Maya Alexandri is the author of the new story collection The Plague Cycle. She also has written the novel The Celebration Husband, and her work has appeared in a variety of publications, including Scarlet Leaf Review and Dime Show Review.
Q: What was the inspiration for your story collection The
Plague Cycle?
A: I like to run. When I run, I often listen to music and
allow my imagination to conjure fantastical montages.
Years ago, when running on a treadmill, listening to
something—I don’t remember what—I imagined a group of people traversing an
impenetrable landscape, running from something, to something—it was a montage,
the narrative was not defined—and using a hologram of a massive monster to
protect themselves.
The idea was that they were vulnerable, on foot, running
through this inhospitable, stark landscape, and armed only with this capacity
to unleash a horror to scare anyone who might intend to harm them.
Much later, when I was writing the first story in The Plague
Cycle, “The Sudd,” I was again running on a treadmill, and I remembered my
fantasy.
By then, that fantasy montage had been hobnobbing in my
brain with Tayeb Salih’s brilliant novel, Season of Migration to the North,
which I first read in 1993 and have read repeatedly ever since; Helen Epstein’s
keen reporting on the 2014 Ebola outbreak in The New York Review of Books;
Richard Preston’s excellent account of Ebola in Sierre Leone in The New Yorker;
my own experiences living and working in Kenya; and undoubtedly many other
images, imaginations, experiences, and works of art.
And from that multi-dimensional seed, The Plague Cycle grew.
Q: How was the book’s title chosen, and what does it signify
for you?
A: This is a tough question!
I do not know how the book’s title was chosen: the title came to me;
maybe it chose me. When I realized that the stories I had written were a
collection, I found the name in my head: The Plague Cycle. It felt right.
The title signifies to me Greek drama, epic stories—stories
that unfold across successive generations, recounting actions that reverberate,
their consequences rattling down the spine of human history.
Q: You’ve written a novel as well as stories—do you have a
preference?
A: I love the novel as a form. The novel can distill the
epic poem and its successor, the play—both communal, publicly-performed art
forms—into a private experience; what incredible power!
And life is long. Life stories are long, misshapen,
inconsistent, immersive, and persevering. Long attention spans are the most
comprehensively and deeply rewarded. Novels tell the story of a life.
But short stories are very satisfying to write. And—I
think—to read. Also, in The Plague Cycle, I surprised myself by using the short
form to producing something that feels, to me, like it delivers what I always
hope a novel will achieve.
So, in conclusion, if I have a preference, it is not very
well rationalized.
Q: Which authors do you particularly admire?
A: The older I get, the more I am overwhelmed by
Shakespeare, his breadth, imagination, and humor. I have been going through a
period of obsession with Homer’s The Iliad, which is a follow-up to my earlier
obsession with Ovid’s The Art of Love.
I am smitten by poets. Mary Ruefle’s poem “Blood Soup” is
one of many poems to which I return to drink the rejuvenating waters; Louis
MacNeice’s “Thalassa” is another such poem that has eased my agitation in
agitating times.
The novelists who transfix me are too numerous—we are a
species blessed by an extraordinary number of superb novelists!—a smattering of
my favorites include Jane Austen, George Eliot, P.G. Wodehouse, Henry James,
J.G. Ballard, Mario Vargas Llosa, and Javier Marias.
And George Orwell. He is dead, but maybe I am in love with
him anyway.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: I am writing a dark, narratively-lavish short story
inspired by a similar conceit that apparently fascinated Henry James and led
him to write The Turn of the Screw: a ghost that haunts an adult woman by
appearing to her child.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: That we live in a society where professional writing is
so frequently incompatible with economic self-sufficiency is grievous.
I have so much admiration for the courage, perseverance, and
kindness of writers who continue to contribute their gifts for the benefit of
readers despite the inadequacy of economic incentive.
The writer’s struggle is predictable; one aspect of being a
writer that has surprised me with its tremendous rewards has been interacting
with, reading, mentoring, and learning from younger writers.
I am in a Skype creative writing group with an incredibly
wonderful group of writers who studied at Goucher College.
Fellowship and friendship, giving and receiving, on this
writerly path, is a buoyant and (for me) unexpected parallel to communing with
other writers through their works (for example, dead writers, or writers
inaccessible because of geography or fame).
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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