Caught in the Carousel

Danila Botha

Got No Secrets
Tightrope

By Katrina Greco

Danila Botha

"She's taking hold of her sins now for the first time
Well, she's been told about sins but now it feels fine
She's taking hold and I'm holding on
Holding on and my sense is gone
I got it you it she's got it. . ."
—"Teenage Lust" Jesus and Mary Chain

There's an exhausted energy to punk rock that's impossible to fake. A punk is thrashing and thrilling, angrily stomping through the bullshit all around, but simultaneously beat, vaguely disillusioned, smoking a cigarette on a mattress on the floor. In Got. No. Secrets., a collection of harrowing and haunting short stories, author Danila Botha captures the dual nature of punk rock. Her characters embody the warring impulses to rage fearlessly all night long with fellow outsiders and to crawl away, stoned and spent, to hide from the sun.

The women in these stories are not all punks, necessarily, but they are all outsiders, battered and bruised by their circumstances, their parents, their lovers, their communities, or their own addictions. Botha writes their stories fearlessly, shining a light on the ugliness and beauty of these lives. Her writing is, true to her punk roots, stark and unfussy, but there is poetry in her lines. Each character has her own unique voice, and the stories are written to reflect their personalities.

These are stories that can be read in one sitting, maybe on a commute to work or during a cigarette break, but days later, you will find the women in them poking around your head, demanding your continued attention. Many of these women struggle with, or succumb to, demons that at one time, were of their own making. In "Jesus Was A Punk Rocker," we meet a Toronto nurse in her late twenties, sleepwalking through her job, self-injuring to cope with her numbness, pining after a guy who just didn't love her and fighting the suspicion that she's growing too old for the punk scene that used to keep her going. The South African immigrant of "Smacked" contentedly watches her "American Dream" slip away into a drug-fueled haze. In "Paradox," a privileged university student parties to escape the meaninglessness of the future her parents have planned for her, her "rock bottom" slipping further and further down.

Not all of Botha's characters are wholly self-destructive, however. Instead, the book includes stories of bracingly fearless women determined to kick through whatever is holding them back. The gently steely teenage narrator of "Just, Quietly, Do It" describes her typical high school problems (a boy who won't commit, a jealous best friend) and the behavior of her shockingly abusive parents in the same matter-of-fact tone, determined to keep her head down, get through it, and get out. In "Heroin Heights," we meet Colleen, a chronically sick girl in South Africa whose mother works long hours in degrading jobs to help pay for her dialysis, while the money her boyfriend earns dealing drugs and breaking into houses makes up the difference. Colleen has a biting sense of humor, a love of local hip-hop, and a desire for something better, but no illusions and anger to spare.

Botha's writing is daring, timeless and contemporary. In "Lucky," she deals out the story of a girl who seems to lead a charmed life in small doses, building to a sucker punch that the reader doesn't see coming until it is all over, when it becomes obvious all the signs were there and there is no turning back. "The Pregnant Man" is a ripped-from-the-headlines meditation from the point of view of a female to male transsexual who chooses to carry his own child. Botha doesn't shy away from the sensational aspects of these stories (the pregnant man, Tony, refers to himself as a "freak show" at one point), but she focuses on the quieter moments that make these people complex and real: Tony's favorite song is "Lost In The Supermarket" by the Clash and the girl in "Luck" loves The Simpsons. Botha gracefully and economically paints pictures of fully realized, even normal people in shocking circumstances. The reader fully believes these people had complicated, authentic lives before the words on the page begin.

Got. No. Secrets. is the sort of short fiction that gets into the bloodstream. The stories are economical and unrelenting, pulling the reader into the bleak thought processes of the self-destructive. But all is not dark in this book. That punk energy comes roaring through, the insistence that anything at all is worth a fight. That scrappy energy, the breath-taking refusal to call things anything except what they are, is infections and irresistible. "To be punk all you have to do is be a rebel," one of Botha's characters says. "Everyone you've ever liked is punk." The women in these stories, and the woman who created them, are punk to the core.

Danila Botha

Caught In The Carousel Talks To Danila Botha:

Caught In The Carousel: So, punk rock is obviously an influence in these stories. There are explicit references, like the aging punk nurse in "Jesus Was A Punk Rocker," but also a punk sensibility running through the whole book. Do you consider yourself a punk writer?

Danila Botha: Yeah, punk was a huge influence for sure. I'm really glad that you noticed that, because I definitely felt like they were punk-y kind of stories—the characters are scrappy and honest with themselves and try, in whatever ways they can to be true to what they believe in. I think there's often a punk aesthetic and obviously references to specific bands and scenes within the stories. I think there's also a sense of alienation and outsider-ness about each scenario; a search to belong. I remember when I was younger, that the punk scenes, both in South Africa and in Toronto gave me a profound sense of belonging for the first time. I remember when I was an undergrad, hearing Bikini Kill, or Bratmobile, or even Fugazi, or Black Flag for the first time—and that was it, my life was changed forever. I guess I wanted the stories to be equally visceral in their impact, and more than anything, I wanted them to be fearless. Great punk songs explore fear and complex issues in depth without worrying about where it takes the writer or the singer. I'm honored by the label 'punk writer'. I'll have to tell my agent about that one—I hope it's true. What an awesome term, thank you. (I think punk writers can include everyone from the obvious, Henry Rollins, to Heather O'Neil or Lisa Crystal Carver or Charles Bukowski. I'm totally psyched to be in their company.)

CITC: How is music a part of your writing process? Do you like to play certain songs or albums while you're writing, or do you find yourself identifying certain songs with characters? Or do you make those connections later as you're writing?

DB: Music inspires so much for me. In fact the title of the collection came from a Brendan Benson song from his amazing album, One Mississippi. I really love his writing—the lyrics to his song were so intense and serious, but by contrast, the style he sang it in, and the melody line were full of dark humor, which added another layer of dimension to the pathos. I loved that. I do listen to lots of music before and while I write. Absolutely I identify certain songs with certain characters. With Mackenzie, in the story "Jesus Was A Punk Rocker," for example, I was listening to the Black Flag song "Nervous Breakdown" almost non-stop. "I'm crazy, and I'm hurt"—you know, the heartbreak she was feeling was driving her out of her mind, more than anything else, I think. That and the search to belong and to figure out how to be who she was within the world she inhabited. I was also listening to Fugazi's "Waiting Room," and to the Ramones' "I Don't Want To Grow Up" as I wrote that one. With "Don't Talk Junk" and "A Tiny Thud" I listened to John Frusciante's solo album, Niandra Lades and Usually Just a T-Shirt, the one he wrote as an addict. It's a beautiful and incredibly sad album. I hugely admire his talent and resilience. With "Smacked" I listened to the South African band Boo!, specifically the song "Hart" (the title is Afrikaans, but the song is English). In it, the singer sings, "I need a heart so my heart can be broken." With "Just, Quietly, Do It," I was listening to Rancid and NOFX. For "My So Called Date" I remember listening to Tori Amos' "Me and Gun." I had to talk myself through it; I had to keep saying to myself, if she could do this, I could do this. I guess I use music to help me to tap into specific emotions, to be less inhibited so that I can explore certain ideas or feelings. I try to be deliberate about what I choose to listen to, to help me to evoke mood, or feeling. Usually I make the connections at the time, but sometimes I make them afterwards.

Danila Botha

CITC: Do you think that music is playing a similar role for your characters? A lot of them seem to use music (from punk rock, to Kwaito in "Heroin Heights," to Green Day in "Just, Quietly, Do It") as a sort of life preserver.

DB: That's a great question. Haha, I totally forgot about that Green Day reference—I love how observant you are. Yeah, I think it does, actually. Music is so essential for so many people. I remember a while ago I was going through this really difficult break-up, and I heard Adele's "Someone Like You" on the radio for the first time and I instantly and genuinely felt better. Kwaito is great, too—it's really vibrant. I think that art in general and especially music have the power to make people feel so much less alone. I love that idea, of music as a life preserver; that's a great way to look at it.

CITC: One of the things that really jumped out at me while reading these stories were the characters. Even the ones we don't spend a lot of time with seem to be really complex; it's easy to imagine them having lived a whole life before we bump into them. Did you come up with these characters first, and then try to imagine what a person like that would be doing? Or do you find yourself thinking of scenes or scenarios and then figuring out what sort of person would have gotten themselves into that situation?

DB: Thanks so much. Usually the characters appear first. First, I meet the person, find out their back-story and then figure where they're going and why. Yeah, the women in this book were really complex, for sure. Occasionally I dreamt a scene or imagined a scenario first, and then I worked backwards, but no, usually the characters had a strong sense of self and I saw them; the way they spoke, their clothes, what they liked, what their problems were, before I had any idea which part of their story I planned to tell, and why I was telling it. (For example, even though "Jesus Was A Punk Rocker" opens with Mackenzie peeing in a vase, that was the very last scene I wrote. I had a really strong sense of her, who she was, what she was afraid of, her attitude towards her job and life, her loneliness, her problems, before I knew exactly where I was going with it).

CITC: All of these stories seem to be about women who have been battered around, either by parents, or lovers, or addiction, or their own dissatisfaction with life. Is that a theme you kept coming around to intentionally?

DB: For this particular book, yes. I mean, it was my first book, so I wasn't exactly sure where it was going when I started out. All I wanted to try to understand was why certain things happen to people, what their backstories are. I was also fascinated by the idea of what we keep hidden or secret and why. I imagined all of these women have some kind of outlet to say it and that's where those things came from, I guess. I should add that I used to be an outreach worker, so I worked with many people like the women I wrote about. They provided information and insights that were invaluable to me.

CITC: What was the experience of writing this book like for you? Was it really challenging, or did it kind of flow?

DB: Honestly? "My So Called Date" was really harrowing to write. I had to keep stopping to take in oxygen. I'm really glad that I wrote it and that it ended up being in my first book. But it was difficult to get it out for sure. "A Tiny Thud" was hard. The others were mostly okay, but each story was different. "Jesus Was A Punk Rocker" and "Paradox," sad as they were, were actually fun to write. "Lucky," too, was fun, in that it's fun to imagine something completely outside of yourself, and those stories had a freewheeling energy about them that was clearly out of control, but also kind of interesting to explore. Like, imagine having no limits at all. Whee! Generally, the flow was okay, but I had to do a lot of edits in writing groups in university (where I majored in Creative Writing, etc). I've found that for my next books, my novel, Too Much On The Inside, which comes out next September, and my new collection of short stories, For All The Men And Some Of The Women I've Known, the flow's been better. I think it's also an experience thing—I'm getting better at knowing how to tweak and edit things, how to make them more clear, more professional. I guess I have a better sense now of what an editor, publisher, agent expects, and so I'm getting better at polishing the work. At least I hope I am.

Danila Botha

CITC: The back cover references Black Flag and Bikini Kill as well as J.D. Salinger and Heather O'Neil. I also thought a lot about Raymond Carver while I was reading these stories. Who do you consider your influences as a writer?

DB: Heather O'Neill's writing changed my life. She has this story, called "I Know Angelo," in a collection edited by Zoe Whittall (another great Canadian writer) called Geeks, Misfits and Outlaws. It's brave and beautiful. The imagery is so precise; it's completely fearless. It kicked my ass, you know? I read it as an undergrad, and thought—wow this story is everything I want to be as a writer. I love her novel, Lullabies for Little Criminals a lot, too. And her collection of poetry, Two Eyes Are You Sleeping. I walk around with it in my purse every day. My favorite line in the whole thing is: "My heart was too big to crawl around in one body, I thought." I love her work. Salinger was huge for me, for sure. Catcher, but also Franny and Zooey. I love Franny. I love when she says "I wish I had the courage to be an absolute nobody." Charles Bukowski was a huge influence, too. I especially love his collection called Love Is A Dog From Hell. I love Jim Carroll. I love Denis Johnson's Jesus's Son. The Afrikaans poet Rene Bohnen, whose book Spoorsny (Tracking) also changed my life. I even have three lines from her poem 'Muse' tattooed on my left arm. There are so many writers I love: Lynn Crosbie, Amy Jones, Russell Smith, Rawi Hage, Pasha Malla, Dawn Promislow, Zeruya Shalev, Marjane Satrapi...Raymond Carver is great, thank you so much! I love how smooth and observant his writing is. What a compliment, thank you!

CITC: Anything you're reading right now that's really rocking your world?

DB: So much! I just read Aimee Bender's collection of short stories, The Girl In The Flammable Skirt. It's fantastic. I love the magic realism element blended with urban loneliness and stark emotional realities. I'm a huge fan of her writing. I love Jami Attenberg, too—Instant Love is unbelievable. Aryn Kyle's Boys And Girls Like You And Me is pretty fantastic, too. I just finished Tara-Michelle Ziniuk's first book of poetry, Emergency Contact, which resonated really deeply with me. Lisa de Nikolits' new book, West of Wawa is the best thing I've read in ages. She really creates great, in-depth characters. Also, Michael Christie's The Beggar's Garden—an incredibly descriptive and brave collection of short stories that moved me to tears on more than one occasion. I highly recommend it. Jerry Stahl's incredible collection of short stories, Love Without—brave, dark, fearless, hilarious. And I just read Greg Kearney's Pretty—also short stories. Fucking amazing. It's the best thing I've read in ages—genuinely transgressive, heartbreaking and real. It knocked me out. Like David Sedaris, Augusten Burroughs, Jerry Stahl and Dennis Miller combined. Amazing.

CITC: How about new music? Who are you listening to now?

DB: I'm listening to a lot of British stuff right now, actually—I love Marina and the Diamonds, Florence and the Machine, Adele. The new Feist album is beautiful. I like the new St Vincent, too. Have you heard the band Whatever Brains? They're from North Carolina and they sort of remind me of early Minutemen. I'm also obsessed with a punk band from Belgium called Dear Hearts. You can actually listen to an entire album here:
www.punknews.org/bands/dearhearts

Danila Botha's Got. No. Secrets. is out now.

Further Reading:
Danila Botha.com
Tightrope Books
Transatlantic Literary Agency