AK: How similar or different was your own experience growing up in New Mexico to that of the central character in Chinese Gucci? Did you travel to Mexico often or ever? Do you feel that your childhood circumstances fed your interest in writing and making art?
HM: I feel a kinship and certain similarities with all the named characters. I think you have to, to write from their different points of view. But I am not any one character, or they aren't me, I guess. But much of it is based on some experience traveling as a teen, some struggles in early adulthood, that Nihilistic feeling when things don't work out, and the unbalanced emotions of youth. . . sure, that's all gotta be based on experience or I don't think it would read well. I've been to a handful of border towns in Mexico, and loved every minute of it, so while there isn't a Hotel Tulum, that's all born of some of that magic of travel.
I am sure growing up as I did allowed my creativity to develop, but instead of circumstances, I'd say it was support from my mom, and family, and some amazing English and writing teachers that gave me room to be artistic. How and what to do with that all came later, after college really.
AK: At times, the main character comes across as extremely angry to the point of being unhinged. Were you thinking of teen anger when you wrote, or teen anger specific to periods of significant loss? Were you trying to describe male anger in general? HM: A huge part of this book is my attempt at understanding the psychological machinery, hell, the mental gymnastics of toxic masculinity. The shit fascinates me, and deeply troubles me. I was raised by a single mom, and she and my aunts did all the heavy lifting raising the kids, so I naturally trust and respect women, whereas I am standoffish with men. Toxic masculinity is, to my eye, a kind of cultural rot born of fear, of repression, of vulnerability, and sexuality. It's all artifice and façade and projection fueled by this insatiable last for power and that makes it's so volatile and dangerous. It's astonishing to me that anyone is able to navigate the hinterlands of American culture and youth and come out on the other side even mildly functional. There are a lot of unnatural and insanely powerful forces at work on children. Our country really doesn't do them any favors. And that definitely makes for an unlikable bunch of characters, at least at times. AK: Chinese Gucci is particularly strong in diction and vernacular. Language shapes the world of the novel in extremely vivid ways, and there was great care in how different groups—American teens, immigrant parents, Mexicans surviving on travel and hospitality—spoke and interacted. Were you thinking constantly about language as you wrote? Was it fun to write dialogue the way you did?
HM: I love dialogue. It's the most magical place in a book, to me, in terms of revealing character. Setting as revelation so often feels heavy and meta, and artificially infused with trickery, and the realm of internal, stream of consciousness must be limited by a character's knowledge of self, so the only way people learn things they don't know about themselves is by accidentally admitting or betraying their thoughts or subconscious. Dialogue is my favorite thing to write, if I had to pick. We all reveal so much about ourselves with how and what we say and think. It reveals our biases and our pasts. It's wildly mysterious. So, yeah, I try to get every bit of it pitch-perfect. I had lots of help with the Spanish, as I don't know enough to write Spanish dialogue the way I needed to. My friend and fellow writer Jose Pepe Arroyo gave the bordertown Spanish all the intricate polish I wanted.
AK: Look for more from Hosho McCreesh next week!
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