In “Gender Studies,” your story in this week’s issue, a recently separated woman named Nell attends an academic meeting, and ends up having a one-night stand with the airport-shuttle driver who takes her to her hotel. There are also a lot of class- and education-based differences between the two of them. This is tricky territory. What are the secrets to writing well about condescension? What are the pitfalls—but, also, what can we gain from it?
I wish I knew the secrets to writing well about condescension! Please let me know if you learn what they are. O.K., this might be one: if you're going to make a character condescending, it's probably a good idea to make that character also at least partly incorrect in his or her views. I realized this only relatively recently, after writing five novels, but I think one of my favorite things to write about is smart people whose outlooks are wrong. That combination is far more interesting to me than writing about people who aren't smart and/or aren't wrong.
As you note, I'm definitely drawn to writing about class, I suppose because it's fraught. And maybe the things that are fraught are things that matter? Class is often unacknowledged in the U.S., but of course we're usually aware of it—in everything from the transaction of buying coffee to whom we choose as a spouse—and I'm also drawn to writing about subjects that are considered rude or awkward to discuss.
You make elegant comedy from Nell’s situation: she’s a newly single woman who feels out of touch with the rites and grooming habits of single people. As a professor of gender and women’s studies, she knows that these things are more than superficial. How would you characterize her attitude to this whole side of life?
I think Nell herself isn't sure what her attitude toward all this is, and she's in the unstable process of figuring it out—so she's more vulnerable than she will be, say, six or twelve months from now. She's not single by choice, which contributes to her vulnerability.
Obviously, there are frequent discrepancies between who we officially, publicly are—our jobs, our roles in our families or communities—and who we privately really are, or between what we wish to believe or should believe and what we really believe. Knowing something intellectually and considering it true, living as if it's true, aren't the same. But I think these discrepancies, which could be labelled hypocrisy, actually make people complex and endearing.
Luke, the shuttle driver, makes an offhand comment that suggests he supports Donald Trump, a statement that Nell uses to make herself feel better when she thinks back on the incident. In a way, it points to some disingenuousness on her part. What are her—or your—guidelines for how politics shape how we treat one another?
My guidelines for how politics shape how we treat one another are that no one should vote for Donald Trump. That answers your question, right?
And what, in the end, do you think accounts for Nell’s attraction to him, and her inability to forget him? Is it merely the differences between them, or are there other factors?
In her encounter with Luke, Nell's behavior is out of character—she's a generally staid person who finds herself acting impulsively—and, ultimately, she also feels remorse about what happens. Alas, I find remorse very memorable. If there are people who don't, I envy them.
