. Verdelle, Rachel Kadish, and Michael Lowenthal. Her short story, "Georgia's Errand," can be found on the Johannesburg Review of Book's website, and she is currently an intern for WriteorDieTribe.com. You can find her on Twitter at @SEMurdoch, on Instagram at smurdoch94, and at her website sebastianwrites.com
