Radio Interview, Here and Now, with Robin Young
On April 15th, 2013, at 2:30, I sat down with Robin Young, host of WBUR's Here and Now, for an interview at the WBUR station on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston. The recording studio was soundproof. Robin had read my novel carefully,
and (as I could have predicted from listening to her show) was a terrific interviewer, at once dynamic and relaxed. We sat across from each other, separated by wires and mikes, and talked. We talked about history, family, place, my book, her own family history, New England, insiders and outsiders, our fragile planet, time, war . . . .
We finished talking by a little before 3 pm. I got my car from the WBUR garage and pulled out on the bright street. Outside, everything seemed quiet, except for two police motorcycles going by, sirens on. Without giving it much thought, I pulled my car over to let the motorcycles pass.
It was not until I was halfway home, nearly a half hour later, that I switched on the radio and learned that at 2:49 pm, as Robin and I sat talking, two bombs had gone off at the marathon, two miles down the road from WBUR. My book tries to imagine, among other things, what it might have been like to be living in New England as unspeakable violence--WWII, the Vietnam War--happened far away. How strange, how unsettling, and (mostly) how very very sad, to have been sitting there chatting about my little book as huge (probably homegrown) violence took our city.
I'll never be able to think about that interview without remembering what--unbeknownst to us--was happening down the road, even as the events of that week have left me ever more grateful for the chance to talk, live, make art.
http://hereandnow.wbur.org/2013/04/29...
The End of the Point: A Novel
and (as I could have predicted from listening to her show) was a terrific interviewer, at once dynamic and relaxed. We sat across from each other, separated by wires and mikes, and talked. We talked about history, family, place, my book, her own family history, New England, insiders and outsiders, our fragile planet, time, war . . . .
We finished talking by a little before 3 pm. I got my car from the WBUR garage and pulled out on the bright street. Outside, everything seemed quiet, except for two police motorcycles going by, sirens on. Without giving it much thought, I pulled my car over to let the motorcycles pass.
It was not until I was halfway home, nearly a half hour later, that I switched on the radio and learned that at 2:49 pm, as Robin and I sat talking, two bombs had gone off at the marathon, two miles down the road from WBUR. My book tries to imagine, among other things, what it might have been like to be living in New England as unspeakable violence--WWII, the Vietnam War--happened far away. How strange, how unsettling, and (mostly) how very very sad, to have been sitting there chatting about my little book as huge (probably homegrown) violence took our city.
I'll never be able to think about that interview without remembering what--unbeknownst to us--was happening down the road, even as the events of that week have left me ever more grateful for the chance to talk, live, make art.
http://hereandnow.wbur.org/2013/04/29...
The End of the Point: A Novel
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