Vol. 55 Issue 5

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INSIDE: ELECTING THE PRESIDENT OF OHIO • 5 // MUZZLING SCIENTISTS • 8-9 // CANZINE 2012 • 10 // CAMELOT DUDEBROS & DEMON SEDUCTRESSES • 12

the STRAND VICTORIA UNIVERSITY`S STUDENT NEWSPAPER vOL. 55 iSSUE 5 • Oct. 29 2012 • WWW.THESTRAND.CA

The economy of love: an interview with Junot DĂ­az

BY MUNA MIRE

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ulitzer Prize-winning novelist Junot Diaz has just released a new collection of short stories titled This Is How You Lose Her, which he read from at the International Festival of Authors (IFOA) last weekend. The Strand sat down with him to discuss his new work. Interviewer: I want to start by asking about the epigraph to your latest collection of short stories, This Is How You Lose Her. First, it’s from a poem by Sandra Cisneros. I’m curious what your relationship is with her work specifically? As a writer? As a man? As a person of colour? As someone who is interested in writing about men, no one can inform you better than women of colour. I mean—who is at the sharp end of the knife of what we would call New World masculinity? When I think about Sandra Cisneros—listen, she was one of my foundational inspirations to be a writer and to be specifically a US Latino writer the way that I am. Her books were very important, they set the benchmark. The benchmark of minimal courage. I think that you can’t come any weaker than Sandra Cisneros, and not that we come any braver—you can’t. But I think that’s where you’ve got to set the bar— then you just jump. And we all come beneath it but it’s worth trying. The epigraph seems to frame the text so well—it is almost like a call to something, an exhortation. There should be stars...you know? It echoes this listless (and sometimes it seems doomed) search for love and intimacy that Yunior, who is this really contradictory character is on. And to me, it feels like the epigraph and the central story “Otravida, Otravez” are mirroring or answering Yunior in a way. It’s like we get the other side of the story and that is really interesting since Yunior writes the story and isn’t present in it. I mean, yeah. The last story in the book reveals the metanarrative of the whole book which is that you suddenly realize that he [Yunior] is writing the book you just read. So yeah, all those kind of in-jokes about this

book, this novel, like you said it takes on a double meaning. I’m interested in the imagined female voice that answers. Can you talk a bit about how you understand the ways that women of colour love? And how do we understand the epigraph and title and how they influence the ways we can read the book’s stories? It all depends on the level of participation that you want. One of the things that’s interesting about certainly my last two books is that they permit high level participation. They permit you to almost entirely restructure the book in, I think, fascinating ways. Which is to say that there’s room here for the reader to have an enormous amount of authority. Now, of course there are ways to read this more [traditionally]. You could just read the book beginning to end and you just want to kind of kick back and not have to do a lot of work. But for those who want to come in at a higher level, [by] which we don’t

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Realism has failed to describe the Caribbean experience. Realism has failed to describe fucking Trujillo.

mean superior, but just a level that requires more participation, there’s room for that too. And I think the question of how the women characters play out and are played out in this book changes depending on the level of your participation. I think there’s a way of thinking about the gap between how Yunior sees the women in this book versus how the book permits a reader to see them. I think that what matters about the women characters in this book is that there is a gap between how Yunior views the women in his world and how the women or men that read this book can view these women. And I think that gap is really important. I mean, the big irony of the book is that he finally is able to see women correctly but the

woman he wants to see isn’t present! Is that a failed strategy [on my part]? Perhaps. Every strategy that we take is a strategy because it can fail. But it felt to me that what was important was to be incredibly honest to

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As colonial subjects, as people who continue to endure the weight, the history, the possession, the haunting of colonization and the long term effects of that—to actually value your own identity matrix over whiteness—is a revolution.

what I would call the traditional masculine view in a way that I think is excruciating. And I hope that the reader will see the ways that these women don’t fit these guys’ reductive, myopic view of them. It was excruciating. Your story “Nilda” in particular was hard to read for me. Why “Nilda” in particular? I don’t know, something about her character which I empathized with as a female was heartbreaking. She just seemed so sad, she really didn’t value herself at all anymore. And all of the sexual exploitation, too. Well no, I guess I understand that deeply. But I think that there is, I always feel, a very productive juxtaposition that I think it’s important to take a look at. Yunior and fucking Nilda begin in the exact same place. How so? They’re from the same neighborhood. They’re probably from similar families, yeah? You discover that drug dealing is not a distant thing in Yunior’s family. They begin in pretty much the same exact place but gender plays its role. And suddenly you see at the end where this girl is like, you know, she’s still pushing forward in life. And Yunior is on

his way to college. And my sense of the story is that we sort of forget that in some ways this is a study of what happens with privilege and what happens with how the average masculine life is not about being constantly attacked for your sexuality. I mean, Nilda spends the entire time being preyed on because she has a pussy. And Yunior doesn’t spend his whole childhood being preyed on. And it gives him freedom. But what’s fascinating, and again I point this out, is that Yunior bears witness to it. And the only reason you’re excruciated with it is because Yunior, instead of pretending like most guys that this is naturalized, bears witness. I think the thing with Yunior is that he says he loves her. And think about what it must cost to bear witness to that. I’m not saying he’s worse than her but in some ways that story reveals the DNA of the book. This is a kid that in one way loves a lot of the women that he’s watching being destroyed and he’s participating in their destruction because he graduates from watching Nilda to doing that to other women. You said in an interview with Paula M.L Moya for the Boston Review that you wrote Yunior as this character on a quest for “decolonial love”. Can you talk a bit about what “decolonial love” is? I’m interested in how you define it, what it means to you, how you came to the idea, and how we can move through the world carrying it out. How do you embody decolonial love? It’s a supremely academic definition. Which doesn’t mean it’s not useful. I think for me one of the things that happens at the most molar level is that as colonial subjects, as people who continue to endure the weight, the history, the possession, the haunting of colonization and the long term effects of that —to actually value your own identity matrix over whiteness—is a revolution. And for a male in a heteronormative relationship to try to discover the ways that his masculinity has been organized vis-à-vis women of colour, is part of this colonial enterprise too. And then

SEE “DIAZ” ON PAGE 6


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