Harper Hull's story, "The Comfort of Dead Whales" is FIX IT BROKEN's Fashionable Fiction winner for Issue#1.
Greg Dybec: Thanks for talking with me, Harper. I guess we’ll start with the obvious, your Fashionable Fiction winning story, “The Comfort of Dead Whales.” Something about your piece, and especially the image of the man encased within the whale carcass was moving and unforgettable. It was truly a moment that had me asking myself, “why has this not occurred in literature before?” Anything you want to say about the story as a whole?
Harper Hull: Well, first of all I have to say thank you, Greg, for choosing my story to be a part of the first issue of FIB. I was absolutely delighted the day I heard from you that it had won the Fashionable Fiction slot - I may have done a quick squinty-eyed sea captain jig in the kitchen. As to the story idea - the whole thing was that Duncan was trying to find islands within islands within islands, continually looking for somewhere he could actually make this terrible, doomed relationship flourish. In the end it's him, alone, in this substitute coffin made from bone, and he's actually happy for a moment. I did once see a dead whale covered in gulls, much like it is described in 'Comfort,' whilst camping in the Faroe Islands, and the image is as vivid in my mind today as it was the moment it happened. There was something terrifying about it and the idea of approaching this giant corpse, let along climbing into it, is sickening to me. I think it had to turn up in a story at some point, and this snapshot of love-induced insanity just seemed to be a great fit for it.
GD: Aside from the final scene, there were several other great moments in the piece. One of my favorites being Duncan’s thoughts early on, which focus on his detachment from the world and his questioning of if he’d even be aware of an apocalyptic occurrence. Were any of these thoughts derived from a moment you may have had, secluded and thinking somewhere?
HH: This last summer my wife and I spent a week way up high in the North Carolina mountains, near Asheville, in this enormous house that we had all to ourselves. It was more like a mansion than a house, gorgeous place. Totally isolated as well - the road to get up to it slowly deteriorated the higher it went, ending up as a tiny dirt path that the car barely fit on. When it reached the grounds of the house it suddenly transformed - like literally, abracadaba! - we drove under an archway, turned a corner and it was like stepping through the wardrobe to Narnia. The slopes were all immaculately landscaped, the trees were shaped, the grass was shorter and greener, and there was this incredible building towering over us at the end of the circular road. The place was perched on the very top of this mountain and the view from the third level deck was insane - nothing but densely forested mountain-top on either side, and a steep, curving valley below dropping down and out of sight amongst the trees. The only other visible building was a dot in the distance on a different mountain way, way off, and through some binoculars on a clear morning I could make it out as a horse ranch looking place. That was the only outside evidence of human life we had. We'd brought a good supply of food and drink with us, as getting to a store would have been quite the event, and it didn't take long for the strange thoughts to begin. In the night it was completely pitch black outside, if you turned off the house lights there was only the light of the moon and the sounds of the wildlife in the endless woods, including a huge pond full of very loud frogs just below us. Anywhere we turned lights on these enormous moths, most of them bigger than my hands, would come out of the black and cover the windows. I'm terrified of moths - or, I was, this was quite the shock treatment for it - and to see these monsters just a pane of glass away, brrrrrrrr, it was like that story 'The Mist' when the creatures first attack the grocery store. In the daytime we felt all camouflaged and hidden up there, but at night we were the only lights around, huge windows everywhere too, and it felt completely exposed, even though there was no-one else anywhere nearby. In the early mornings you could go outside and the clouds would surround the building which was one of the most bizarre feelings I have ever had - standing on this big deck with a cup of coffee and not even being able to see the ground over the railings. That's where the idea of complete and utter isolation took shape - we talked about all these things that could happen and we wouldn't even know about them way up there. Everybody could have gone 'Walking Dead' down below for all we knew. It would have taken a zombie quite a while to stumble up that mountain. We did decide that it was somewhat of a formidable fortress - raised up, great overlook down onto the one small road - and would be a pretty sweet place to hold up in the event of some humanity-altering outbreak. Looking back everything about that house was strange - mostly in a good way - but over the last few nights there some, er, spooky things started happening and we actually bolted one night early to get home! I think the experiences and feelings of that week will influence all sorts of stories for years to come.
Harper Hull: Well, first of all I have to say thank you, Greg, for choosing my story to be a part of the first issue of FIB. I was absolutely delighted the day I heard from you that it had won the Fashionable Fiction slot - I may have done a quick squinty-eyed sea captain jig in the kitchen. As to the story idea - the whole thing was that Duncan was trying to find islands within islands within islands, continually looking for somewhere he could actually make this terrible, doomed relationship flourish. In the end it's him, alone, in this substitute coffin made from bone, and he's actually happy for a moment. I did once see a dead whale covered in gulls, much like it is described in 'Comfort,' whilst camping in the Faroe Islands, and the image is as vivid in my mind today as it was the moment it happened. There was something terrifying about it and the idea of approaching this giant corpse, let along climbing into it, is sickening to me. I think it had to turn up in a story at some point, and this snapshot of love-induced insanity just seemed to be a great fit for it.
GD: Aside from the final scene, there were several other great moments in the piece. One of my favorites being Duncan’s thoughts early on, which focus on his detachment from the world and his questioning of if he’d even be aware of an apocalyptic occurrence. Were any of these thoughts derived from a moment you may have had, secluded and thinking somewhere?
HH: This last summer my wife and I spent a week way up high in the North Carolina mountains, near Asheville, in this enormous house that we had all to ourselves. It was more like a mansion than a house, gorgeous place. Totally isolated as well - the road to get up to it slowly deteriorated the higher it went, ending up as a tiny dirt path that the car barely fit on. When it reached the grounds of the house it suddenly transformed - like literally, abracadaba! - we drove under an archway, turned a corner and it was like stepping through the wardrobe to Narnia. The slopes were all immaculately landscaped, the trees were shaped, the grass was shorter and greener, and there was this incredible building towering over us at the end of the circular road. The place was perched on the very top of this mountain and the view from the third level deck was insane - nothing but densely forested mountain-top on either side, and a steep, curving valley below dropping down and out of sight amongst the trees. The only other visible building was a dot in the distance on a different mountain way, way off, and through some binoculars on a clear morning I could make it out as a horse ranch looking place. That was the only outside evidence of human life we had. We'd brought a good supply of food and drink with us, as getting to a store would have been quite the event, and it didn't take long for the strange thoughts to begin. In the night it was completely pitch black outside, if you turned off the house lights there was only the light of the moon and the sounds of the wildlife in the endless woods, including a huge pond full of very loud frogs just below us. Anywhere we turned lights on these enormous moths, most of them bigger than my hands, would come out of the black and cover the windows. I'm terrified of moths - or, I was, this was quite the shock treatment for it - and to see these monsters just a pane of glass away, brrrrrrrr, it was like that story 'The Mist' when the creatures first attack the grocery store. In the daytime we felt all camouflaged and hidden up there, but at night we were the only lights around, huge windows everywhere too, and it felt completely exposed, even though there was no-one else anywhere nearby. In the early mornings you could go outside and the clouds would surround the building which was one of the most bizarre feelings I have ever had - standing on this big deck with a cup of coffee and not even being able to see the ground over the railings. That's where the idea of complete and utter isolation took shape - we talked about all these things that could happen and we wouldn't even know about them way up there. Everybody could have gone 'Walking Dead' down below for all we knew. It would have taken a zombie quite a while to stumble up that mountain. We did decide that it was somewhat of a formidable fortress - raised up, great overlook down onto the one small road - and would be a pretty sweet place to hold up in the event of some humanity-altering outbreak. Looking back everything about that house was strange - mostly in a good way - but over the last few nights there some, er, spooky things started happening and we actually bolted one night early to get home! I think the experiences and feelings of that week will influence all sorts of stories for years to come.
GD: Being the Fashionable Fiction winner, how is it having your concept turned into something tangible and wearable?
HH: Ridiculously cool! I'm not in any way, shape or form an artist, and couldn't draw something if my life depended on it, so seeing someone as talented as Kristian make something visually based on words I wrote down is epic! I'm as impressed by and jealous of great artists in the same way I am of great singers and musicians - I wish I could do it, I know I can't, so I just stand back and adore their work. I'm planning on putting one of the shirts in a frame, like footballers do with jerseys, and hanging it on the wall alongside my favourite memorabilia. Another one I'll wear the hell out of until there's nothing but several good-looking threads and one seagull left.
GD: I won’t make this question too specific, but are there any stories or moments in the issue that you have particularly enjoyed?
HH: Honestly, the whole issue is wonderful. When I first saw your announcement for the birth of FIB, for some reason I thought "this is going to be really good" and it is! I read every piece in order as they were listed and the diversity in the subject matter and styles were a lot of fun to move through, story by story. Matthew Dexter's disturbing carnival setting, the immensely evocative train tableau by Robert Vaughan, Crystal Beran's "ruthless day" on the water - you gathered together a group of very talented writers, and if there's a common theme or idea it's some single moment in an individual's journey acting as a fulcrum for an entire lifetime of regret or change. You can see it in the words, story after story, lives spinning like plates, centered on a tiny moment that doesn't seem like it should support them. I also loved Ryder Collins' Homegirl and her screen door identikit-man recollects, Sadie and Grandma Fan from Zoe Alexandra; rich, deep stories in what is really just a few words.
GD: You’re originally from England, but now living in South Carolina. How much does your British culture still influence your writing? In the same regard, has moving to South Carolina affected your writing at all?
HH: The Englishness is and always will be very prominent. I spent my 'formative years' all over Britain, either living in different places or taking trips with family and friends. I think I managed to get to most of the places in Britain at least once, from the freezing Scottish islands down to the pirate towns of Cornwall, looking out from the violent Welsh coast and riding barges down the lazy Norfolk broads. It's incredible how much is packed into our tiny little island and I honestly think I could explore it for a lifetime and not ever get bored. My sense of humor, general outlook, and social conditioning are all extremely English and I hold them close for better or worse. South Carolina, I ended up here because of the missus who is a local and wanted to move home from Seattle, where we met and lived, to be near her family. It's a very alien place to me, even after several years. It has definitely given me an opening into some things I don't think I could have truly understood from the outside - the whole Southern Gothic vibe, I completely get that now. The 'sweltering heat' kind of fiction too - all soaked sundresses and short-tempered farmhands, lemonade on the porch and letting the night come in through wide open windows - that very southern tinged writing makes more sense. It's interesting to play around with those forms and slip them into the quiver alongside the northern England stuff.
GD: What are your next plans in regard to this indefinable realm of writing that we dwell in?
HH: I feel like I've spent the last couple of years trying on lots of different coats, trying to find the ones I feel comfortable in. The field has definitely been significantly narrowed down and, as far as short fiction goes, there are some things I've done that I'll never do again and others that I want to explore and play with a whole lot more. I think shorts are my future - this will include concept collections, I love those books and want to create my own. So many of my favourite books are concept short story collections, it makes sense, really. I don't think big long novels are for me, at least not right now. I love the experience of having a fling with a character for a week - throwing them against the walls of dark buildings and chasing them into lighthouses, ravaging them in sunny fields and breaking their hearts on the subway - before moving on without a thought to new ones. I want to get better with each piece, too, I'm not close to full throttle yet and I can sense this great, noisy black vacuum ahead just waiting to be filled with...something.
GD: You’re originally from England, but now living in South Carolina. How much does your British culture still influence your writing? In the same regard, has moving to South Carolina affected your writing at all?
HH: The Englishness is and always will be very prominent. I spent my 'formative years' all over Britain, either living in different places or taking trips with family and friends. I think I managed to get to most of the places in Britain at least once, from the freezing Scottish islands down to the pirate towns of Cornwall, looking out from the violent Welsh coast and riding barges down the lazy Norfolk broads. It's incredible how much is packed into our tiny little island and I honestly think I could explore it for a lifetime and not ever get bored. My sense of humor, general outlook, and social conditioning are all extremely English and I hold them close for better or worse. South Carolina, I ended up here because of the missus who is a local and wanted to move home from Seattle, where we met and lived, to be near her family. It's a very alien place to me, even after several years. It has definitely given me an opening into some things I don't think I could have truly understood from the outside - the whole Southern Gothic vibe, I completely get that now. The 'sweltering heat' kind of fiction too - all soaked sundresses and short-tempered farmhands, lemonade on the porch and letting the night come in through wide open windows - that very southern tinged writing makes more sense. It's interesting to play around with those forms and slip them into the quiver alongside the northern England stuff.
GD: What are your next plans in regard to this indefinable realm of writing that we dwell in?
HH: I feel like I've spent the last couple of years trying on lots of different coats, trying to find the ones I feel comfortable in. The field has definitely been significantly narrowed down and, as far as short fiction goes, there are some things I've done that I'll never do again and others that I want to explore and play with a whole lot more. I think shorts are my future - this will include concept collections, I love those books and want to create my own. So many of my favourite books are concept short story collections, it makes sense, really. I don't think big long novels are for me, at least not right now. I love the experience of having a fling with a character for a week - throwing them against the walls of dark buildings and chasing them into lighthouses, ravaging them in sunny fields and breaking their hearts on the subway - before moving on without a thought to new ones. I want to get better with each piece, too, I'm not close to full throttle yet and I can sense this great, noisy black vacuum ahead just waiting to be filled with...something.
GD: What does the term ‘Fix it Broken’ mean to you?
HH: Deconstruction of the blah. Break something seemingly perfect and pointless down, snapping and cracking at the miniscule flaws and the possibly slightly imperfect joints, put it back together with your own eye the best you can. It won't look or feel like it did, it will be broken and obviously so, but hopefully it'll also be a hell of a lot more interesting and purposeful. That's how I see it and it'll be interesting to see how other people sum it up.
GD: Thanks for Chatting with me, Harper. It’s been a pleasure and once again, congratulations. Assuming that you are going to say cheers, I’ll say it first. Cheers.
HH: You bounder! Thanks Greg, and as a reader I can't wait to see what you get together for the next issue. Here's to a great and heavy future for FIB.
Visit Harper Here.
Read "The Comfort of Dead Whales" Here.
Help FIX IT BROKEN maintain its ability to bring you Fashionable Fiction by purchasing "The Comfort of Dead Whales" T-shirt Here.
HH: You bounder! Thanks Greg, and as a reader I can't wait to see what you get together for the next issue. Here's to a great and heavy future for FIB.
Visit Harper Here.
Read "The Comfort of Dead Whales" Here.
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