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Wednesday, Nov 25, 2009
Which brings me to the next question: Of course, those people don't have a child like Kevin. Kevin is a sociopath. And he's really infuriatingly awful. I was surprised many times throughout the book just how terrible you made him.
Yes, though I would interject that one of the things going on through that book is that you're seeing Kevin through Eva's eyes.
I was going to ask you about that too...
You're meant to start suspecting her version of things just a little bit. It's too extreme.
It is too extreme, but then also Franklin was too extreme in his beatification of Kevin. So you did that on purpose.
Yes. There were a couple of things planted along the way to make you wonder whether you have a reliable narrator. It seemed completely self-evident to the reader that when Kevin was arrested by the police for pitching bricks at cars on the overpass, that he did it. And, of course, the way Eva told it, he must have done it. Then it turns out that it wasn't he who did it, it was his creepy little friend. So Eva's tendency to jump to those conclusions gets a question mark over it.
And, also, Celia made me question Eva. You have sociopath Kevin, and then you have this completely perfect -- well, she wasn't perfect...
I think she was whiny and annoying.
But in Eva's eyes she was so angelic and loving and never cried and immediately liked breast feeding from her...
When you think about it -- the kind of sibling you would hate.
But she was exactly what Eva needed after Kevin. What I started thinking about was, if you do end up with a child like Kevin, is it OK to reject him? Is it OK to reject your child? I was really surprised to see Eva continuing to go to visit him in jail. I can understand a parent standing by her child, but he was even such a remorseless monster there, after the murders had been committed. Who could bear that? At what point is it OK to say, "OK, I gave birth to this person, but that doesn't mean I have to be there for them anymore"?
To say that any point it's OK to reject your own child ... I guess at the very end of the book, I came to the conclusion, no. That's not to say that you accept everything that they do, or even that you forgive everything that they do -- there is such a thing as the unforgivable -- but you're still going to be their parent. And I think there's a kind of relief in that of an absolute bond or relationship: that regardless of how either of you behaves, it doesn't go away. After all, it is a genealogical fact.
It's always going to exist.
It's always there. Even in this circumstance, with such an awful history between the two characters, and this atrocious violation of any moral norm, she comes around -- she's going to be there for him. I admire that. I would admire that in the real parents of the killers. They have enough people against them.
Did any of the parents of the killers ditch their kids?
Not that I know of. Think of John Walker Lindh. His parents stuck by him. You can't really say they're fools. You can't be critical of that. The kid should have somebody, which doesn't mean that they say, "Rah, rah, we're glad the World Trade Center fell down, too. We're on your side." But I admire parents able to keep giving some kind of sustenance in spite of everything. That is something that our culture expects. And I think that's one of the burdens of parenthood: Oh my god, my kid can do anything -- including not just doing things to other people, but doing things to you -- and I'm expected to stay in there with them.
Considering the anxieties that you have and the book you've written, has anyone accused you of going a little overboard here? Very few people raise murderous thugs, and school shootings especially are a unique phenomenon. Has anyone tried to analyze you?
No, I think most people have appreciated that while, yes, it's a worst-case scenario, the book is at bottom a need to examine the whole gamut of possible consequences of having children. Yes, it's an extreme case, and it's meant to be an extreme case, but then the extreme case is often the test.
It enables you to consider all of these things that you otherwise couldn't.
Besides, it's dramatic. And I'm a little over-the-top. I would add, however, that it would be possible to write a similar book that didn't go so far. Ultimately, what's at the core of the book is not Columbine and that phenomenon. The center subject matter is motherhood.
When I first looked at the book, I thought it might be over-the-top, but it's clear from Page 3 that it's actually a very careful, painfully detailed consideration of motherhood. For example, you talk at length about hating being pregnant.
I have an absolute horror of being pregnant. That was me. I'm very athletic, I'm small, I like the idea of staying small. The idea of gaining all that weight and becoming awkward ... I know that there are women who claim that they love being pregnant, but I know that I'm not one of those people. I would find it an ordeal. Do you mind my asking -- do you have any kids?
No, I don't. I'm 25. I probably will have kids if it all works out, but the reason why I was interested in this book is because I have two small fears about having children: Raising someone as terrible or almost as terrible as Kevin, someone who really hurts other people, and having a child who dies young. And this book obviously deals with both of them.
That's an interesting opposition of fears.
Why did you ask if I have children?
It would probably change your questions a little bit, or put a slant on them. I suspected you didn't.
I'm pretty open about the whole thing. But what always strikes me about the debate is that it seems to come down to selfishness. You're selfish if you have children, and you're selfish if you don't. Why is that? Do you think it's selfish not to have children?
Yes. I believe that my decision not to have kids is entirely selfish. It's out of protection of the kind of life that I now lead that I don't want to give up. The kind of geographical independence I experience. Even what we just spoke of -- not wanting to get pregnant. It's a protection of a physique to which I'm very attached. I can't think of a single reason that isn't directed toward me.
The only selfless aspect of not having children is the degree to which I might be considering the welfare of a child born to me if I didn't really want him.
So you don't regret not having children.
No, not so far. I've had countless people tell me, "Oh, you will. Freeze your eggs." But I have to say, when I go visit families and even if I have a good time and I think their children are perfectly charming, I don't feel envious.
