Kiley Reid is interested in
what makes us cringe.
“As a writer I’m really drawn
toward hyper-realistic, almost
awkward dialogue and inner
monologue,” said Reid in a
recent phone interview with
The Michigan Daily. “And I’m
very drawn to characters who
find themselves in positions of
power and don’t really know
what to do with it.”
Accordingly, Reid situates
her debut novel, “Such A Fun
Age,” at the nexus of multiple
tricky
relationships
in
the
politically pregnant year of
2015. Enter Alix (“uh-leeks”)
Chamberlain, a 30-something
blogger and influencer who
has spent years cultivating a
personal brand loosely based
on White feminism (“letter-
writing
promotion-receiving
getting-what-they-want
women”) in her favorite place
on Earth: New York. After
landing a book deal and low-
key inserting herself in the
Clinton campaign, Alix decides
to give the big city a little
break and relocates her news
anchor husband and two young
daughters
to
Philadelphia,
where she spends her time
procrastinating on said book
and using social media to
pretend she still lives in New
York.
“I thought it was important
that Alix would have the type
of job that not just anybody can
have,” Reid explained.
With all that work, Alix
seeks out the perfect babysitter
to
take
care
of
two-year-
old Briar Louise — her more
loquacious,
less
look-alike
daughter — and hires Emira
Tucker, a 25-year-old Black
woman, chiefly because she’s
safely unfamiliar with Alix and
her brand. But underneath her
employable anonymity, Emira
is struggling with the pressures
of being a postgrad who doesn’t
exactly know what she wants to
do yet (“Emira didn’t love doing
anything, but she didn’t terribly
mind doing anything either”).
She’s got a few months left on
her parents’ health insurance,
$79.16 in her bank account and
a voice in her head that says
“you don’t have a real job.”
“Emira is so naturally anti-
careerist,” Reid added, “and I
think that makes a lot of people
… a little bit uncomfortable.”
One night the Chamberlains
call Emira in a panic, offering
to pay her double to distract
Briar while they manage a
last-minute emergency. Emira
leaves a birthday party to take
the Chamberlain’s toddler to a
Whole Foods analog down the
street known for “bone broths,
truffle butters, smoothies … and
several types of nuts in bulk,”
where she is summarily accused
of kidnapping the White child
she’s been paid to watch. It’s an
altercation charged with latent
racism , and a self-aggrandizing
bystander takes it upon himself
to film it on his smartphone.
“There’s a lot of people
wondering ‘How can I be the
best ally and do the perfect
thing in this terrible situation?’”
Reid said. “And a there’s a lot
less focus on ‘How do we make
sure that these situations don’t
happen to begin with?’”
The
confrontation
takes
place at the outset of the novel,
allowing its aftermath enough
space to grow beyond the neat
boundaries of “aftermath” and
into the complex plot of its own.
In this respect, Reid has written
a book about the consequences
of prioritizing allyism over
structural change. And it’s
masterfully
awkward.
Alix
gets anxious about progressive
identity and her self-worth
morphs into an uncomfortable
function of how close she can
get to her babysitter, a building
obsession that reads like a
crush and results in some off-
putting
but
well-meaning
wine nights. Emira is slightly
spooked but needs the money
and genuinely adores Briar,
so she continues to make ends
meet with the Chamberlains
and enjoys herself when she
can. Which includes getting
involved with the video phone
bystander, a 32-year-old White
tech bro who has a track record
of dating women of color, with
the exception of his high school
sweetheart. Who happens to be
Alix Chamberlain. Yeah.
What ensues is a painful,
passive
series
of
personal
flexes as Emira’s employer and
boyfriend compete to “protect”
her, what Alix refers to as “a
losing game called ‘Which One
of Us Is Actually More Racist?’”
And it’s played desperately —
in Alix’s case, to the extent of
metrics: “… the fact she’d lain
in bed the night before and
been so pleased as she counted
in her head how many African
American
guests
would
be
present at her Thanksgiving
table. This number had totaled
to five.”
Throughout
her
novel
and our phone conversation,
though, Reid adamantly and
repeatedly returns to a critical
lurking variable in the sticky
social equation: class.
“Talking about race without
talking about class is a moot
point,” Reid explained. “In this
particular case, Blackness can
look and be so many different
things for so many different
people. If I’m honest — You
know what, I think that I was
always drawn toward matters
of class but I didn’t know
that’s what they were,” she
interjected. “I thought it was
more etiquette in awkward
moments and now I realize
it’s
more
people
dealing
with their guilt and a lot of
people finding themselves in
positions of power, whether
it’s their holding a phone or
they have a babysitter, and how
they respond to being in those
positions.”
And a constant consideration
of class, according to Reid,
makes space for the sort of
terribly nuanced people and
problems that populate and
pace “Such a Fun Age.” The
novel
itself
opens
with
a
quote from Rachel Sherman’s
“Uneasy Street: The Anxieties
of Affluence,” a series of
interviews with upper-class
New Yorkers, and a work which
Reid cited as pivotal in her
understanding and crafting of
characters from varying class
backgrounds.
“By the time I read (“Uneasy
Street”) I knew the plot lines
that I wanted to have for this
novel, but I wanted to dive
deeper into the issues of guilt
and class solidarity and the
very common way that people
see their morality attached to
their wealth, but not so much
the systems that got them their
wealth,” Reid explained.
“And I think that it helped
in terms of my understanding
of capital in America and how
that affects peoples’ psyches,
but it also helped me with
character development for sure
… my biggest takeaway from the
book was that as soon as you
are judging someone for being
rich, you stop judging all of the
systems that keep poor people
poor.”
Here
Reid
paused
—
something she did frequently
throughout our conversation.
She speaks deliberately and
emphatically, and often reflects
on her words mere seconds
after they enter air.
“… And that gave me room to
have really full characters that
aren’t villains, that are really
smart,
sometimes
that
are
really charming, but that also
make really bad decisions.”
While
responding
to
some of my questions (and,
honestly, judgments) on Alix
Chamberlain’s thornier takes
(the Thanksgiving scene is
unreal), Reid circled back to this
class-derived expansiveness of
self.
“I
think
it’s
a
human
response that we don’t always
arrive at what we think the
proper response is right away,
and sometimes it takes a little
mental
gymnastics,”
Reid
explained, slowing my critical
roll. “And so I really wanted the
reader to go with Alix and she’s
arriving at those things, ‘cause
she’s not perfect, and neither
is Emira … but I think that all
of the characters should have
room to process these thoughts,
even when they’re not the most
sympathetic thoughts on their
own.”
This is the type of writer
Kiley Reid is. The amount of
empathy and consideration she
routinely expresses for all her
characters, present tense, is a
feat of feeling in and of itself.
Later
in
our
conversation,
while reminding me that Alix is
working under the pressures of
late-stage capitalism (namely,
the double burden of work-
for-profit and unpaid child
rearing), Reid took a moment to
wince in audible pain.
“Yeah,
poor
Alix,”
Reid
breathed.
And
then
recomposed: “She’s doing the
best she can, but if Alix is the
perfect mom to nanny for it
doesn’t
mean
that
Emira’s
financial situation is going to
change, or any Black woman’s.”
First and foremost, though,
Kiley Reid is writing to compel
an audience.
“As
a
human
I’m
very
political and not shy about
those things,” she explained,
“but as a writer I like to make
it all about my characters, and
what they believe in.”
Indeed,
with
all
its
awkwardness
and
tension
considered, “Such a Fun Age”
is immensely readable, almost
unbelievably so. The pages fly,
relaxed with frequent dialogue
and references to social media
and paced impeccably by the
compelling triangles between
Alix, Emira and the various
relationships
(transactional,
romantic)
that
bind
them.
It’s been selected by Reese
Witherspoon
as
her
Book
Club pick for January, and the
film rights were picked up by
Lena Waithe months before its
initial publication. “Such a Fun
Age” is the sweet-and-sour spot
between heavy and light, a book
about difficulty and nuance,
specifically
regarding
class,
money, and race. This makes it
accessible to an unprecedented
number of audiences.
“I love it when novels give
me a lot more questions than
answers,”
Reid
disclosed,
“and so my first priority is
always just to focus on the
narrative and not be polemic
or use any character to make
an overarching point, but I
would love to raise questions
in people about these things …
Okay, so why does Emira have
to figure out what she wants to
do at 25? Why did college work
so much differently for Alix
than it did for Emira? … I would
love for readers to feel inspired
to dive into why that lifestyle
is threatening to them, or
threatening to the characters.”
In that case, I amend my
first
sentence.
Kiley
Reid
is interested in why we’re
cringing.
Kiley
Reid
will
be
at
Literati Bookstore at 124 East
Washington Street on Monday,
January 13th at 7 p.m. to read
from her novel, answer questions
and sign books.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, January 8, 2020 — 5A
Writer Reid on why her
debut will make us cringe
G.P. PUTNAM’S SONS
AUTHOR INTERVIEW
AUTHOR INTERVIEW
VERITY STURM
Daily Arts Writer
A fresh decade, a new year
and a semester without tears all
mean that there’s only one thing
for me to do: develop imaginary
and
outrageous
predictions
for my life that will no doubt
get my hopes up for the future.
With the peak years of Disney
Channel Original Movies in
the 2000s, as well as whatever
Greta Gerwig released during
the last decade, there’s no better
source material than the last 10
years of films for my new series
of delusions.
As a junior, I’m expected to
have an internship this summer.
At the moment, I don’t have
anything planned; however, I
see myself finding an internship
with Anne Hathaway as she
tries to juggle a healthy work-
life balance. As her seemingly
incapable intern, we will have
conversations about life. She
will feel like she can have these
conversations with me because
I’m not very intimidating and
I’m a good babysitter for her
daughter. The internship will
teach me about the importance
of life and set me up for senior
year. Robert De Niro will be
there to take my place and this
is where 2015’s “The Intern”
starts.
After
having
met
Anne
Hathaway
at
her
clothing
start-up in New York, I’ll come
back for my
final year at
Michigan.
A
pivotal
year
made
even
more
important by
the fact that,
before leaving
New York, my
superpowers
will
finally
manifest
themselves.
Senior
year
will be about
trying
to
understand
this
new
characteristic
of
my
life
while
also
trying
to
juggle
the
social
consequences
of my role as
Ann Arbor’s newest (first?)
vigilante. Whatever troubles
finance courses give me won’t
compare to figuring out how to
quickly change into a spandex
super suit without the help
of movie magic. Whether my
superpowers consist of webs
coming out of my wrists or an
affinity for Excel spreadsheets,
I will have no complaints. They
really can make
my life, if not
better, at least
more exciting,
despite
the
fact that they
supposedly
come
with
“great
responsibility.”
More
realistically,
or
at
least
less
based
in
fiction, I plan
on
cementing
a
variety
of
friendships
that have the
potential
to
either blossom
into a fabulous
whirlwind
romance
that
I’ll
remember
for
the
rest
of my life or
employment after graduation.
Either
option
is
pretty
fantastical at this point in
my life. Like many a Disney
Channel
Original
Movie
protagonist, my odds of meeting
a celebrity and having an actual
conversation with them will be
exponentially higher than the
average person in the coming
decade. The details here are
hazy — will I meet them at a
music camp, convince them my
mom isn’t the camp chef and
have them fall in love with my
music? Will we become lifelong
friends, have a heart-to-heart
on a hill in Massachusetts only
to have them marry my sibling
a decade later? Or maybe we’ll
sing karaoke together at a New
Year’s
party,
coincidentally
end up at the same school the
following week and fall in love
during the school play while
trying to juggle the insane
social ramifications of a jock
dating a nerd. The only thing I
can do now is guess, but one of
these things is bound to happen
to me at some point in the
future.
Finally,
though many of
these predictions
have been rooted
in
specific
examples, there
is a larger movie
theme that, until
now, has been
missing
from
my life that I
fully
expect
to
experience
more of in this
decade: love. It
can happen in
2020 or it can
happen later in
the decade, I’m
not that picky.
And it’s not really the love I
crave from these situations,
but the dramatic romances
— where is my Nora Ephron-
choreographed meet-cute? My
“Little
Women”
friend-turned
scorned
lover-
turned
sister’s
fiancé? I want the
kind of intrigue
that can take my
20s
from
just
another decade in
my life to my 20s.
I want that kind
of
personality
that
makes
my
grandkids
say,
“Damn, I wish I
knew
grandma
when
she
was
hot.”
I
know
it’s
out
there,
otherwise
we
wouldn’t see so many movies
about it — I just have to learn
how to flirt.
(T)here’s no
better source
material than
the last 10 years
of films for my
new series of
delusions.
Forget the tarot cards:
Finding my future in film
FILM NOTEBOOK
FILM NOTEBOOK
EMMA CHANG
Daily Arts Writer
I want the kind
of intrigue that
can take my
20s from just
another decade
in my life to my
20s.
The pages fly,
relaxed with
frequent dialogue
and references to
social media and
paced impeccably
by the compelling
triangles between
Alix, Emira
and the various
relationships
(transactional,
romantic) that
bind them.
Throughout
her novel and
our phone
conversation,
though, Reid
adamantly and
repeatedly returns
to a critical
lurking variable
in the sicky social
equation: class.
WIKIMEDIA COMMONS