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Bradley Denton opens his big fat mouth about media excess, political correctness and the craft of writing


By Dorman T. Shindler

A lthough his first short story ("Music of the Spheres," in a 1984 edition of the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction) didn't cause major shock waves, Bradley Clayton Denton did catch the SF and fantasy world off guard with his first novel: an alternative-world SF novel entitled Wrack and Roll (Questar, 1986), which features heavy-metal musicians as heroes.

A full-time writer who was born and raised in Kansas but now lives with his wife in Austin, Texas, Denton put his knowledge of music to even better use with his second novel, Buddy Holly Is Alive and Well on Ganymede (Morrow, 1991), which won a Campbell Award in 1992. Each successive novel has been so completely different that it could be mistaken for the work of another writer—and the books have even gained the attention of filmmakers in Hollywood, which has optioned rights to several of them. At the moment, Buddy Holly, Denton advised, "has the serious interest of an independent production company with a track record of getting things done." His other novels include Blackburn (Saint Martin's, 1993), the chronicle of a Bible-thumping serial killer; Lunatics (Saint Martin's, 1996), a comedic fantasy about love, sex, family and strange goddesses; and his latest, Laughin' Boy (Subterranean Press, 2005), which tells the story of Danny Clayton, whose unfortunate, panicked reaction to a terrorist attack earns him unwanted notoriety and involvement (along with two other unfortunate souls known as "the Racist Ranger" and "Porno Girl") in a government plot to catch the bad guys. Denton's equally impressive, long list of short stories is also eclectic, ranging from SF ("The Territory") to fantasy ("The Sin-Eater of the Kaw"), horror ("Bloody Bunnies") and most things in between. Many of them have been collected in The Calvin Coolidge Home for Dead Comedians and A Conflagration Artist (Wildside Press, 1994), both of which won a 1995 World Fantasy Award for best collection in a joint publication, and One Day Closer to Death (Saint Martin's, 1998).

In a recent e-mail interview, Denton, who will be celebrating his 25th wedding anniversary later this year in Prague, took time out to discuss Laughin' Boy and "Sergeant Chip," a recent novella that has garnered a nomination for the Hugo Award and won the Theodore Sturgeon Award for 2005.



Laughin' Boy is a wildly off-kilter novel that deals with media excess, racism, marital and familial strife and political correctness (among other things) while putting people with mental disorders in the role of superheroes. What was the impetus for this unusual work?

Denton: Laughin' Boy has its roots in a lot of things: Talk radio, daytime television, Internet chat rooms, the 1995 bombing of the Murrah Federal Building, anti-government and White Power hate groups (such as the Posse Comitatus; the Gun, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord; the Freemen; the "Republic of Texas"; the Montana Militia; and others), cable news networks, rap music, the fragmentation of the American family, sound bites masquerading as insight and vigilante video clips. It has its roots at the crossroads where pop culture, the daily news and individual lives collide in a bloody mess.

In short, the impetus for Laughin' Boy was everywhere I looked.



Laughin' Boy certainly addresses a lot of our modern-day angst and excess via the media: TV, radio and the Internet. Was that part of your intent when sitting to write this novel, or did all of that flow naturally from the book once the idea (and plot, and characters) had gelled?

Denton: It all came together before I wrote a word. Every time I watched television coverage of a tragedy, for example, I was struck by the fact that the media do their best to invade the privacy and expose the grief of the people whose lives have been most affected and damaged—but then, once the story is over and the sensationalism has all drained away, they abandon those people to oblivion. Yet those people's lives go on. What happens to them then?

So in Laughin' Boy, I set out to write a story about average people who, through no fault of their own, become sensationalized images for the mass media. And just as Danny and Amanda are characters in that story, so too are the figures who represent the media. Without all of them there, doing what they do, it wouldn't be the same story.



What made you decide to use the unusual—but highly effective—structure for Laughin' Boy (i.e., chapters that are told from the point of view of a news camera, etc.)? Reading it, one is reminded of The USA Trilogy by Dos Passos, remembering that he did something similar with his "newsreel" and "camera eye" sections.

Denton: My hope is that the structure of the novel is inextricable from the story itself. They're one and the same. That's how I thought of Laughin' Boy while writing it, and that's how I think of it now.

While I was outlining the book prior to beginning the actual writing, I too thought of Dos Passos—and I also thought of the Dos-Passos-like structure that John Brunner employed in Stand On Zanzibar. Both of those authors did a marvelous job of illuminating the worlds of their novels with this device.

But I wanted to do something a little different. In Laughin' Boy, I tried to be sure that each viewpoint section didn't just illuminate the world in which the story takes place, but was also an integral part of the story itself. In other words, whenever something happens in a "Video Clip" or a "Sound Bite," there are repercussions (some great, some slight) for Danny and the rest of the Odd Squad. Furthermore, some of the characters (such as "Jimmy Joe Bob" and "Toebunny") who appear in the early media sections of the book also reappear at later points—either to interact with the primary characters, or to reveal how they themselves have been affected by the media onslaught and the events surrounding it.

One other note about the book's various viewpoint sections: The galleys that were sent to reviewers have every section typeset in the same font. But in the published version of Laughin' Boy, each variety will have a different typeface. In other words, every "Newsgroup Post" will be set in one font; every "Episode" will be set in another; every "Video Clip" will be set in another; and so on.

Some readers may find this jarring—but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I want the font changes to create a "channel-switching" effect ... and I want the experience of reading Laughin' Boy to replicate, in print, the experience of multivoiced, multi-imaged, nonstop electronic media exposure.

So instead of a table of contents, Laughin' Boy will have a channel guide.



This new novel seems like a response, in part, to 9/11 and the new awareness of terrorist violence in the minds of Americans; not to mention the newfound political correctness that seems to have oozed out of this period. Is it fair to say that you, unlike many writers—Jane Smiley, for one—were not so traumatized by that horrific event that you couldn't write any more?

Denton: Laughin' Boy was written before 9/11.

In fact, the published version of the book will include an author's note that wasn't in reviewers' galleys: "Although this first edition of Laughin' Boy is appearing in 2005, its text (except for minor revisions) was completed prior to September 11, 2001."

I wrote the book between 1997 and 2000 (most of it in 1999 and 2000), then did a rewrite in 2001. In fact, I was sitting down to do the final rewrite on the final section on the morning of 9/11.

For many months thereafter, I was told that no publisher, especially those based in New York, could touch Laughin' Boy because no one would want to publish a satirical dark comedy about terrorism on American soil. A few New York-based editors wanted it anyway ... but their publishers said no.

Then, last year, Bill Schafer at Subterranean Press heard about Laughin' Boy through the grapevine and approached me about it. So I'm very happy and grateful that the book is being published at last.

As for my own reactions, as a writer, to 9/11: For quite some time after that day, I did find it difficult to work. Part of that reaction, however, stemmed not from my own emotional trauma but from my sense that the memories of the victims deserved something better than the barrage of brutal and ill-conceived words, images and deeds that immediately followed the event—a barrage that continues even now.

Rather, I thought that their memories deserved words and deeds that were the result of rational, respectful contemplation.

I still think so.

And after my own period of mourning and contemplation, I began writing again.

Laughin' Boy, however, had already been completed.



Your most recent piece of short fiction, the novella "Sergeant Chip," is up for both a Hugo Award and a Theodore Sturgeon Award. What was the inspiration for this story?

Denton: I hope you'll forgive me for giving a non-answer in this case.

Unlike Laughin' Boy, in which the story is necessarily told by many voices, "Sergeant Chip" (which appeared in Gordon Van Gelder's F&SF) is a story told by one voice and one voice only. And for now, at least, I believe I should let that voice speak for itself.

(By the way: Also unlike Laughin' Boy, "Sergeant Chip" is something I wrote well after 9/11.)



In a story told from a point of view that makes it particularly easy to form an emotional attachment to the narrator (who doesn't love dogs?), the part in which soldiers mistakenly fire upon innocents is one of two particularly moving scenes. Were recent events in Iraq weighing on your mind when you sat down to write this scene? Or were the war scenes—which are pretty nonspecific—meant to be more generic than that?

Denton: I'm going to partially (well, mostly) avoid answering this question as well.

What I'll allow myself to say is that the narrator of "Sergeant Chip" doesn't care what country he's in. He only cares about the people who are there with him.



Sgt. Chip is one of the finest canine characters to be featured in a genre story since Blood in "A Boy and His Dog." Harlan Ellison mentioned that Blood was inspired by his dog Ahbhu and actor Ronald Coleman, among others. What (or who) was the inspiration for the character of Sgt. Chip?

Denton: This one I'll answer.

I am indebted to Watson (lab/setter mix, 1984-1999), Misty (collie/lab mix, 1968-1983) and Chipper (shepherd/hound mix, 1964-1967). (Watson also served as inspiration for the character of Ringo, the cyborg Doberman pinscher, in my novel Buddy Holly Is Alive and Well on Ganymede.)

I am further indebted to my current companions Lucy (hound/lab mix), Linus (hound/lab mix) and Tillie (terrier mix).

The character of Sergeant Chip was also informed by the true stories of the many dogs who have served in America's wars, especially those in World War II and the Vietnam conflict.

The government treated them as equipment—but to the soldiers with whom they served, they were lifesavers and friends.



Like Steven Boyett and Michael Bishop, you've always been one of those impossible-to-pin-down writers. Your stories have covered every genre—horror, fantasy, SF, crime fiction and mainstream—as have your novels; what's more, none of them have been remotely the same. Clearly, you have the talent and ability to write a series of novels (thus building up the sort of expectant audience that publishers love); you probably could have done so with the Blackburn character, which was pretty popular with readers. Have you ever been tempted to do so?

Denton: I've thought about it in the past, and I'm thinking about it again now.

My reluctance to write a series has been based on my fear of growing bored with my own themes and characters. That also explains my "something different every time" approach ... because that way, I'm never bored. And if I'm never bored, then (theoretically) my readers will never be bored either.

Of course, you have to get the readers before you can worry about boring them. And it may be that my shotgun-blast pattern of career choices hasn't been the best way of doing that.

Still, I doubt that I'm capable of writing a series of connected books simply because that would be a good career move. So if I do it, it'll be because I'll know in advance what each book will be ... and because I'll be excited about every one of them.



You write equally well in both short fiction and novel length. Do you prefer one over the other?

Denton: From a creative standpoint, I love 'em both. They each have their joys and difficulties.

Joys: Different stories need to be told at different lengths, and one of the pleasures of writing both short fiction and novels is discovering what those lengths need to be.

Difficulties: The biggest downsides to writing short fiction are the small paychecks and small audiences. And the biggest downside to writing novels is the awareness that a huge investment of time and effort may come to naught. (Or several years may pass before it comes to anything else.)

But you don't think about any of that while you're working. You might think about it when you wake up in the morning, at lunchtime, or when you go to bed at night. But not while you're actually working. Not while you're writing the story.

I don't, anyway.



Finally, what projects—novel and/or short fiction—are you currently working on?

Denton: I've become terribly superstitious about revealing the details of works in progress. Every time I've done so, something bad has happened to the project or to something related to it.

For example, I discussed specific aspects of Laughin' Boy—including the title and the fact that I had already written the first chapter and an outline—in a Nova Express interview back in 1997. Then, for reasons I can't discuss (because I can't remember them), I wasn't able to finish the book for another four years. And it's only now being published after yet another four years.

As a result, I'm convinced that Laughin' Boy's eight years of limbo were due to the fact that I opened my big fat mouth about it.

Therefore, irrational though it may be, that's not a mistake I'll make again. So the most I can say—even to an interviewer as kind as you have been—is that I may or may not be working on something long, as well as on a few somethings that may or may not be shorter.

But I do promise that there's something.

There's always something.

And with luck, it'll be something you'll want to read.

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