Music. You know, I think as a little kid very early on, I was both taking in the books that my mom was reading to me and the ideas she was talking about having to do with reading and writing, but I was also exploring my own terrain, so to speak, as a reader and a writer from a very, very young age. So it's really hard for me to kind of separate out. It's kind of like nature versus nurture or something, you know, where do the things, all these different
elements come in. But without a doubt, my mom was a huge influence on me as a writer. And actually, we were wonderful writing partners. I mean, up until when she passed away in 2019 from cancer. But until then, she and I were always, when I was working on The Snow Child, I would give her a chapter each week and she would give me a poem each week. Like, you know, we were our own little writing group for years and years and years.
So it's almost impossible for me to separate my writing life from my mom. You know, they're just so intertwined. That was author Éowyn Ivey, whose debut novel, The Snow Child, was a Pulitzer Prize finalist. It captivated readers with its blend of folklore and Alaska wilderness. Raised in Alaska, Eowyn's connection to the land is woven into her storytelling, creating atmospheric and emotionally resonant narratives.
Before becoming a novelist, though, she worked as a journalist and then as a bookseller. Both shaped her approach to research and storytelling. As a journalist, she says she often felt constrained by the need to report just the facts, realizing that the full story often involved emotions, complexities, and more nuanced truths that couldn't always be captured in a news story.
This naturally led her to fiction, where she could immerse readers in themes like isolation, survival, and the mystical interplay between humans and nature. Her latest novel, Blackwood's Blue Sky, continues her exploration of myth, survival, and the untamed beauty of Alaska. She says that there's a power in fiction, an empathy that forms between the book, the reader, and the author. As a storyteller, she strives to create feelings and experiences that resonate.
Moments where a reader might think, that's exactly what I felt, but I've never been able to put it into words. Or, I've never felt so seen. This is true for situations she's personally experienced, and ones she hasn't. That's where her research comes into play. For Eowyn, writing is about more than just crafting a narrative. It's about discovering the metaphors and the poetry within the concepts she explores. When she set out to be a novelist, she never imagined it would go beyond the
Pacific Northwest. But it has. Her writing is known by people all over the world. But at heart, she still writes for her fellow Alaskans. So here she is, Ayo and Ivy. Welcome to Chatter Marks, a podcast of the Anchorage Museum, dedicated to exploring Alaska and the circumpolar north through the creative and critical thinking of ideas, past, present, and future. My name is Cody Liska, and I'll be your host. Thank you. .
Your mom named you after the Lord of the Rings character, Eowyn, who is a warrior, and she exemplifies strength, courage, and transformation. I know she's a fictional character, but how often do you feel like you live up to your name? Oh, that's a really interesting question. You know, I don't know if I've thought a whole lot about who the character was in the books.
Um it's interesting though because when I was probably I was too young when I first started trying to read The Lord of the Rings and it was because I knew my names were in them and I had read The Hobbit and loved it and so I mean I was probably like 10 or 11 trying to read The Lord of the Rings and of course it's not meant for a 10 or 11 year old and um and so it was like years later um I think it might have been after well I think it was
right around when the movies were coming out I decided to give it another shot and I did read the books again but by then I I felt pretty settled into who I am. Do you know what I mean? So I don't feel particularly connected to that character.
I will say, though, it is kind of funny because when the movies came out, my mom was really disappointed with the depiction of Eowyn in the movies because she's a little bit more, you know, she doesn't come off quite as strong as she does in the books, I think. And my mom was like, that's not the character I named you after. I can see that, yeah. Yeah, yeah. But it's also funny, too, because no one recognized that name when I was a kid. You know, they'd say, is that Irish?
Is it Welsh? I would just agree to anything they said, you know, was it Celtic? Yes, it's whatever. I would never try to explain the whole book thing because it just felt like too hard. And then once the movies came out, now I have young people who are like, oh my gosh, I know that character, you know, it's just been kind of a fun, a fun change. That is awesome. And so were your parents, were they big readers? They were both my, my mom and my dad.
So my mom, my biological father died when I was quite young. And the man that I think of as my father had his degree in English literature, but worked as a builder and as a carpenter. And my mom was a poet. She published a book of poetry and all her life was reading and writing. So that was definitely, you know, through both my mother and my father, I was very steeped in like just reading and talking about books, everything all the time when I was growing up. Absolutely.
Your mom wrote poetry. I wonder... Do you feel like that is a foundation for some of your magical writing? Yeah, I mean, it's always so hard to, you know, I think as a little kid very early on, I was both taking in the books that my mom was reading to me and the ideas she was talking about having to do with reading and writing. But I was also exploring my own terrain, so to speak, as a reader and a writer from a very, very young age.
So it's really hard for me to kind of separate out. It's kind of like nature versus nurture or something, you know, where, where do the things, all these different elements come in. But without a doubt, my mom was a huge influence on me as a writer. And actually we were wonderful writing partners. I mean, up until when she, she passed away in 2019 from cancer.
But until then, she and I were always, when I was working on the Snow Child, we were, I would give her a chapter each week and she would give me a poem each week. Like, you know, we were our own little writing group for years and years and years. So it's almost impossible for me to separate my writing life from my mom with, you know, they're just so intertwined. Yeah. And with The Snow Child, how often, or, you know, I guess if at all, do you go back and pick that story up?
And then in addition to that, when or if you do pick that book up, do you think of your mom? Yeah, I mean, well, so I don't tend to pick up my old works very much. I've read about so many writers who will still continue to want to edit their work, even after it's published. And I'm really not that way. I kind of let go of it when it's published.
You know it's a little bit of a separation time you know when it first publishes and I feel kind of attached to it too but as soon as my brain connects with a new idea I kind of let it go you know and I mean I guess I feel more like I think about my mom a lot more as a reader I don't know how to explain this really I whenever I'm reading something new whether it's some poems or you know a novel or a short story I'm always thinking like
oh I wish I could talk to my mom about this. You know, I wish I could know what she thought about this. With the writing itself, even though we were feeding back, you know, giving feedback to each other a lot through the process, it's such an internal thing, really.
I mean, the Snowpot Child is so much a part of who I am that, you know, yeah, I feel like it doesn't, when I read, if I were to go back and read it, I don't know if it would make me think about my mom, but it's more when I'm reading new things that I wish that I could share with her and talk with her about. Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. Do you have any of those poems that your mom was sending you when you were sending her pieces of the snow child?
Well, many of them are in her book, The Echo of Ice Letting Go, which the University of Alaska Press published before her death. And I love it because so much in some of our, especially more my nonfiction. So I wrote an essay that ended up in the Wall Street Journal about a fossil hunting trip that we had gone on, she and I, when she was going through chemotherapy.
And we got flown into the mountains by Mike Meekin into the Talkeetnas and went on a fossil hunting camping trip and she wrote a poem about that same time and that's the kind of writing that actually I do feel what you were talking about where there's this resonance between her essay and my poem and at times I've read them together when I do readings I'll read them together because they're intertwined but they're different and I love that so there's been moments like that where our lives
and our work intertwined, and it came out in the work, and I love that. But then in other ways, her work was very much her own, and mine was very much my own. So it's kind of an interesting, yeah, how it all unfolded. It's been really interesting. Yeah. Do you remember when you realized that you're a storyteller? Well, you know, it's funny. We just had the book release party for my new book, Blackwoods, Blue Sky, at the train Depot and Palmer.
And I think Mike Molesky, who was interviewing me, must have asked something about kind of along those lines. And all of a sudden I flashed on. So, I mean, I don't remember how old I was. I was young enough that I was just barely beginning to write. And I remember making this little book. So, I mean, I must have been, I'm guessing like seven, seven years old, I'm guessing. And I made a little storybook that was about a planet inhabited by magic cats. Okay. Okay.
And I did the little drawings and everything. I wish I had it, although it would probably be a little embarrassing to see now. But I mean, very young. I loved I had imaginary friends. I mean, I was one of those kind of strange kids. I had imaginary friends. I made up stories constantly. I think part of it was because so very young up until I was about three or four. We lived in a remote town in Colorado called Marble that's outside of Denver.
And I didn't have a lot of other kids around. So that was when I started having imaginary friends, I think. And then when we moved to Alaska, you know, when I was so young, it was sort of similar. I had some neighborhood friends, but I spent a lot of time by myself as a little kid. And that kind of forces you to be creative in your play, you know. So I did make up a lot of stories and things.
Many of your characters or many of the characters you write embody this resilience and independence that's so common among Alaskans. Do you think there's a particular spirit or mindset that defines people from Alaska? Yeah, I mean, it's hard for me to judge in a way because this is what I know. You know, I mean, this is where I've grown up and where all my friends and my
family are from. And so I feel like it's not really fair of me, maybe in a way, to say that other places don't have that or something. But I do think that we certainly, I mean, I think partly because so many people who live in Alaska, of course, there's indigenous people and there are people that have been here for generations, but a lot of Alaskans are first or second generation Alaskans. So these are people who have chosen for some reason to come to the state.
And I think there's something sort of self-selective in that a little bit. I think that people that are going to come here have got to have a certain amount of be a little bit brave and want to be self-sufficient. You know what I mean? And so I think that there is that element of it. And it's something that I really love about Laskins. I mean, I really do. People that, you know, all across Alaska, all walks of life, I do feel like there is a kind of resilience.
And, you know, it's funny because my grandparents were in Buffalo, New York, and the kinds of things that we would brag about doing, sometimes I think they were a little bit like, oh, well, that doesn't sound like fun at all. You know what I mean? And as a kid, I would be telling them a story about some, you know, oh, we did this or that. And I could see this look on their face like, oh, well, that doesn't seem like a good time.
So I think maybe we are a little unique, but I think there's probably people all around the world. I mean, certainly that are resilient in that way and love and adventure and are brave, you know? Yeah, yeah. Yeah. How much have people around you, maybe other Alaskans, friends, family, acquaintances, even strangers, shaped the way you tell stories?
Oh, definitely. You know, and it's kind of fun because over the years I've had neighbors and friends who spot themselves, some little piece of themselves and some of my characters, you know. And that's just been a really fun part of the thing. And I think same with the place, you know, even though, so all three of my books are... You know, set on the Wolverine River, which is this imaginary landscape.
And I did that so that I would have some freedom, you know, to kind of tell the story however I wanted to and not be locked to a real map. And yet so many people will be like, oh, I know what you're talking about. And actually just happened recently, I got a comment, I think it was on Facebook, I'm not sure, where someone said, when I was reading your new book, like, I felt like I was back on the Little Susitna River with the devil's clubs and the mosquitoes.
And that just was really kind of heartwarming to me because that's what I want to do. Even though it's an imaginary landscape, I want to be true to Alaska. And I think people see that both in the people and the places. What does that look like when someone recognizes themselves in one of your books? Well, for me, it's one of the most powerful things, whether they recognize themselves like in a concrete way, like, oh, I think you were a little inspired by me.
But I think even more powerfully is when, you know, I think especially with A Snow Child, because it touches on infertility, I've had a lot of women come to me or write, you know, to me on email or different things or if I'm at a book signing and just say, like, you talked about something that I've, like, I saw myself in Mabel.
And I feel like that is the power of fiction in a way that we can, there's a sort of empathy that happens between a book, you know, when you, as a reader and a writer, you're trying to create those feelings that other people can understand and say, okay, that's what I felt and I haven't been able to articulate quite that way or I've never felt myself seen that way. For me, that's the power of fiction, really.
And with Mabel and infertility and women contacting you because, you know, they identify with that character, those thoughts, do you do research in order to really get the facts of, say, infertility, for example, down? Well, I do. Although in the case of with infertility, the truth is my husband and I struggled with it for a few years before we were able to have children.
So that was like a very real, I didn't have to research what that feeling felt like, that kind of longing and the sense of, you know, what that was going to be like. But I do a lot of research about the facts of my book. But then again, also on top of that, then it does, it goes back to kind of what I was saying before, as a writer, I have to empathize with the people that I'm trying to portray. And that's what I, I just, I don't know how to explain it, but I love that feeling.
So with Mabel, I've never dealt with the kind of, I think, depression that she deals with. I've known a lot of people over the years who are close to me who have dealt with depression. And so to kind of try to step into, what does that feel like to live with that on a daily basis, to me, makes me feel more connected to the people around me in a way.
I don't know if that makes sense, but it's like trying to kind of really fully inhabit their experience the best I can and portray that as accurately as I can is an act of empathy, I think. Has writing about Alaska and Alaskans helped you understand your own identity better, both as a person and as a writer? Yeah, I feel like it's kind of a symbiotic relationship. You know, I feel like the better I understand myself and how I feel about Alaska, the more I can put that into my writing.
But then as I'm doing the writing, I'm also doing more research and trying to understand it better. So it's kind of this back and forth in a way. And for example, like in the new book, you know, there's quite a bit about a lot about flowers in it. I've always loved the natural world and wanted to know more about it. But I haven't had the patience to be like a scientist. That's I just didn't have that. You know, I don't have that level of commitment, I guess, to it.
But by writing about it, it gave me a chance to like walk around with my field guide books and really pay attention in a way that I hadn't before. So then it just fed that hunger in me. And then I put that into the book.
So it's kind of this back and forth that's really fun. And I sometimes joke that if I write another book, I want to choose something that the research is going to allow me to continue to do that kind of fun stuff, you know, where I can continue to understand Alaska better and get out, enjoy it, and look at it even more closely.
I feel like that's a very, um, journalistic thought, a thought of a journalist because a journalist, um, you know, I'm an independent journalist, so I can kind of speak from a personal perspective and, um. I personally feel like when I'm able to do an interview, write an article, I'm able to, you know, get my feet wet with the subject without having to go to college for four years and then, you know, graduate school and then, you know, go fully into that career.
Yeah, absolutely. Does it feel the same way with you? Yeah, no. And that's what I loved about being a journalist, too. You know, that's what I got my degree in and I worked for a lot of years at the Frontiersman newspaper here in Alaska. And that's what I loved about it, too. You know, you get to go spend the day, you know, with a schoolteacher and learn how they do what they do. And then the next day you're doing something totally different, you know. And I love that feeling.
It does give you a chance to explore and learn more about so many different things. And it is the same with fiction. And it's funny because I think having that background as a journalist also made me very wary of getting things wrong, you know, because if, you know, in a small town newspaper, if you misidentify a mountain or a creek, you're going to hear about it. People, you know, they're going to say, no, no, that's not. And so I have this
fear, this dread of getting things wrong. So I've carried that over into my fiction. And so as well as I feel like in ways I do know Alaska, I still do so much research because I don't want to get something wrong. I know that that is annoying to readers. And in fiction, it threatens to kind of shatter the illusion because you're creating a world. And then if you get something wrong, if you don't get that fact right, it breaks the whole thing breaks apart.
You know so um but but the fun side of it um is getting to just explore all these different worlds and these interests like you say that maybe you didn't want to you know commit to a four-year degree and having a career in it but if you get to spend a little time just getting to know it a little bit better it's it's really fun it's a fun process to learn so much yeah yeah yeah you're good at cocktail parties i don't know if i'm any good at cocktail parties but i do
love i do love doing And it's kind of a dangerous thing. You have to be able to cut yourself off from the research at some point, but it's a lot of fun. Yeah. What kind of reporting were you doing at the Frontiersman? Well, you know, that's one thing that's so great about a small town newspaper is you end up covering everything. I mean, I mostly did features, the outdoors. So that was like hunting, fishing, trapping, that kind of thing. And then the school district.
But there were always times where I would end up getting thrown in. I mean, I remember doing some interviews with Sarah Palin because the city reporter was out at the time. And it was when Sarah Palin was the mayor or covering a little bit of the crimes in court stuff. Or I remember probably one of my most exciting adventures was, I think there was some, I mean, this has been, you know, 20, 30 years ago, but there was some flooding on the Squintana River, if I recall.
And I got to jump in a helicopter and fly out there and see the flooding out there. And it was just incredible to be able to kind of see different parts of Alaska as a newspaper reporter and just do tons of different kinds of writing. And I think it really helped me as a writer, just in terms of just sheer word count, you know, just doing a lot of writing about a lot of different subjects and having to be edited.
I mean, I think that's a good thing to be subjected to, to not be too precious about your words and know that other people can help you make it better. So, yeah, it was a good process. Mm-hmm. Because Alaska is such an important part of your writing, you'll probably always be associated with Alaska from now on. How does that make you feel? Oh, I mean, I feel honored, you know, to be honest.
I mean, I feel like, you know, the fact that people here in Alaska read my writing and connect with it, I mean, that's kind of everything for me, really. You know, as I set out as a fiction writer, I never imagined that it would go beyond the Pacific Northwest, basically, really. I mean, originally I was thinking maybe I'd find a regional, you know, a regional publisher. I had no expectation of this sort of worldwide stuff that's happened, especially with The Snow Child.
So all that is just kind of extra and unexpected. But really who I was writing for are my fellow Alaskans, you know. I mean, that's who I hope I touch the most, really. Do you enjoy writing? You know, it's funny. It's kind of like saying, do you enjoy exercise? I feel like, you know, like sometimes it feels really great and it's like, oh my gosh, this is going so wonderfully and I'm so good at this.
And then other times it's like, what am I doing? This is hard, hard work and it's not going the way I want and I'm terrible at this. I, you know, so it's a roller coaster and I think that's probably true for a lot of writers. You know, it's sometimes it's sometimes it feels like drudgery. Sometimes it feels like a job and it is a job, you know, I mean, I have, I'm not just writing for myself. I'm not just keeping a journal.
I'm writing with expectations of other people reading it. And that means a whole process in terms of editing and, and trying to push it to the very best that I'm capable of doing. But there are moments that I feel like I live for where I just feel, and I think my family knows it well, because I'll come out of my writing spot and I'll be like, oh, I nailed this. You know, sometimes it's just a paragraph that I got exactly the way I want it to. And those are the moments that I live for.
I wish they weren't so few and far between, but those moments are worth it. They really are. Yeah, I'm so happy to hear you say that because you read about people like Stephen King, you know, who writes like 2000 words a day. And, you know, me reading that, I'm like, I'm, I'm happy to get one solid paragraph done that I'm happy with. Exactly. Well, and I think that's, you know, it's always such a dangerous thing.
And I love reading about what other like other writers routines and how they do things because I find it inspiring. But when it comes down to it, I think we all just have to do our own work. You know, that cliche, we all have to paddle our own canoe. But it's true that like we all write at different speeds. We all approach the process differently. And I think it's helpful to see what everyone else is doing because maybe it gives you ideas like, oh, I'll try that.
I'll try this. I'll try that. And then ultimately, we all have our own road to go down, you know. So I think that's been part of my realization, I think, as a writer, is that I'm not a Stephen King on any level. I'm not as prolific as him. I'm not as talented as him. And so, like, we, you know, we all have our different approaches and our different stories to tell, and they're all going to take us at different speeds. And yeah, I feel like that's part of the process. Yeah.
Getting back to your journalism career, just real quick, do you feel like having wrote for a newspaper prepared you for what it's like to have your writing published? Yes, in ways I think it did. Because, you know, on a local level or on a national level, you're going to have people who really appreciate what you're doing and are happy to read it. And you're going to have people who don't like it.
I feel like that's a really good realization. I feel like I was lucky to learn that on a small town local level first to kind of ease me into it. Not to say I still don't struggle if I feel like someone doesn't enjoy my work or doesn't get what I was trying to do. It still breaks my heart a little bit. But I also understand like that's part of that's the world. Like that's how it all works. When you're a published writer, it's different than just writing for your friends or family.
And I will say, too, working at a bookstore also prepared me for that. You know, you just realize how many books are out in the world. And not every book is for every person, you know, and as a bookseller, you realized you got to help the people find the books they're going to enjoy and they might be different than the next person that comes in. You know, there's just a lot of variety out there and realizing that you can't be everything to everybody. Mm hmm. Mm hmm.
Journalism is fast paced. You know, I feel like journalists, at least for me, you know, have this mindset that you're really only as good as your next project or your next story. And I realize how unhealthy that is. Well, it's good and bad, right? I think in ways it's, you know. Yeah. Yeah. You know, so you have to constantly be producing, you know, I guess is kind of what I'm getting to, but the way you write novels is much slower.
You know, it's been 14 years between this new one and your last one. Do you feel like being a novelist is more your speed versus, you know, the go, go, go of journalism? You know, it's just different. And it's funny because I feel like those journalism skills that I learned, you know, as a reporter still serve me well, because I get, you know, especially like, you know, back when blogs were really big, I would get requests to do blog interviews. And I can write those up pretty fast.
I can tell you after working as a journalist, like I can, you know, or if it's like, you know, just recently, I had a newspaper in the UK send me, hey, can you tell us your your top five books and why they're important to you? Like I can do those quickly and concisely and clearly because of my journalism them work. So it's still, all that still helps me so much in my career. But you're right. I mean, novel writing is just an entirely different process.
And for me, it's about, I hope it's about trying to find the metaphor and the poetry within these concepts that I'm trying to write about. And so that's what takes me a long time. You know, that's the part that's, I can write some paragraphs real quickly, but trying to access that deeper meaning is what takes me longer. And It's what I really enjoy. It's what I enjoy as a reader, and it's what I enjoy as a writer, is kind of accessing the deeper themes and metaphors that are going on.
What's it like when you're writing a story and you hit that deeper meaning? Mm-hmm. Yeah, I mean, that's where the magic happens for me, you know, and sometimes it happens when the very beginning of the idea strikes me. I think there's something here, but sometimes it's, and it sounds a little corny, but sometimes it's just a feeling, like I feel like there's more here.
I don't know what is all there yet. And part of that is, as I write, I dig and dig and I start to see, oh, this is why this resonates this way. And it's kind of a hard feeling to describe. It's almost like the sound of a tuning of a chord when then all the notes hit and you're like, oh, that's it.
It's a little bit of a difficult thing to describe. And I think as a journalist, there were times where I felt like I was touching that, like I was getting close to that in my feature writing, and I wanted more of it. I wanted more time to develop it, and I didn't want to be bound by journalism and by reality, frankly. I wanted to take it all farther and do something different with it. You didn't want to be bound by reality. That's really interesting.
Yeah. You know, I just, gosh, and I'm terrible about this. I just read someone talking about this. Oh, and I wish I could think of who it was. But basically, you know, and it might have been in Geraldine Brooks' new book. I'm almost thinking that's where it was. But she talks about, someone talks about when you write nonfiction, as you put the words on the page, you can sometimes feel like you're getting farther away from the truth.
And with fiction, the further you get away from reality, the closer you can get to truth. And maybe that's truth with a capital T. And that's really what I found. I found in journalism, I just never felt like I was telling the real, true, bigger story when I was writing these stories. There was always so much more going on that I couldn't touch on. And in fiction, I have that freedom, you know, to do that more.
Mm-hmm I kind of want to explore that a little bit you know you're a journalist you're working at the frontiersman um. You get an assignment, you're writing the story, but you're sitting there at a desk, at a computer somewhere, maybe not a desk, and you're thinking, there's more to the story that I'm not able to get out there. You know, what is that? What is that, the meat to the story that you're not able to convey?
Well, you know, it's funny. It's interesting, especially thinking about my new book, Blackwoods, Blue Sky, because I remember writing an outdoor column about my relationship with bears. My fear of bears, my awe of bears, and about, I think in it, I reference, you know, going hunting with my dad. And that was a column that I worked on for weeks and weeks.
And I remember my editor, Vicki Nagle, at the time was wonderful and allowed me the time to just keep that on the back burner between other stories. I kept coming back to it and working on it. And when I finally finished it, she gave me some kind of little award about, you know, the longest taking but best column you've ever written. Oh, that's great. Yeah. That column, though, was in a ways one of the many, many beginnings of this book that I've written now.
So I think that those things were there. I mean, to some extent, you know, certainly with other stories having to do with, you know, budget cuts or whatever. Sometimes I certainly felt like on a concrete level, there were things that I wasn't able to talk about. But in terms of journalism, I wasn't interested in going deeper as a journalist. I was interested in going deeper as a writer of more lyrical, perhaps fictional writing. I don't know if that makes sense. Yeah.
Yeah. I wonder also if, um, you know, you're in Alaska, you're in the Valley, you're writing, and I feel like that atmosphere that, um, your surroundings are really pushing you to write the way that you want to write. Yeah, I mean, I think just my life experience, you know, is, I mean, I think that how I grew up and how my husband and I have lived, you know, because I think that in any place, there's a million different ways you can live your life, you know.
So, I mean, in the Palmer Wasilla area or in Anchorage, you know, you can live a life that's not so different from living anywhere else in the world, really, you know. So, but I think that the specifics of how I feel like in terms of, you know, what we strive to be somewhat self-sufficient and subsistence lifestyle, we certainly don't get anywhere near that, but we try for that, that sort of connection with the landscape. I think that is something that I've always wanted to write about.
And I did, to some extent, you know, in my columns, in my outdoor columns at the Frontiersman when I talked about fishing or hunting trips and things we went on. But again, I didn't feel like I was getting at this larger feeling that I had that felt important. I don't know if that makes sense. No, it totally does. I've done a number of things, producing a magazine, interviews that I've done. Collections of interviews that I've done where it really feels like you exercise that feeling.
And now it's finished and there's this like collective sigh of relief and it you know it's years and years in the making and um i mean it's incredible yeah it is and it is it is like i've heard people compare it like to to running a marathon versus a sprint sure you know and and those bigger projects um can be daunting well i mean i'm sure you've experienced that too like Like there's times where you think like, is this ever going to work? Are all these pieces going to come together?
Is it going to add up to the whole that I'm hoping it does? And when you finally get there, it is like a feeling of like, ah, like I, you know, and then you can kind of let it go. And that's a wonderful feeling too, you know, to finally, I'm almost at that point where I feel like, okay, pretty soon I'll be able to take down my whole complicated bulletin board that I have in my office here and move on to the next thing. maybe, you know, who knows.
But yeah, it is a feeling of relief and a sense that you've done something, you know. Music. To what extent do you identify as an Alaskan rather than as an American? I think I've tended to identify more as Alaskan than American. I mean, that's just the truth of it. I just think because it's just a dominant part of my life, how we live in Alaska. And I do feel a certain separation from the rest of the country, both physically and sometimes mentally.
I feel that a little bit, you know. So, yeah, I would definitely say, and I'll admit, too, that if I'm, you know, fortunate enough to be traveling somewhere abroad, if people say, where are you from? I say Alaska. And people are always like, oh, they want to hear more about that. If you say you're American, you know, you don't know. You don't know what you're. Exactly. Yeah. You know, I ask that question because I think that as Alaskans, we tend to care about different things.
You know, our values, our wants, our needs can be a lot different than that of, say, the rest of the states. We just live so close to the natural world, I think. And our climate and our scenery and our isolation is so extreme that I think it can't help but affect the way we look at the world.
Yeah, I think so, too. Again, I always hate to, because I'm sure there are aspects of living in anywhere in the United States or anywhere in the world that give these different elements that I maybe don't appreciate because I don't spend as much time in those other places. But no, I agree. There is something unique about Alaska. And I don't think, you know, I certainly didn't realize that when I was growing up here as a kid. I, you know, I did all these things with my family. I lived,
you know, out quite a ways. And I knew that I liked certain elements of it. But, you know, as a kid, you kind of think, well, every place is like this. I mean, you just kind of assume somehow. And it was when I got older and traveled more that I realized how different my experience had been. And then I think that's what kind of gave me a newfound appreciation and made me want to dig deeper into it and kind of understand, you know, why this place is important to me and what it means to me.
And I don't think I appreciated that until I got older. As a kid, I didn't understand how different it was, I think. Where my mind went from that is, you know, Alaska being this very unique and singular place for the people who live there. How much did being nominated for a Pulitzer actually matter to you? Well, I mean, it mattered a lot in ways. I mean, I think that in terms of the trajectory of the novel and its success, I think that was a huge, you know, factor in how well it has done.
And it opens up so many doors for me as a writer. And I'll never forget that, you know, that I think that, you know, working at a bookstore, I was well aware of how many fantastic books there are that just don't get the attention that they deserve, to be honest.
And it's these little, not little, these big things that happen to come along in a writer's career that bump you up to a different level, not in terms of that you're somehow a better writer, but just in terms of that you get more opportunities. And I have had so many opportunities because of that Pulitzer finalist that The Snow Child got.
So I, you know, I mean, you know, in terms, I feel like it is a little bit, not arbitrary, but I mean, I think that, like I say, there's just always a lot of great things being written. And to have a chance to have that kind of recognition is, you know, amazing and has helped me immensely as a writer. And at the same time, I will say that, you know, to have someone on a personal level here in Alaska come up to me and say, you know, I feel really connected to your work.
Personally, that means more to me by far. But for my career at the Pulitzer and some of the other things that happened along the way with my books, those are the things that have allowed me to make a living doing this, you know, which is huge. Yeah, I think that's a really good way of putting it. I think that, you know, I have talked to musicians who have won a Grammy. I've talked to athletes, you know, that have won the X Games, you know, and that's kind of why I asked that question, you know.
And I think that with all of those people, and I think including you, is that those awards matter greatly. Because they matter to other people. And because they matter to other people, it gives you more opportunities. Yeah, absolutely. Definitely. And I mean, the truth is, too, something as prestigious as the Pulitzer, I mean, it's validating, too, as a writer, you know, that you're, you know, because there's all these different ways that success can be quantified.
And I guess when I look at the list of Pulitzer finalists and winners, I mean, these are some of my very favorite books that I read throughout my life. So to have my book be considered among those in any way is an incredible honor. So that's another element to it, too, you know, is that these are the books that I, like I say, that I love. And so that's very meaningful, too, as a writer. What role do you think isolation plays in Alaska and in your books?
Yeah, I think it's a huge element. And actually, it's interesting because it makes me realize, you know, early on in our conversation, talking a little bit about my childhood, I think isolation actually can be a really critical factor in creativity. I mean, I think that, you know, it's funny because I see so often when you read about authors, I love reading author biographies and finding out where they came from.
And so often at some point in their life, they were in an isolated situation, either because of illness or circumstances where they were left with really nothing else to do but think.
And um so i think there is something and i and i i often wonder if there's not a correlation between um the relative isolation that a lot of alaskans live in and the amount of creativity i feel like we have in our our people here i mean there's just so many great artists and writers and musicians in alaska and i really do wonder if there's not you know some kind of connection there yeah yeah i have uh recently watched documentaries on kurt vonnegut mark twain and at
a certain point in their career you know they had these like um like sheds almost you know that they go into and that is where they write yeah and it it cuts off uh the rest of the world it's very minimalistic and that's where they go to think yeah well and I it's funny you say that because I actually have the exact same same thing that I didn't have oh really okay yeah not until relatively recently until working on this book so when I was writing The Snow Child.
We were like living, like so many Alaskans, we were living in a house under construction. We were building as we were living in it, which I think a lot of Alaskans can relate to. And at that point, my writing space was this little walk-in closet that I just, you know, hung a curtain across. And that's how I was writing. But then as things have developed, I have a beautiful office, you know, in my house now that my husband built for me with bookshelves. It's gorgeous.
But I also have, you know, access to the internet here. And I know that there's, you know, dirty dishes in the sink downstairs and all these things. And so what ended up happening is I was struggling to get this writing done, to be honest, at different times during the process for this new book. And we had had, when we bought this property, it was sort of a recreational cabin property. And there was a treehouse up in a fairly good size, 8 by 10 treehouse.
And the trees that it was attached to, the spruce trees, were dead. And my husband was worried about it. So when we first bought it, he lowered it down to the ground and turned it into a playhouse for our two daughters.
But our daughters are grown now and it's been kind of sitting empty for years and so um i decided maybe you know it's inside of the house but it's a little bit of a walk away from the house up on the hill and uh so my husband and i converted it into a writing shed for me and all that's in there is a wood you know wood stove there's no electricity no water of course no you know no kitchen to clean it's just a tiny little spot and um that's where i ended up doing a lot of my writing.
And I think it was really helpful because it does isolate you from, I think both like physically, literally from the telephone, from, you know, these responsibilities, but the distractions of the internet. But also kind of metaphorically, I feel like somehow from all my expectations, you know, all my other books are in my office.
You know, I don't know, there was something about hiking up to that little playhouse and working in there with a very, Like you say, very minimalistic, just a metal table, folding chair, a pot of tea that I bring in my thermos, and that was it. And that was really a really wonderful way to get the writing done, actually. Yeah. Did you get that idea from anybody or maybe a collection of authors? You know, like, this worked for them, so I'm going to do it for myself.
Yeah, no, I mean, I certainly had seen, and I think one of my favorite books that, and it's been so long since I read it now, I might probably mess this up, but Annie Dillard's book, The Writing Life, she talks about at some point in that book, I'm pretty sure, she talks about being in a little writing shed that had like hardly anything in it. And I remember her talking about being cold and smoking her cigarettes.
And it was just this like, really, it stayed with me. I mean, this is probably like when I was in college that I read this. But like you say, I mean, again and again, you encounter this where authors have created this separate space that's a little bit bare bones. And so I think it was in my head all along. And I, yeah, I don't know why. I just think, I think with this new book, I had a lot going on in my personal life with my parents both being sick with cancer. And I just had a lot of stuff.
I felt like a lot of baggage that I was dealing with. And that removal from it, from the house, somehow allowed me to separate myself in that way. But yeah, I love reading biographies of other authors and books about their routines and what they do. And I try different things, and sometimes they work and sometimes they don't. And this, for me, at this point in my life, having that separate writing spot was really hugely important. Mm-hmm.
So, Blackwood's Blue Sky, the book you just mentioned, there's a character, Emmeline, the young girl. She's based on you, right? Right. Yeah, I've said that, you know, by far, she's the most autobiographical character character I've ever written. I mean, granted, there's lots of differences between us, but I really put a lot of my childhood experiences and like sort of the deepest fears and my sense of magic of Alaska, all that.
I just I kind of poured all of that into her. So, yeah, she's by far, you know, like I say, she ends up being someone slightly different than me in terms of her interests and things. But on a very deep level, she's part of me. Absolutely. What was that like writing, Emmeline? Were you writing her and then you kind of step back and you're like, oh, my gosh, like that's me? Or were you doing it intentionally?
No, I knew it intentionally. But I think one of the reasons that this book was hard for me to write is that in ways it was difficult for me to enter into those childhood fears and things. And I think that for a long time while I was working on the book, I was kind of skirting around the edges. And I think my editor, both my U.S. editor and my U.K. Editors both were just so fantastic about giving me the time. But they kept kind of saying, you're not there yet.
And I was like, okay, why am I not there yet? And it's weird how our subconscious works. And so I knew that I was writing about myself and aspects of my childhood, but I just had a hard time, you know, just... Entering viscerally into those memories. But once I did, I think once I got, I realized that I could write from her perspective as a six-year-old, that kind of cracked it open for me. And I was able to really write fairly fluidly.
But I was definitely accessing some very deep memories and feelings from my childhood. Why do you think it was so hard to enter into those memories? Well, because it has a lot to do with, I mean, to be really frank, it has a lot to do with my fear of my dad. You know, he was a really wonderful person in a lot of ways and a huge influence on my life in terms of, you know, the outdoors and my love of Alaska and my love of literature. I mean, he was an avid reader.
And some of my favorite books are books that he recommended to me. And he was a fan of my books, you know, so he was reading my work as I was writing. But he also was a very, very violent person and very dangerous. And there were times, to be completely honest, during my childhood where I thought that he would kill us, you know, that I thought he would kill my mom or me. And so those are difficult memories to write into. But the thing is, is I knew that's what I was doing when I came up with the
idea for the book. I knew that's what I was writing about. And I thought that I could do it pretty easily, but it ended up being psychologically a little more difficult than I realized. And it took some time. And to be honest, too, I think that, you know, both my mother and my father passed away while I was writing the book.
And as hard as it was to lose both of them, because I love them both very much, and I was very close to both of them, when they were gone, it gave me freedom to write more honestly, I think, about those childhood memories and fears, and to just really be honest and not worry about hurting them. Because I didn't want to hurt their feelings, or I didn't want them to see themselves in some way in the characters. And so that changed things too, I think.
That's a really big undertaking to choose to write this book and then also knowing the memories that you are willingly helping to resurface. Yeah, I mean, I think I always knew that I was going to write this story in one way or another. And it's interesting, too, because it peeks out in different ways that sometimes I'm not aware of or I forget.
But Ruth Holbert, who did the illustrations for both To the Bright Edge of the World and the new book, she just recently said to me, do you realize that in To the Bright Edge of the World, Sophie's dad, who is a sort of mad artist, does a sculpture of himself that's a bear? It's like a self-portrait that's a bear. So it's been there all along. And I knew that I was going to write directly into it at some point. But, you know, it is an undertaking. And I think I don't think I could have
done this when I was in my 20s. It was all too raw. And I didn't understand it. I didn't understand my relationship to the story yet. And now I do. And I feel like that's what enabled me to write the story and write it the way I did. But yeah, it was a process. It really was. How do you understand your relationship to the story now? I guess I can see that the things that are the most wonderful and the most difficult about us make us who we are. I feel like that's the story that I wanted to tell.
And that, like, you know, there's a scene in the book where a character, you know, in Alaska, we have this whole thing about, you know, if you wave both arms in the air, an overpassing plane, it's saying, like, I need help.
And and just one arm is just a friendly wave you know and there's this idea of like i can give the friendly wave now like i'm okay you know what i mean it's like you know like that's where i'm at in the story now is is um i survived it and there were times i wasn't sure i was going to survive it and um and i'm i wouldn't as strange as it sounds i wouldn't change anything that happened in my childhood
and i know that sounds crazy especially if you knew some of the details um but they made me who I am. And I'm happy for that. And I'm grateful for who I am. So I guess that's where I feel like I'm left with the story. Have you ever shared any of those details, the reality of the details, rather than talking about them through fiction? You know, I really haven't, except for with very close family and friends.
Partly because, to be honest, I don't really find it that interesting. Do you know what I mean? I guess I think the elements of a difficult childhood on their own are all too frequent and familiar.
Unfortunately you know and i guess as a as a writer what i wanted to do and i think that's the other challenge the challenge wasn't just accessing difficult memories i mean that was difficult but what i wanted to do was to transform it into something else into something bigger than me um so the little you know brutal details of what you survive as a kid they're just little details they're not they're not a story they're not i mean and as pretentious as this sounds They're not a piece of art,
you know, and I guess what I wanted to do was to take all of that tumultuous stuff, the beautiful things and the hard things, and turn it into something more concise and hopefully beautiful in a way. I don't know if that makes sense. It sounds like we're getting back to fiction and journalism. Mm-hmm. Yeah, I mean, I think it's true. That's what we're trying to do in fiction and in journalism, is tell a story that concisely and maybe helpfully or beautifully
depicts some aspect of being a human, you know? Mm-hmm. How do you balance writing about reality and the more magical elements of your stories? I mean, that's the fun part for me, really. That's what I, you know, so kind of the, I feel like you take this what if, you know, in each of my books, there's a what if, you know, what if a couple built a little girl out of snow and she came to life, you know.
And then you take that one magical moment and you try to create a whole real world around it that would make that possible. And so for me, the magic, and I think that that can throw people sometimes, you know, my magical elements in my book, I don't create a whole new world where fantasy is running, you know, throughout it all.
That's not how I do it. Instead, I want to take one fantastical metaphor, in a sense, and then create a very real world around it that enables that fantastical thing to seem believable. So, you know, in the new book, it's what if a woman fell in love with a man who was really a bear and she moved out to the wilderness with him? What does that mean? You know, so it's taking that potentially magical nugget and then building a real world around it.
Kurt Vonnegut. does that in Slaughterhouse-Five, where at a certain point, the main character is transported to, you know, this otherworldly place. I know. And I actually need to read that. I've got several Kurt Vonnegut books. I've read a couple over the years, but I have not read that one and I have it. So it's actually one that I've always meant to read and you've moved it farther up on my stacks. I've always heard really good things about that book. Yeah, it's a good book.
I think I read it when I was really young, and I need to reread it because it's one of those books that just stuck with me. Yeah, and I think that can be a really interesting experience to go back and read the books that we read when we were younger, and we maybe see things differently or understand things differently later. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm.
Were you ever worried that by including magical elements in your books, it would detract from the story you're trying to tell or maybe even alienate your audience?
Well i i did i did i went i'm gonna say i worried i did wonder how many people would would or wouldn't connect with it because of it um for me it was kind of key like i had been writing you know what i would just call straight you know realism modern realism set in alaska that was my first novel attempt that never saw the light of day and it doesn't need to um it was just it was boring to me you know i i just wasn't enjoying it i just thought i don't want
to i don't want to write this, then I can't imagine someone's going to want to read it. And when I kind of came up with the idea of The Snow Child, it really did unlock this really obvious but hard for me to realize idea. At the time, I was like, why didn't I realize that you could do anything you want in fiction? So why not do whatever you want to do? And that was just a really key thing for me. But I had no idea. Each of my books, I've thought, I don't know if anybody's going to want to read
this. And this isn't going to be for everybody. So if anything, I've just been pleasantly surprised that the number of people who have read it have read it. I didn't, I never expected that, I guess. Okay. Have you noticed that climate change, has it made any impacts on how you tell stories? You know, it hasn't yet, but it's because I don't know how to go about it, to be honest.
I feel like, you know, it's interesting because I feel like it's taken me 50 years to be able to write about my childhood. And do you know what I mean? And so like, I think maybe if I had 50 years, maybe I could write about climate change. I think it's a huge, I mean, gargantuan aspect of our lives now, but it feels so big and so kind of nebulous in a way. And by nebulous, I don't mean not real.
I just mean like, I don't think we understand it well enough yet for me anyways, to be able to write about it in a fictional way. I know there are people doing it, and I'm grateful for that. And I wish, certainly something that I circled around in my head as a writer, but so far I just haven't found a way to write about it that's not more speculative fiction. And I don't know if you know what I mean by that. That's just where you're trying to project out what this is going to mean.
It's kind of a dangerous thing to do because we're going to get there, and then we're going to be like, oh, is this really what happened or not? And so I feel like it's something I'm interested in, but I don't know how to write about it yet. Mm-hmm. Well, I think that's probably maybe where some research would come in, right? Well, yeah, a tremendous amount of research. Yeah, yeah, definitely.
And again, I just feel like even now, scientists are constantly having to alter their models and things in ways are happening faster than we anticipated and in different ways than we anticipated. So it's a very, I mean, when you take me, someone like me, you know, five, six, seven years to write a novel, the amount of things that could change during that time in our understanding is kind of astronomical, really.
To be honest, I find it kind of intimidating trying to even tackle that huge subject. I mean, I think that I find that reading and writing about things that are unfolding in current time, it's tricky writing fiction about it. It just is, you know. And so I'm curious to see what other people continue to do with it. And like I say, I want to learn more, as we all learn more, you know, as a species, about what it all means.
But for me now, it just seems too big and too serious, I guess, and too immediate and unfolding in current time to write a novel about for me personally. But I don't know if other people might be able to do it in a way that works well. I don't know. Yeah, I think that's a good way of putting it. Yeah. How do you know when you're done with a book? When my editor says I'm done. No, seriously. Okay. Yeah. I mean, honestly, it's hard for me. Excuse me, my voice is starting to go a little bit here.
It's hard for me to judge my own work very objectively. I just can't do it, you know. And so having editors who say, keep going, dig deeper, keep going, keep going. That's really critical for me because I can have times where I think I've nailed it. This is working. It's everything I want it to be. And I'll take it to my editor and they'll say, no, we've got to go a little farther. So I really rely on that process to help me to help me get there.
So this question might feel like it comes out of nowhere, but but from my perspective, I'm thinking about all of your writing, you know. What kinds of things, elements of modern life and contemporary human connection, do you think we sacrifice in pursuit of true freedom? Oh, well, that's a big question. Yeah.
I do find the concept of freedom to be a very interesting and complex and, frankly, troubled word, expression, idea that we've kind of grabbed onto in the United States and Alaska and throughout the world. I think it can be, you know, I think it's very tricky. And it's something that I've talked about, I think, in all my books in one way or another.
Um, I think certainly in my new book, you know, uh, Birdie, the young woman is seeking freedom, you know, and I put that in quote marks, freedom, um, to not be tied down by a regular job, to not be having to find childcare for her daughter. But everything has a flip side, you know. So one kind of freedom can mean another kind of danger or limitation. So I feel like it's a very complicated thing. And I think it's something that we should always be asking.
If you take this thing, what are you giving up instead? Because there's always a give and take. Nothing is free, including freedom. Everything has a give and take and comes at a cost of one thing or another. Mm-hmm. Are there any other stories or oral histories from Alaska that you'd like to explore in the future? You know, I don't know. It always takes me so long to kind of set down the current thing that I'm working on and have the kind of, you know, mental space to start exploring.
And, you know, something has to touch me personally in a really deep way for me to want to spend years and years writing a fictional novel about it. So it takes me a while to find those things. And at this point, I'm at that point that I often say, right now, I can't imagine doing it again. I can't imagine writing another novel, but that doesn't mean it won't happen. Just right now, there's nothing left. It all went into this book, everything I've got, and it's going to take some
time to decide if I've got something else down the track. I don't know. yeah, well Eowyn those are all the questions I have for you I want to thank you for your time and for how thoughtful you are about representing Alaska in your writing well thank you so much it was really fun talking with you and I apologize for my voice hopefully I'll get it back pretty soon but I appreciate you taking the time and talking with me it was really fun. Music.
For more information about the Anchorage Museum, visit anchoragemuseum.org. This podcast was produced by me, Cody Liska, for the Anchorage Museum. With additional help from Julie Decker. Chatter Marks Music is produced by Keys Open Doors. Music.