INTERVIEW WITH NATIVE NOVELIST SHERMAN ALEXIE

Native American writer Sherman Alexie enjoys being an offensive threat

By Jeff Baker, The Oregonian October 03, 2009, 1:26AM

SEATTLE -- Sherman Alexie sits in a coffee shop on Westlake Avenue, talking about his recent appearance at a national booksellers convention. Alexie stirred up some controversy when he called the Kindle an "elitist" wireless reading device, but right now he's telling a story about being on a panel with James Patterson and Lisa Scottoline, fiction writers who are more popular than he is and don't go looking for trouble, like he does.

Alexie couldn't get Patterson and Scottoline to understand the difference between what they write and what he writes. They study the book-buying market and try to appeal to the broadest possible audience. Alexie doesn't operate that way.

"If you're not offending a pretty high percentage of people who read your books, you're not doing it well enough," Alexie says. "(Patterson and Scottoline) don't want to displease anybody, and I'd just feel terrible if I didn't displease somebody. At my public performances, if somebody doesn't walk out at some point I feel like I haven't done my job."

Then Alexie tips his head back and laughs. It's his signature move, as easy to spot and hard to defend as a crossover dribble on the basketball court near his office.

The 42-year-old Alexie loves basketball -- he can't seem to go more than a few minutes without making some reference to it or using it as a metaphor -- but he loves to laugh even more. He's a serious man, committed to his art and his life with an intensity that would come off as maniacal if it weren't for the humor lurking at the edge of every pronouncement. He's not afraid to say anything, not afraid to write about anything and not afraid to joke about anything. After he stopped laughing, Alexie went quiet and waited for the next question:

Do you think you have more latitude to get away with offending people. ...

... Because I'm an Indian? Oh God. (Another big laugh, then another pause.) One thing that has changed is when I'm talking about politics. If I stay in my circle and stay with the Indian thing, I can get away with a lot more. ... The second I talk about sex, people just panic. That's really what panics people. Even liberals. (Big laugh.)




In basketball terms, Sherman Alexie is at the top of his game. He's about to start a tour for his new book "War Dances" that will take him to more than 25 cities in the next two months. He's working on the sequel to "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian," which won the 2007 National Book Award for young people's literature. He's one of the best-selling poets in the country. He's written three movies and directed one of them, and still works as a screenwriter and script doctor. He's won national performance poetry competitions and has performed as a stand-up comedian. He is the most popular and influential Native American writer in the country.

Yet the same writer who's published 20 books in the last 18 years says he suffered from a case of writer's block so crippling that he thought his career was over before he turned 40. The same cheerful personality who revels in attention and is a riveting public speaker is shy, hates parties and loves to spend time alone. He picked this coffee shop because it's close to his office but also because he can sit for three hours without being noticed. He's a celebrity in Seattle and says the recognition, while unfailingly pleasant, keeps him on his guard.

"I'm distinctive-looking enough that people notice me," he says. "I couldn't commit a crime." (Small laugh.)

And the same writer who's fiercely proud of his work is objective and dispassionate enough to admit that "whole stories, whole poems, huge swaths of books" were mistakes.

Like what?

"Indian Killer." I don't have much use for that book in its entirety. There's a limited-edition broadside that takes one paragraph from it, and I think that's pretty much it." (Laughs.)

"Indian Killer" is Alexie's second novel. It's about a serial killer in Seattle who kills and scalps white men. Alexie says it's by far the least popular of his books and jokes that it feels like the Cliff Notes of an actual novel. Then he turns serious:

If you choose to follow a writer or an artist, you're choosing to follow the places that person goes. Their ideas about the world, who they were then, what they're trying to be. In some sense, it's almost as if a writer is a fictional character himself. In some sort of meta concept, the path of the books is the path of the character of the novelist.

You're getting deep here.

(Laughs) Yeah.

But maybe this is another way to put it: Neil Young is one of great songwriters of all time, and he's put out at least 10 albums that stink.

What's up with "Greendale"? (Laughs) But you know, I was with him on that because I follow the artist. It's your death if you don't. I saw him at the amphitheater in White River and 90 percent of the people around me were shouting "Cinnamon Girl." But you listen to those voices, you die.




Alexie grew up on the Spokane Indian Reservation. (His tribal heritage is Spokane/Coeur d'Alene.) He was born hydrocephalic and underwent a brain operation at age 6 that he was not expected to survive. He not only made it through without severe retardation, he was a precocious student and obsessive reader who chose to attend an off-reservation high school where, he notes, he was the only Native American other than the team mascot. (Arnold Spirit Jr., the hero of "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian," shares a biography with his creator.)

Alexie went to Gonzaga University and transferred after two years to Washington State. Alex Kuo, a poetry teacher at WSU, encouraged Alexie. He soared out on a fast break to success with two books published within a year of graduation. He stopped drinking at age 23 and found success in one form after another: novels ("Reservation Blues"), stories ("The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven") and movies ("Smoke Signals" and "The Business of Fancydancing," which he wrote and directed).

His success led to more screenwriting jobs, which led to more high-profile projects, which led to the crippling case of writer's block.

I was working with some big-time directors and producers, huge stuff and high-pressure projects, being in a room as the screenwriter with 20 people and all of their opinions counted more than mine did.

What did they want you to do?

They didn't know. Twenty different people saying 20 different things, and all of them questioning your ability. At first I was just hearing those voices when I was writing on screenplays but then they started intruding, creeping into my head and everything else I was writing. When you start hearing some surrogate producer when you're working on a poem, nothing happens. I think my imagination deflated. ... I threw myself into one of my own narratives. For about a year and a half I was mentally ill in a way I'm not otherwise. I have plenty of other problems. I should say 'for about a year and a half I had a whole new mental illness.'

It's a confidence changer.

It wasn't so much about ability. It just didn't happen. My self-esteem wasn't damaged. It just wasn't there. I thought it was over. I started consoling myself with the thought that if nothing else ever happens I've had an incredible career. I guess it was sort of sad, too. I'm thinking, 'I'm a young man. What am I going to do?'

A visit to the Montana studio of Adrian Arleo, a ceramic sculptor and the wife of writer David James Duncan, ended Alexie's cold spell. He took one look at Arleo's work -- animal parts on human forms -- and the first lines of a poem roared into his head. He wrote two poems on hotel stationery that night and has been hot ever since.




Alexie loves living in Seattle and was a huge Sonics fan. He was heartbroken when the team moved to Oklahoma City and says he can't watch them anymore because it's like watching someone else sleep with your wife. He bought a 10-game package of Trail Blazers tickets but couldn't get emotionally involved in Rip City.

"Not my team," he says, shaking his head.

If the Blazers aren't Alexie's team, the Kindle is not his electronic reading device. After a blog-heavy backlash, he didn't back off his criticism but did acknowledge e-readers are useful for people with physical disabilities. Amazon invited him out for a tour, and he says he told the "12 geeks locked in a room" that Apple is coming up with something that will blow the Kindle away. ("They laughed," he says, and laughs.)

"War Dances" is a mix of stories and poems, the same as "The Business of Fancydancing." He says he went back to the form in part as a reaction to the rise of digital technology. Stories and poems, he says, are still what it's all about.

These futurists are shortsighted. (Big laugh.)

In what way?

They're not considering how it changes us as people. I mean, how does it change you as a person as you increasingly get your information from a screen. And don't think this isn't about evolution. It's something primal and basic. We evolve based on what we're doing. How is this going to change us?




Alexie is off on a long, entertaining riff about how "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian" is like the movie "Alien" and its sequel, "The Magic and Tragic Year of My Broken Thumb," will be more like "Aliens." He loves writing for teenagers and young adults and doesn't mind when "True Diary" gets challenged or banned by parents in a library or school district. Sales goes up, he says, and the book becomes dangerous in the community. When his book is banned, he always sends a box of books to the nearest library, an idea he borrowed from writer Chris Crutcher.

When he goes on tour for "War Dances," he'll visit a variety of bookstores and college campuses. If he reads with another author, he'll behave himself. ("I'm a team player," he says. "Don't want to be a ball hog.")

If he's appearing by himself, look out.

When you see people getting uncomfortable, is that a signal to you to go for it more?

Sometimes. Sometimes I try to find something else to make them uncomfortable.

The thinking being "hey, they're already uncomfortable."

Yeah. It's a performance, it's art. It's designed to be uncomfortable. People usually show up to get their biases confirmed. Even in the sense of me being outrageous, sometimes all I do is confirm their biases, anyway.

Sure, but people do that with everything. If you're biased toward being pro-environment and pro-wacky humor, you're going to like Carl Hiaasen.

Yeah, but I don't do that with anything. Sometimes I say things I don't agree with.

Just to be contrary.

Yeah. Just to keep it alive.