The final author willing to submit themselves to my rugged, non-award-winning line of questioning has arrived at last! Today I got a chance to speak with jonah wu, author of the BRAVE NEW WEIRD story, “There is No Easy Way Towards Earth”, which made me cry a whole bunch because I’m not-so-secretly a great big softie.
These responses have been edited for clarity.
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I’m going to pull back the curtain a bit and tell you what I told [BNW editor & Tenebrous co-honcho] Alex Woodroe about “There is No Easy Way Towards Earth:
“I’ve read it three times now and I still can’t summarize what the hell is going on narratively, but it’s made me bawl each time.”
So, y’know, thanks for that.
But now it’s your turn to pull back the curtain: tell me a little more about the themes you’re exploring here.
Haha, I'm honored to hear that (I think?!) Something that the story is lacking context for is that it's part of the Los Suelos anthology—a fantastic mixed media project that many fabulous writers, artists, and musicians collaborated on. All of the works in the anthology take place in the fictional rural town of Los Suelos, California, beset by a curious plague that causes the afflicted to become obsessed with digging; and by a cult that has sprung up around a religious explanation for this plague; so these aspects are playing in the background of my story.
I wrote "There is No Easy Way Towards Earth" when I first started coming into and accepting my own transmasculinity, and that came with a lot of complicated feelings. There was clarity, of course, but also fear. As an Asian American, there's already the experience of being the "perpetual outsider" in a Western country, and it's compounded when you come out as queer/trans. You can't fit into polite, genteel society if you try—and I don't think you should; but it can be painful and lonely regardless, especially if you are rejected by your loved ones, if the people you trust the most in the world see your transition as a betrayal. I am someone who's almost catatonically allergic to confrontation—a weakness I'm working on overcoming—and I tend to run away a lot; which is why, at the beginning of the story, we find Terrence running away from having done something unspeakable, perhaps unforgivable.
During this time, I had to think about how to broach the topic of transness with my family. I'd been living a double life as a queer person for quite some time, but medically transitioning is not something I can hide, so it made me face some old memories and relationships I'd been trying to avoid. Inevitably, I started thinking about my maternal grandfather (whom, like Terrence, I called A-gong). I'd been very close with him during my childhood, but we lost contact with each other after he moved back to China, and he passed away before I was really able to tell him about who I was. I've always regretted that, but there was also a part of me that was afraid of what his reaction would be—if he would reject me like others would, if he thought my current life trajectory was a disappointment because of the promise he saw in me as a child. He was a kind and generous man so I really don't think that would've been the case, but fear is irrational, and sometimes it lies in the doubt, the unknowing.
The most obvious manifestation of my fears in "There is No Easy Way Towards Earth" is, of course, the scene where Terrence has to go to the bathroom. I'm still scared of going to the men's room, to be honest—I don't believe in passing, but I don't "pass," and I'm already an anxious sort, so my brain races through the various horrific thoughts of, they'll discover me, they'll find me out for the imposter I am, etc. Which I think ties together the central thread running throughout the story: Terrence as the perpetual outsider, as an "imposter" of a kind with his fake ID (even though that's his true self), getting eaten away by a place he can't escape from. There's a metaphor for the lived experience of a trans person of color in America in there somewhere; but on a more general level, maybe it's a story about how you can never truly outrun your past.
You’re the Editor in Chief of eggplant tears, an online magazine exploring transmasculinity through prose, poetry, essay and art. Your first issue is out now and free to read. What are your long-term publication plans and goals for eggplant tears?
Quite simply, I think the long-term goal is just to publish as much work as we can! There's always a dearth of readily-available information about the trans experience, even though there are so many of us out there, and so many of us who are creating beautiful, desperately necessary work. I was joking with a friend once that the best and most accurate information about medical transition is located in several crowd-sourced Google Docs that you can only find linked in Reddit or Twitter threads—but I think this is part of the problem here, that so many of our stories aren't taken seriously by the establishments and institutions making the rules that affect our lives.
I am transmasculine, so I'm biased—specifically, I want to see more transmasculine work in the world, I want to know what it's like for people like me, even if our experiences don't match up exactly. In particular, I thought it was necessary to provide transmasculine folks a way to be communal with each other. There is a misguided sentiment some people hold that we "transition into privilege/patriarchy" so we don't need as much support as other queer/trans folks, but that's absolutely untrue. Everyone deserves community, especially those doing something as monumental as deviating from mainstream society's accepted norms. I wanted to do my part and create a place where that community could thrive. eggplant tears is a drop in the sea of noise, but I hope that, in its small way, it provides a mirror, or at least a scrap drawer of notes collected by a bunch of oddballs who love you.
What does your writing routine look like? Do you have an office? A preferred coffee shop? The back of the bus? Standing under your neighbor’s eaves, avoiding the rain?
I'm one of those dreaded creatures of anti-habit who needs to mix up their routine when they get bored, so I don't have one set in stone, and the ones I do fall into come about in random fashion. Recently my writing routine has been to walk a mile to one of my neighborhood cafes (because I've got to get those daily steps in) on a Saturday night, and working on drafts or revisions while I sip on an evening cappuccino. I've been enjoying going on Saturday nights in particular because the streets are lively and exciting to walk through, but the cafe itself is quiet, visited only by industrious students or groups of friends looking for a chill hangout spot.
What does “Weird” mean to you, in the context of storytelling? And what creators/experiences helped sculpt this definition?
To me, "Weird" tends to mean something that feels a bit "off," but can't necessarily be explained by the story. A sense of unease, perhaps, even when there isn't anything wrong or terrible happening on the surface. I love it when a storyteller makes me traverse unsteady ground in a narrative or world that they've built. I read a lot of Haruki Murakami and Theater of the Absurd when growing up, and I think you can see how those have influenced my definition.
On the Tenebrous Discord, we ask everyone to introduce themselves as a Film-meets-Music Artist. It doesn’t have to be your favorite, and don’t spend too much time overthinking it; now GO.
In the Mood for Love x Lady Gaga. I promise it makes sense (somehow).
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BRAVE NEW WEIRD: The Best New Weird Horror, Vol. One, is out February 6th. Preorder it here.
