When I interviewed Raymond Federman, I had read his novel "To Whom It May Concern," as well as the "my nose" section of his memoir, "My Body in Nine Parts." His novel impressed me because of the way he told his story - what he chose to reveal and what he left unsaid. By erasing certain details about his experience as a Holocaust survivor he was able to confront it all the more poignantly. I was interested in his philosophy of writing. His themes and his artistry intrigued me. His writing made me laugh until it didn't hurt.
Adding to Federman's appeal is the fact that he was a friend of Samuel Beckett. Prior to this interview, Federman gave a lecture on motifs in Beckett's work entitled "The Imaginary Museum of Samuel Beckett." I was curious about the nature of Federman's relationship with Beckett, how Beckett influenced his work, and finally what Beckett himself was like.
You refer to your work as "laughterature"...where does your sense of humor come from? How did you develop your perspective on life as exhibited in your work?
The word laughterature comes from the word "laughter" and the French "rature," meaning "erasing." Laughter erases itself because behind the laughter is sadness. The only thing that saved me was being able to laugh. Beckett said: "To laugh or to cry, finally it comes out the same in the end." So I chose laughter.
You made the claim in your lecture at the Literary House that there is no such thing as "experimental fiction" or "originality." Surely you must acknowledge that at least in "To Whom It May Concern," you are telling the story in a new way.
There are no new stories - they are always another version of the same story. So what you must do is find a new way to tell an old story, to make not the story but the storytelling interesting. In "To Whom It May Concern," it would have been banal to give the characters names and places. In the traditional novel, the story is big and the telling is small. In my writing, telling becomes big and story small.
In an interview with Mark Twait, you mention that Samuel Beckett helped you "escape the trap" of realism and naturalism. What caused you to take issue with realism and naturalism? What turned you off?
Samuel Beckett taught me to escape the imposture of realism and naturalism. Realism and naturalism trap you to into believing that what you are reading or seeing is true. It is a false representation of reality. Of course it is fake! And we fall for it because realistic writers are very clever! Beckett frees you from the illusion that realism creates. He breaks down illusions and confronts you with the medium of writing itself.
What fascinated you initially with Beckett?
I saw "Waiting for Godot." [Here Federman described the scene in which Pozzo is driving Lucky, who has a rope around his neck. "On, Pig!"]. It was the most horrible thing I have ever seen but everybody, including myself, laughed. What guts! What courage to show me that and make me laugh! To show or write something horrible and be able to make you laugh- this is the greatest thing, only great artists can do that. It was like a revelation - someone showed me something. I thought, if ever I write a traumatic, horrible story, this is how I must write it. I must make the reader laugh. I didn't understand a damn thing, but that one scene changed my life.
How has Beckett been present in your writing and in your life?
He is present in this way: it's as though I'm writing for Beckett. If you write, you must be present in your writing - Beckett taught me this. Don't compromise. Do not allow someone to dictate how to write your books.
What was Beckett like? What did he enjoy? What made him angry or sad?
One thing that counted in his life was writing. You did not disturb him or infringe on his writing. He became a bit of a hermit, but he liked to go out with friends and eat and drink. He would shy away if people approached him, but he loved to be photographed. He didn't want to be famous, but he did become extremely famous. I see Beckett this way: he is the kind of human being who is looking at humanity from above. In Le Livre de Sam [Federman's tribute to his friendship with Samuel Beckett], I call him my "tormentor." He could speak all languages beautifully, he invented all kinds of words...you can't write like Beckett. Beckett is special for me, I tell you why: I lost my father at 13. When I met Beckett he became my spiritual father. He was very kind to me, very kind to my daughter.
Is it ever frustrating to know that you will never write like Beckett? Or are you more concerned with cultivating your own style?
He haunts me. He is sitting on my shoulder. In Waiting for Godot, there is a line: "Nothing to be done." Then what's the point of going on? But yet we must try to go on, shrug your shoulders and go on. Stick with it.
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