What would happen if all birth control were made illegal and parents had to be licensed? Kristen Tsetsi talks about that and her profound new novel THE AGE OF THE CHILD.

I first met novelist Kristen Tsetsi because of a hilarious video she and writer R. J. Keller made about writing from Inside the Writer Studio/Paper Rats. Of course I wanted to be in one, so I stalked them both, got to do one, and a friendship was born.

Kristin's newest novel, THE AGE OF THE CHILD, is a provocative look at reproductive rights in our culture. And it's already racking up raves:


"A masterstroke in the dystopian revival, The Age of the Child is visionary, relevant, and unnervingly plausible." Brian Felsen, founder of BookBaby

"When we are through [reading The Age of the Child], we are thinking hard about things we’ve heard many say and things we’ve thought or said ourselves about children or parenting. We’re tempted into a conversation that we’ve not had with spouses, friends, or acquaintances." Elizabeth Marro, author of Casualties

"Tsetsi tells a story that will keep you reading and wondering late into the night." James C. Moore, MSNBC political commentator and co-author of the NYT best-selling Bush's Brain: How Karl Rove Made George W. Bush Presidential

"An intriguing look at a future that feels frighteningly possible." Journal Inquirer

"Smart writing, interesting characters, and just a good story. Tsetsi gives the readers food for thought." Carol Hoenig, co-owner, Turn of the Corkscrew Books & Wine

Thank you so much for being here, Kristen!

What was haunting you when you wrote this book?

Oh, so many things... Pharmacists using religion as a reason to deny women hormonal birth control. Rick Santorum's concerns over "the dangers of contraception."  People who would argue that, say, a forcibly impregnated teenager (that's the most sanitary way I can say it) should be denied the option of abortion. The politician (I don't care to look up his name, because I don't care to know it) who suggested that women who don't want to get pregnant should put an aspirin between their knees.

But also, the lack of any conversation or any real, meaningful action that spoke to a genuine concern for the quality of life of these potential humans the pro-life movement professes to care so deeply about.

It's such a wild contradiction (and so bafflingly - is that a word? - hypocritical) that it was driving me mad. Any time I heard, "Think of the children," I thought, "Yes. Could we, possibly?"

The Age of the Child thinks of the children in two different reproductive rights restrictions scenarios, both carried out under a Citizen Amendment, which the administration had, by the novel's opening, recently ratified to protect every potential citizen's right to life. The first scenario: all birth control is banned and abortion is criminalized (even miscarriages are treated as suspect); the second: as a reaction to the consequences of the birth control ban, parent licensing has been enacted and anyone hoping to be a guardian (whether adoptive or biological) must first submit to an evaluation.

Parent licensing was the initial idea for the story, but I realized before finally sitting down to start that it would be impossible to write about licensing without also writing about how we got there.

What was it like writing this novel? Did you find it different than writing your other novels, and if so, in what way?

I was more anxious about this one. The subject matter is tricky, and I wanted to do it justice without getting Ayn Rand-preachy from any angle. It was also important to not write heavy when the subject matter was already pretty heavy.

What this means (this might sound terrible) is that I got to have a lot of fun with some otherwise brutal conversations and relationship situations. As you can imagine, a relationship will be tested in a no-birth control environment when a woman who doesn't want to have children avoids having traditional intercourse with her husband. (Amazingly, the real-life male politicians endorsing blocks to birth control and abortion fail to connect those actions with the likelihood that they may be threatening their own sex lives...)

When writing The Age of the Child, I went into it with a deep appreciation for Joseph Heller's Catch-22 and Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, both of which incorporate humor and/or the absurd to make a devastatingly serious point. My other novels are a little more straightforward.

Did you always know your ending, or did it take you by surprise?

It came as a complete and thrilling surprise.

I'd written one ending and was positive that was it. "Good!" I thought. "Done!" But after going through the draft again and reaching the last page, I thought it was unsatisfying, somehow.

It's hard to remember when the right ending came to me - maybe while walking my dog, Lenny (who has a character named after her), or maybe it was while trying really hard to listen to something my husband, Ian, was saying (I don't mean to do it, I really don't, and I swear he isn't at all boring, but when you're working on a plot problem, there's really no point in trying to control concentration, is there? It doesn't work! Ian understands).

All I know for certain is that the original ending was making my center roil in an unsettling feeling of "meh" until I was hit by what should happen. It was the only thing that made sense. It was perfectly inevitable! It was one of those relief/excitement moments that make you want to shake somebody.

What was the why now moment of writing this novel?

First, it (reproductive rights vs a child's right to quality of life) was important to me as an issue. When something is important, I think it should be addressed as immediately as possible. I don't even think the subject matter I cover is timely as much as it's our history, our present, and likely our future (by "our" I mean globally). But it had all been bothering me so obsessively, and I'd been having so many real or imagined arguments about it, that it was time.

Second, how to address the issue(s) in a novel had finally been ruminated over long enough for the ideas and characters to have built into something I could finally start with enough confidence to believe I could move from one page to at least one more.

What’s obsessing you now and why?

Trying to stay positive, because Trump.

What question didn't I ask that I should have?

The only thing I can think of, and this is only because I'm excited to share it, is that I'll be doing a book signing at the Manchester Public Library in Manchester, CT on Monday, March 12 at 7 p.m., and I'll be a guest on the Colin McEnroe Show (Connecticut Public Broadcasting/WNPR)  on Wednesday, March 21, 1-2 p.m.. Listen live or stream online!

Yes, women did work on the atom bomb, and Janet Beard's novel ATOMIC CITY GIRLS is a stunning exploration of what that was like.

 

Janet Beard is also the author of BENEATH THE PINES, as well as her latest, THE ATOMIC CITY GIRLS, which is a stunning novel about the women who worked on the bomb. And she's racking up the raves. Take a look:

"Beard has taken a project of momentous impact and injected a human element into it... This is approachable, intelligent, and highly satisfying historical fiction."-  Booklist *starred review

Thank you so much for being here, Janet!

What was haunting you when you wrote this book?

I’ve been haunted by the idea of the atomic bomb since I first learned about it as a child at the science museum in Oak Ridge near where I grew up. The challenge in writing the book was trying to imagine how the knowledge that they were helping to create these terrifying weapons would affect my characters, without imposing on them my twenty-first century knowledge and anxieties. They have their own knowledge and anxieties within the context of World War II.

Unfortunately, the threat of nuclear weapons has only grown more intense since I began the book, and I’m more haunted than ever in our current political moment.

What surprised you the most about your research?

One surprising takeaway from reading the many interviews and oral histories of young people who came to work in Oak Ridge, was how fondly they remembered their time there. Despite the anxiety of wartime and hardship of living in a military reservation, they had a lot of fun. For many, it was the first time they had left home, and they were living with hundreds of other young people, working hard but also playing hard in their free time at dances, roller rinks, and bowling alleys.

What kind of writer are you? Do you have rituals, do you outline, or do you simply let the story tell itself (ha ha ha.)

I am a big planner and compulsive list maker in all aspects of my life, especially writing. I love research, even when I’m not writing historical fiction, which obviously requires it. And outlining is essential for me. I don’t really have any rituals, but I do try to force myself to write first thing every day that I can—before all the other items on my to do list take over my brain.

It’s fascinating that women were involved in making a bomb—we always tend to think of women as more reasonable when it comes to war. Can you talk about this please?

World War II affected all Americans, and people had a deep sense of patriotic and moral duty that can be hard to understand from a cynical twenty-first perspective. Most Americans were willing to do what the government asked of them, whether it was enlisting in the Army, collecting cooking oil, or working in wartime factories. The general sense was that the United States hadn’t asked to be part of the war, but when forced to become involved, America would do everything possible to defeat its enemies. That attitude extended to both genders, and the overwhelming reaction of women looking back on their work on the Manhattan Project was pride that they had helped end the war. Again, it can be hard for us to understand now, but the horror of unleashing atomic weapons on the world was not foremost on their minds at the time. Rather, they felt joy and relief that their brothers and husbands would be coming home.

What’s obsessing you now and why?

Murder ballads. I’m working on a new novel about six generations of women in Appalachia, inspired by the old ballads that typically tell the story of a man murdering a young woman. I’m obsessed with why we are all so obsessed with telling stories about violence against women.

What question didn’t I ask that I should have?

This is the hardest question of all! Probably the most important element of the novel for me is the characters. As important as getting the history right was to me, it’s meaningless without strong characters to craft a story around. Once they came alive in my mind, it was simply a matter of getting their stories on the page.

Buffalo Bill. Sitting Bull. And Annie Oakley! Deanne Stillman talks about the extraordinary relationship between the three and her book BLOOD BROTHERS.

I love history, which means I worship the books of Deanne. Her latest, BLOOD BROTHERS, is about the incredible relationship between Sitting Bull and Buffalo Bill--and yes, Annie Oakley, as well.
Deanne Stillman is  the author of Desert Reckoning: A Town Sheriff, a Mojave Hermit, and the Biggest Manhunt in Modern California History, Mustang: The Saga of the Wild Horse in the American West, Twentynine Palms: A True Story of Murder. 

Thank you so much for being here, Deanne!
 
What was haunting you when you wrote this book?
    
When Sitting Bull went home to Standing Rock after traveling with Buffalo Bill in the Wild West show for four months in 1885, Cody gave him a horse.  Five years later when Sitting Bull was assassinated, the horse was outside his cabin and “danced” as the bullets were flying.  This was because it had been trained to perform at the sound of gunfire in Cody’s show.  Sitting Bull was killed at the height of the Ghost Dance frenzy – the apocalyptic movement which swept through the tribes of the Great Plains when their empire was fading.  It began with a prophet – or a con man, take your pick – named Wovoka, a Paitue Indian in Nevada.  If you danced with great intent, he said, the buffalo would return and the time before the white man would be reinstated.  Some of Sitting Bull’s people made a pilgrimage to Nevada and met with Wovoka, returning with his teachings.  Many Lakota started to dance – to the dismay of army officials. 
     
It was one more thing Sitting Bull was “blamed” for, in addition to killing Custer at the Battle of the Little Bighorn.  But he didn’t kill Custer and nor did he incite the dancing.  Nevertheless, it was time for him to go, and newspapers picked up the call.  Tribal police were enlisted to make his arrest, which led to his killing, and there was this horse – a Ghost Horse as I imagined it – joining in as Sitting Bull walked on, to use the Native American term for death. Or so went the legend.  That image haunted me for years, and I had to go inside it and find out what forces led to that moment in which a horse from Buffalo Bill was outside Sitting Bull’s cabin responding to his passing – and the end of an era.  I knew that some day, it would become a book, and that’s where Blood Brothers comes from. 

Why do you think the story of the friendship between Sitting Bull and Buffalo Bill isn’t so widely known? Does it take away from Wild West mythology?
    
I think a lot of things about the frontier era, specifically many important elements of  the Indian wars, both before and after the Civil War, aren’t widely known.  But that only adds to the myth.  The Wild West is mysterious and alluring and exciting, but behind that is another story.
    
I would say that mainly, a lot of people are aware of “Custer’s Last Stand.” America lives inside that famous moment of defiance, whether or not it actually happened the way that it’s often conveyed.  Think about all of the jokes about Waco when that went down, at least in certain quarters.  “We ain’t comin’ out” is what people said it stood for, and we heard it in the recent TV series about that incident.  It’s a rebel yell, it’s what drove the invasion of Malheur.  The spirit of “go fuck yourselves” is really a primary component of our DNA.  When Custer was killed, someone had to be blamed, and that was Sitting Bull, already a notorious figure.  Although he didn’t pull the trigger, he was nearby.  As I write in my book, his medicine was all over the battlefield. 
    
After the Bighorn, he became Public Enemy One, and when he returned from exile in Canada a few years later, everyone wanted him for their road shows. He ultimately signed on with fellow superstar Buffalo Bill, a fated alliance in my view, two sides of the buffalo coin.  They were interviewed together from time to time as they criss-crossed the country, and praised each other in front of each other to reporters – a show business moment which we have no equivalent of today - and of course Cody was very much a man of his own mythology. But what went on between them was not tracked for the most part; people weren’t watched and scrutinized like they are now, and certainly men were not “sharing” their feelings in public announcements.  The main thing was the symbolism of their alliance, as publicity for the show said: “foes in 76 and friends in 85” and the fact that these two former enemies crossed a bridge under the banner of show business and inside of that, other things happened.  Again, I get back to the dancing horse.  The moment outside Sitting Bull’s cabin speaks volumes. 
   
In my book, I explore lesser known aspects of their time together, and speculate about some of that. They were two larger than life figures with much in common – fathers, sons, influential, charismatic, revered among their own people yet trapped in a bloody history and personas which threw them together.  Appearing as co-stars served to compound their fame, and heighten mythology of the Wild West - which Cody was presenting in his show, from the white man’s point of view.  I call it the national scripture; Cody and his cast were re-creating episodes of Manifest Destiny moments after they had happened, using some of the actual players. 
    
And this was happening as the frontier was closing, a strange portrayal of a world that was on its way out.  The Indians in the Wild West were essentially prisoners of war, joining the show as a way off the reservation.  As for cowboys, although the show was an equestrian extravaganza, the age of the horse was nearly over and outside of the show, they were out of a job. At Cody’s funeral in Denver in 1917, America had its first traffic jam.  That’s how many people came to mourn him – and it says a lot about the end of an era.  But that’s the era that lives forever in the American heart, for better and for worse. 

What surprised you the most about your research?
   
A most surprising thing was how critical Annie Oakley was to the coming together of Cody and Sitting Bull.  In fact, Sitting Bull may not have joined the Wild West had it not been for Annie.  Shortly before signing with Cody, he was in St. Paul, Minnesota with a reservation official, touring the area to meet local dignitaries and familiarize himself with aspects of the civilization which were displacing the Lakota. Annie Oakley and her husband Frank Butler, also a marksman, were giving a shooting exhibition, and Sitting Bull evidently was quite taken with Annie’s skills. After the show, he sent her a note “backstage,” or to her hotel room, kind of a fan note apparently, and said he’d like to meet her.  So they met and became fast friends, and soon he gave her the nickname of “Little Miss Sure Shot,” although that was a mistranslation. 
    
I can’t give away the real meaning here, but the main thing is that here was Sitting Bull essentially branding Annie Oakley, to use today’s parlance.  I’ve often wondered if she would have attained the same level of fame without that nickname, and in any case, she joined up with Cody shortly before Sitting Bull did, and when Cody was trying to convince Sitting Bull to come aboard, one of the things that made him feel more comfortable in doing so was the presence of Annie Oakley. He seems to have regarded her as a surrogate daughter.  Cody himself was quite taken with her, in love with her I would say, yet their affair was not physical - unlike his numerous others over the years, although he was married.
   
And so you could say that a woman runs through the story of Sitting Bull and Buffalo Bill, and that woman was Annie Oakley.

I love that Annie Oakley is a character. What misconceptions do you think people have about her?
    
People don’t realize that she was a voracious hunter and that she supported her family from the time she was a little girl and until she became a traveling sharpshooter by way of her knowledge of the woods.  Her family was poor, like many on the frontier, and she provided them with supper that she herself had killed.  At some point, she began selling game to restaurants in Cincinnati, and making quite a good living.  In fact, she was killing so many animals that she was told to put a lid on it.  For that era, when there were few regulations about anything, especially something like hunting, that was a big deal.   

Of late, there’s been a retelling of what the old West was like. I saw and loved Hostiles, a nuanced film about what we did to the American Indians—and how they fought back. Can you talk about the Old West here, please?
  
Yes, it’s a very good film, and it has some parallels to the story I tell in Blood Brothers.  Of course the term “hostiles” refers to Indians who refused to turn themselves into reservations as the frontier wars were winding down.  Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and a number of others were such figures.  After Crazy Horse was killed following his surrender and betrayal, Sitting Bull and some Lakota who travelled with him into the protection of the “Grandmother”- or Canada – were the last “hostiles” to return to their lands south of the Medicine Line, meaning the Dakota Territory. 
   
 I recount the return of Sitting Bull and his people in my book, and it’s some of the most difficult material I’ve written.  You would think there would have been a lot of fanfare marking the return of this great figure, especially since many army officials viewed Sitting Bull as a premiere military tactician, a general for all time.  Really, there was none – among white folk, that is.  But others of his tribe who had already surrendered lined the riverbanks as the steamer carrying him arrived.  Later, in a ceremony at Fort Buford, he instructed his young son to surrender his rifle.  I’ve wondered what the soldiers who were in attendance were thinking. They were witnessing one of history’s great and most tragic reversals of fortune.  Not surprisingly, soon after Sitting Bull had laid down his arms, his captors sought his autograph, his company, his medicine – everyone wanted a piece of him, and he loaned himself to Buffalo Bill for a brief time.  According to a newspaper account of the first time that the two men met, amid a show in Buffalo, of all places, Cody actually seemed to shrink in stature as Sitting Bull approached.  It was a fleeting moment – but that’s how cataclysmic it was.
   
As the movie ads say, “We are all hostiles,” and as I mentioned, the coming together of Buffalo Bill and Sitting Bull was billed as “Foes in 76 and friends in 85.”  Who better to make peace than former enemies?  We saw this happen at Standing Rock during the protests over a year ago.  Army veterans, themselves descendants of soldiers who had fought at the Little Bighorn, apologized to Lakota elders in a ceremony that was not widely covered, acknowledging the American betrayal of the Indian nations on the plains.  To me, this marked a spiritual shift that is now underway, and it was a profound and necessary moment. I try to stay focused on that as the country seems to be coming apart at the seams.

What’s obsessing you now and why?
    

The government assault on land, sea, and air, and on wildlife.  It’s not new, but it’s a ratcheting up of this American schizophrenia that we have, this worship of freedom and simultaneous urge to wall it up and destroy it.  What’s going on now is the end game of the Indian wars, and now is the time to continue what began at Standing Rock in 2016 and what red and white men tried to do in their own ways long before that, even in that strange piece of living theatre called the Wild West show.
   

What question didn’t I ask that I should have?
 
  I think you’ve covered it.  Thank you!