Craig Clevenger Interviews Sara Gran

I’m just going to step back and let Craig Clevenger, the author of Dermaphoria, introduce you to Sara Gran and her new novel, Dope.

Craig Clevenger: One-Eyed Fred, Fifty-third Street Jackson, Nuthouse Jim, and “…at least a dozen guys who went by Nick the Greek” are among the unwashed and unwanted characters wandering the 1950s Manhattan of Dope. One of them is the who in the story’s whodunit, but the real nemesis of narrator Josephine “Joe” Flannigan is a silent monkey on her back that she’s kept subdued for two years as the novel begins. Heroin, though, is the only habit our heroine can kick; she’s been paying for food and rent with the same sticky fingers that once fed her drug addiction. But when, after being hired to find a missing young socialite, Joe eyes her first stash in two years (“a pile of brown powder…as big as a half dollar and almost as high”), her sleeping monkey wakes up screaming.

There’s a reason I like noir. Good writing, especially good noir writing, examines the world as seen looking up from the bottom, illuminating life in a way that the perfect universe of pop culture cannot and will not. Sara Gran’s Dope is true noir at its baddest.

Sara, you have a deep understanding of mid-century New York’s con artist and grifter communities, and a real affection for them, as well. Where do these come from?

Sara Gran: Well, I’m from New York—until recently I’d been in Brooklyn all my life. A lot of the landmarks in the book like the Automat, Gimbel’s, or Alexander’s were still around when I was a kid. The Bowery was still very much the Bowery; Times Square was not the New York Disneyland. Three-card monte dealers and shell games lined Broadway. So even though the book takes place 50-plus years ago, it still felt like my New York.

As for the affection towards con artists and grifters, I think that, like a lot of people from what you might call a middle class or an upper-middle class background, that world has always been highly appealing to me, both in fiction and in real life. It’s no great insight to point out that the life presented as ideal (a good job, a house, children, etc.), a goal that our immigrant grandparents all worked so hard for people like to me to have, is actually kind of boring. Or at least I think so.

What stood out to me was the emotional neighborhood you created, the portrayal of solidarity amongst these grifters. Beyond having planned a job or done time together, they truly look out for one another.

New York does, often, have a small town feel to it, the “towns” being composed of geography (everyone who lives or works on a given block, for example) and/or affinity. Writers, for another example: A lot of us know, or at least know of, each other, not in a scene-y way but just in a friendly, neighborhood-y way.

Let me throw the net a bit wider: Why crime fiction?

No reason, except that I’ve always liked it. Also, it’s something of a challenge to write a book with so many rules and restrictions. On top of all the genre conventions and expectations (which of course you can break, but you do need to at least be aware of them), you have the actual mechanics of making a mystery work, which is really hard. It’s good to take on things which are more than you’re sure you can do. But I’m not doing it again any time soon.

One of the strongest elements of Dope‘s story is the perpetual craving plaguing Josephine on most every page. How did you go about creating that?

I’ve never been an addict myself, though I felt like I had a good handle on what addiction is all about from smoking. I smoked for twenty years and quit recently, after a few deaths in my family. Obviously, cigarettes and heroin are somewhat different, but the basic physiology of addiction is the same. Now, I’m addicted to nicotine gum. That’s what my next book is going to be about, the freaky subculture of nicotine gum addicts and our many tales of woe.

11 June 2006 | interviews |