{"id":128543,"date":"2018-08-20T09:00:54","date_gmt":"2018-08-20T13:00:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=128543"},"modified":"2018-08-20T17:24:49","modified_gmt":"2018-08-20T21:24:49","slug":"one-question-interview-shruti-swamy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/08\/20\/one-question-interview-shruti-swamy\/","title":{"rendered":"One-Question Interview: Shruti Swamy"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em>Shruti Swamy\u2019s story in the Summer issue, \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/fiction\/7174\/a-house-is-a-body-shruti-swamy\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">A House Is a Body<\/a>,\u201d<\/em>\u00a0<i>blazes with the heat of a\u00a0California wildfire. A mother who has been warned by firefighters to evacuate her home descends into a\u00a0spiral of thought so intense that you can practically feel the pages singing as you read. There was much we wanted to ask her, but we limited ourselves to a single question.<\/i><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/shruti-swamy.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-128545\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/shruti-swamy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"844\" height=\"500\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/shruti-swamy.jpg 844w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/shruti-swamy-300x178.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/shruti-swamy-768x455.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">INTERVIEWER<\/p>\n<p>Your story\u00a0is an intense, dark tale of motherhood, grief, and madness. As an expectant mother yourself, how do the acts of creating life and creating art interplay? Are both a certain form of madness?<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">SWAMY<\/p>\n<p>For the last few weeks, I\u2019ve thought often about this question, which I had so eagerly volunteered to answer, thinking that as a new mother, I would have suddenly gained the insight I was looking for during the years before I had my baby. In truth, probably because of the sleepless nights, I feel like I have less of an answer now than I did before my daughter arrived, with one exception\u2014her name. All through my pregnancy, I wrote my daughter\u2019s name in my journal like a schoolgirl with a crush. It was a name so strange\u2014singular\u2014to my ear that I couldn\u2019t imagine that anyone else in the world had, in this combination, already worn it. The act of writing again and again this name was like dreaming. Though I could see the changes happening to my body, they felt somehow strangely abstract, not unlike the way a story first feels when it begins inside me. An image, an interaction, an opening, and then the glow of possibility\u2014not of the finished story but of the feeling of listening, following. Pregnancy to me felt like that, a work of the mind as well as of the body, even as the child felt impossible, as stories often feel until they fully arrive.\u00a0<!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Four weeks ago, the baby\u2014fair-haired, squalling, hot, and real\u2014was placed on my chest as the doctors sewed up the wound they had opened to bring her to me. The name we had chosen was now printed on her documents in government ink. Seeing her name on the page was spooky\u2014as though through the alchemical act of writing, I had conjured her into being. Though in fact, like many stories I\u2019ve written, she was nothing like I expected, not the girl I had dreamed but a gorgeous stranger. I couldn\u2019t have written\u00a0<em>her<\/em>, and yet I did.<\/p>\n<p>Many times I have felt when I\u2019m writing as though I\u2019ve opened the space for a story to happen, then I\u2019ve called for something, and something has answered. The work happens around that central mystery\u2014that I could ask the void, What happens? and receive, again and again, an answer. From where does that answer spring? Yet if I was once tempted to compare artistic creation to the creation of a child, I hesitate now. Four weeks of being a mother, and nothing seems less like a metaphor than a baby. Holding her to my breast, my body still so large\u2014strange\u2014from my pregnancy, and she so small, so pale, and dainty, always arranging her tiny fingers into mudra-like gestures, I feel like Koko the gorilla and her little kitten, fully, almost frighteningly mammal. Yes, it is a madness, a madness of the body\u2014at least it seems so now. Writing, for all of the soaring feelings it has offered me, has never felt this way, for I could control it, at least ride it. To me, writing seems now like the opposite of madness\u2014that is to say, the opposite of motherhood\u2014a tall cool thing the mind does patiently or effortfully, but without the body, alone.<\/p>\n<p>I don\u2019t mean to say that motherhood has no mind in it\u2014only that it hasn\u2019t for me, not yet. And it\u2019s so easy to devalue the work the body does, as though only mind work is worthy. All I know is that it will, somehow, change. You don\u2019t get to watch a story grow up, once it\u2019s written. It stays fixed in the world like a moth on a pin while you keep going. But a baby\u2014already, there is a brightness in her eyes she wasn\u2019t born with. Already, her mouth is shaping new sounds. And I, too, am new. Wrecked and rebuilt.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>Shruti Swamy\u2019s fiction has been included in the 2016 and 2017 editions of <\/em>The O. Henry Prize Stories<em>. She lives in San Francisco.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Shruti Swamy\u2019s story in the Summer issue, \u201cA House Is a Body,\u201d\u00a0blazes with the heat of a\u00a0California wildfire. A mother who has been warned by firefighters to evacuate her home descends into a\u00a0spiral of thought so intense that you can practically feel the pages singing as you read. There was much we wanted to ask [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[907],"tags":[35068,9489,5452,35067,35122,1072,23104,1572,34312,35120,35121,75],"class_list":["post-128543","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-at-work","tag-a-house-is-a-body","tag-babies","tag-baby","tag-california-wildfires","tag-child-rearing","tag-creative-writing","tag-inside-the-issue","tag-motherhood","tag-shruti-swamy","tag-summer-2018","tag-summer-2018-issue","tag-writing"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>One-Question Interview: Shruti Swamy by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Shruti Swamy\u2019s story, \u201cA House Is a Body,\u201d\u00a0blazes with the heat of a\u00a0California wildfire. 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