Ten Questions for James Sallis: A Journey Through Crime Fiction and Beyond
A Quick Dive into the Influences, Inspirations, and Impact of a Literary Giant
James Sallis is an American crime writer, poet, critic, musicologist and musician, best known for his series of novels featuring the detective character Lew Griffin and set in New Orleans, and for his 2005 novel Drive, which was adapted into a 2011 film.
What was the first thing you remember reading?
Those I actually remember are books from my older brother’s shelves, many of them from the Science Fiction Book Club; specifically, Robert Heinlein’s Puppet Masters, some Clifford Simak and Fredric Brown, a copy of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction with “Born of Man and Woman” by Richard Matheson. Matheson was 22 when he published that story. I was six or seven.
When did you start writing?
Intently, not until college days, though I dabbled at it, especially at poetry, earlier. I’d sit in the student union writing horrible little copycat stories—then one day broke through, came up with “Kazoo,” my first published story, soon to appear in New Worlds.
What was the inspiration for Drive?
For years I’d been declaring that I’d like to write a contemporary version of the old Gold Medal books, something with that kind of muscularity and momentum, but updated a bit and with something of the more vertical approaches of literary fiction. Dennis McMillan gave me the chance when he asked for a story for his anthology Measures of Poison. A direct influence at the time was the great French writer Jean-Patrick Manchette, whom I had just discovered. There’s an essay on Manchette in my new book Difficult Lives/Hitching Rides.
What artist/writer inspires you the most?
Theodore Sturgeon. He made me want to write and caused me to believe I might be able to do so. I return to his work regularly.
What piece of writing/music are you proudest of?
The poetry, which is likely the purest distillate of who I am as a person and as a writer; of the novels, Willnot and Others of My Kind.
Do you think your environment, where you live, has an effect on type of art you create?
No. My writing does rely upon and carry in it a strong sense of place, but I’ve lived many places—New Orleans, Iowa, London, New York, New Orleans again, Texas, Arizona for many years now—and carry those places within me.
Is it easier for you to create if given an assignment or does it get in the way of your creativity?
I’ve never had much luck writing to order, whether that directive came from outside or from myself. The joy and pleasure for me lies in getting out of the way, discovering where the story or poem wants to go, letting it carry me along.
Where do you think the world of literature/popular culture will be like in ten years?
No one knows. Squinting as hard as we can, we can barely make out that vague shape around the next corner—and are probably wrong about that.
What was the oddest thing you’ve ever been asked to do in your writing career? A specific assignment/books for a publisher?
I don’t know about the oddest, but among the most memorable was an offer from Terry Carr at Ace to write the second Prisoner novel following upon Tom Disch’s first, which I declined. This was a good decision for the time, I was a short-story writer and knew squat about writing novels, but I’ve often thought “What if I had?”
What projects are you working on now?
A third story in a cycle that began with the novelettes “Dayenu” (Lady Churchhill’s Rosebud Wristlet) and “Carriers” (Interzone). A long story, possibly a novel, titled “Cutdown,” with two female points of view. The novel Backwater. Several new stories recently appeared and are forthcoming in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction (where I continue as a regular books columnist), North American Review, Analog, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Xavier Review, various anthologies. The story collection Dayenu and Other Stories will be out from New Rivers Press this fall, also the collection of critical pieces mentioned earlier, Difficult Lives/Hitching Rides, from Soho Syndicate.
