Transcript
A (0:02)
The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co production of WNYC and the New Yorker.
B (0:10)
This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. Jennifer Wilson writes about culture for the New Yorker. Culture in many forms. Everything from the latest in literary fiction to the boom in prenup agreements. Jen sat down the other day for a conversation with the author of a new book called Fat Swim.
C (0:32)
I first met Emma Copley Eisenberg around seven years ago in Philadelphia, where we both lived at the time. She had created a literary organization called Blue Stoop to help connect the city's community of writers. Now she's out with Fat Swim, a short story collection set in Philadelphia. The characters are vibrant and many identify as fat and are resentful that they live in a world that wants to, you know, limit their cravings for food, for one another and for life. Emma is one of the foremost thinkers about fatphobia in literature, but also in American culture more broadly. And it was one of the reasons why I was just very excited to have the opportunity to talk to her.
B (1:22)
Here's Jennifer Wilson talking with Emma Copley Eisenberg.
C (1:26)
So the book is called Fat Swim. It's a collection of short stories. And the first story is also called Fat Swim, and it begins with an eight year old girl named Alice looking out her window.
D (1:41)
Yeah, that story was sort of the first time I was like, okay, I think I'm writing a collection of stories that has like a real coherent, I would call it a plot through line, through the stories. And she sees this group of fat women who live in her neighborhood. She lives in West Philly and has some sort of complicated where she's sort of identifying with them and sort of aroused by them and sort of wants to be a part of their group, but also feels foreign because she's a kid and they're adults. So, yeah, there's this moment, I think, where Alice sees just like some long leg hair on one of the women at the pool and the wind is blowing it and they see her looking and they're like, do you want to touch it? And she's like, yeah. And I think it's an interesting moment because, like, leg hair is not. It's not like forbidden. It's not like one is like, I cannot have long leg hair. You know, it's certainly part of like feminist reclamation movements of like, I can have whatever body hair I want, et cetera, but it is still this very intimate thing where we don't usually touch each other's leg hair, I guess, or body hair. At all. And so I thought there's something interesting to me about, like, what it just. It just happened as I was writing the story. Cause I was just like, Alice wants to be close to them. She wants to be close to their bodies. And I think also we underestimate, like, how much kids are always looking at. At the bodies of adults, being like, am I like that or am I different from that? So I think that the whole story is, in many ways, Alice asking, like, who am I? What does my body mean? And do I get to say what it means? Or are other people gonna tell me? And so that she's kind of looking at these adult women who are sort of like her, but also really far away.
