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Wheat City Journal: What does it take to be Corey Redekop?
Corey Redekop: This may very well be the strangest question anyone has ever asked me, but here goes: not much. I’m making most of it up as I go along.
Journal: Were parents an important part of your life?
Redekop: Yes, but not mine. Joke. Yeah, my parents were and still are important in my life, in that they are two of the most loving, patient, and smart individuals I’ve ever met. How I turned out the way I am is kind of a mystery because I don’t actually share many of the same traits as them. But they gave me the space and time to let me figure out who I was, and I could not have asked for better.
Journal: What prompted you to write a book?
Redekop: I worked for a short time at Chapters in 2002. It was at a time when Oprah Winfrey’s book club mania was at its peak, which was great for some authors, and absolute murder for the rest. Seeing people ignore Palahniuk or Vonnegut in favour of Wally Lamb was one of the more depressing experiences in my life, and fueled the intensely righteous and completely misguided rage that permeates the novel. I admit to being a snob in such matters, but the result, for better or worse, is the book. The title comes from my nickname for us Sisyphus’ in the stacks, putting books that no one ever reads on the shelves, then taking them down later. I called us ‘shelf monkeys,’ sort of like the restaurant tradition of referring to dishwashers as ‘dish pigs.’ I had a daydream of what I might do if I ever met Oprah herself, and the plot grew from there.
Journal: Who has been the most influential person in your life, and why?
Redekop: I don’t know if anyone has been influential, in the idea of, “That is who I must grow up to be.” I’ve never sought out mentors or anyone of that ilk. I think my parents have had the most influence in shaping what I turned out to be. For better or worse, it’s their fault. I’ll let them take the blame on that one.
Journal: Are you writing another book right now? Can you tell us anything about it?
Redekop: I have started working on another, but right now it’s barely a fetus. It’s too un-formed for me to tell what it’s going to evolve into, but it’s been stomping around inside me for a few months, and I think I have the basic structure mapped out as to where it starts, and where I want it to end up. It does involve the cult of celebrity, so I suppose it might be seen as similar thematically to Shelf Monkey. Maybe I should write a third novel as well, make the whole thing a loosely linked trilogy of cultural obsession.
Journal: What did you want to be when you were growing up?
Redekop: An actor. But life has a way of smacking you upside the head and telling you that you need to eat, and for me, acting was never going to feed me. I’d go back, I think, but I’ve lost patience with the whole process, the whole clash of personalities that invariably arises in putting together a play, and it would have to be something I really believed in. So I walked away and decided to try something else.
Journal: Has there been one book that you can never read enough of, and will read over and over?
Redekop: Oh, several. I’ve read The World According to Garp many times, and I just finished rereading The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy for probably the tenth time. I’ve read every Stephen King book at least twice, and Orwell’s 1984 is one I keep coming back to. The great thing about re-reading a novel is that you’re a different person each time, and more elements of the story affect you on other levels than previously. I find that more often lately, since I’ve been published, that I read with an eye toward how the story is being told. Looking for tips I can use, I suppose.
Journal: How do you feel, when young writers look to you for help? Like at the workshop coming up.
Redekop: A fraud, really. Not many people have actually asked for help, and most of the questions are along the lines of, “How did you find a publisher?” I’m not terribly comfortable commenting on other’s work, because I feel that it puts me in a position of authority that I haven’t truly earned yet. I can offer advice, of course, but most of it is common sense advice: do your re-search, prepare a cover letter, expect rejection, that sort of thing.
Journal: Were you a good student in school?
Redekop: Spectacular. Real teacher’s pet sort of student. Actually, I prefer school to real life, which may be why I’m now a librarian. I’m surrounded by the tools of learning.
Journal: How did you get into your line of work?
Redekop: It was a long and twisted path. After giving up acting, I went into broadcasting, and worked for a brief time as a film editor, but the man I worked for was so unpleasant it soiled the entire experience for me. I then went to law school, did really well, but once I started working in the field, I was reminded once again that real life is never the same, and I absolutely loathed the experience. So I walked away, and decided to go into library work. So far, good times.
Journal: Tell us a little about where you grew up and went to school.
Redekop: I grew up in Thompson, where I’m now based as the public library director. It was just to the left of the middle of nowhere. Although I recently attended the 20-year reunion of my graduating class, and I recognized or remembered so few people, I’m sure I must have been home schooled.
Journal: What is the hardest part of the process of writing a book?
Redekop: Finding the time and energy to sit and write. There are a few individuals blessed with the fortitude and stamina to write for a few hours every day, but not me. After work, having been around people for so long, I need to be alone and purge the day from my system. It takes a while, and sitting down and writing is so exhausting a prospect that sometimes I cannot bring myself to do it. But little by little, it happens.
Journal: What did you consider to be the point of success with your book? Did you reach that?
Redekop: For me, the point of success was getting Miriam Toews’ stamp of approval. She helped me out when she was writer-in-residence at the Winnipeg Public Library, and when I got my manuscript back with a note saying that it was time to send it to publishers, I think that’s when I felt like I succeeded, that I wrote something that someone else with nothing vested in my feelings liked to that extent.
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