A Conversation with PEN America Best Debut Short Story Author Amy Sauber

“The pleasure and tension in rooting for an underdog is that you are unsure how or if they can pull through.”

On August 22, Catapult will publish PEN America Best Debut Short Stories 2017, the inaugural edition of an anthology celebrating outstanding new fiction writers published by literary magazines around the world. In the weeks leading up to publication, we’ll feature a Q&A with the contributors, whose stories were selected for the anthology by judges Marie-Helene Bertino, Kelly Link, and Nina McConigley, and awarded PEN’s Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers. Submissions for the 2018 awards are open now.

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Amy Sauber lives in New Hampshire, where she is working on a collection of short stories. From the Carolinas, she holds an MFA from the University of New Hampshire and currently teaches in Maine. Her story, “State Facts for the New Age,” follows a sardonic, recently dumped middle-school teacher as she begins to unravel.

Dr. Hura is a therapist I will never see again. I know this, sitting cross-legged on her couch, as she recommends a Biomat, a long electronic mat about half the length of a twin bed with crushed up amethyst crystals inside a series of horizontal ridges.

“I’m not sure that’s right,” I say.

I’ve been talking at length about Micah, how our relationship is finished after six years. It seems like a stupid thing to see a therapist about. I try to compensate with research, symptom listing—a more concrete reason. I had confirmed on the internet that I might be depressed, have fibromyalgia or cancer, a brain metastasis. Web- diagnosis led me to Dr. Hura, but I don’t tell her this part.

She flips over my forms and gently closes my file. Dr. Hura’s hair is dark, with the exception of a skunk stripe sweeping through it. Her skin is icy, translucent, almost blue. She interlaces her skeletal hands, long and knobby, and rests them awkwardly high on her chest.

“You, Bekah, are here because you hurt,” she says and coughs, but weakly, almost like a giggle.

“I’m a shock absorber for tragedy,” I say, not really knowing what I mean. “Maybe I should just move to Hawaii. I hear that’s a happy place to live.”

Dr. Hura listens, coughs or giggles, and says, “All right.”

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Catapult Books: Where did you find the idea for this story?

Amy Sauber: I had just moved to New Hampshire from South Carolina, and I began researching facts about New Hampshire and then about different states. Sure, state bird and mottos, but there’s a bunch of other officially designated state stuff: state fossils, tartans, songs, instruments. I thought it was hilarious. I remember having a solid enthusiasm about the facts in this tender and silly way, and knew I wanted to use this catalogue of state gear into a story. I really believe that the enjoyment or mood you put in creating something—anything—transfers to the receiver.

I just looked up biomats online and—surprise!—they are real. Where did you first hear about these, and did you know you had to include them in this (or a) story? It’s such a striking detail.

The world is a strange place. My family is moderately obsessed with BioMats. My mom bought one or three—my grandma has one. Maybe it sounds a little far out, but they’re cool and help with chronic pain, arthritis, healing—it can’t hurt anyway. For this story, I liked the idea of a character doing something physically action-less as the undercurrent strengthens. It’s sort of anti-plot, weird move to have a character laying around a lot. It’s not that I wanted my character to be without agency, but I also loved the idea of reclaiming inaction as a force.

The feeling of the protagonist losing grip builds quietly, and then suddenly. Can you talk about the state project presentation scene?

Sometimes it feels good to lose your grip, and I guess in writing it, I had no idea Bekah was about to lose her grip. Although I did see her as this valiant underdog, and I was rooting for her. She’s trying so hard to keep it together as she’s grieving this loss. The pleasure and tension in rooting for an underdog is that you are unsure how or if they can pull through. In this scene, Bekah unleashes herself, but it’s to the wrong audience. She’ll never say those things to Micah, but that doesn’t matter. It’s about her emergence from her grief.

How long did it take you to write the story?

I wrote “State Facts” fairly quickly, something like in a day or a few days. This was a few years ago now. It is one of the most delightful feelings when something can fly out of you. At times, I’m unsure if it can be trusted but it can. It’d be a lie to say I didn’t make some changes to this story, but they were mostly sentence-level revisions. It was the last story I wrote before altering my process dramatically.

How has the Robert J. Dau prize affected you?

The Robert J. Dau prize has been the most soulful, personal affirmation for me, at a time when I needed it most. I am forever grateful. It has provided some generous freedom to get unstuck and move forward.

What are you working on now?

Right now, I’m working on a collection of stories and am gathering for a novel. I’m also working on a 35mm portrait project.