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