Choosing to Do Better
An Interview with Natashia Deón
Natashia Deón is the author of the critically-acclaimed novel, Grace (Counterpoint Press), named a best book of 2016 by the New York Times, The Root, and Kirkus Review. A law professor, practicing attorney, and mother, Deón’s work touches upon history, the horrors of slavery and racism, the importance of connecting with one’s past, and how carving out equitable spaces allows one to navigate often hostile and unjust environments. Her new novel, The Perishing, was released by Counterpoint Press this past November.
I had the privilege of sitting down with Natashia to discuss her novels, views on life and death, literary inspirations, and the influence and resiliency of Los Angeles.
Esteban Rodriguez: Thank you so much, Natashia for your time. Your second novel, The Perishing (Counterpoint 2021) centers on a young Black woman named Lou who wakes up in 1930s Los Angeles only to discover she has no recollection of who she is, where she came from, and how she arrived at this place. In addition to the mysterious nature of her origins, Lou is faced with navigating the labyrinth of racist, sexist, and suspicious attitudes and characters, not to mention the uncertainty of her own mortality. Where did this story find its genesis and how did the novel as a whole come to be?
Natashia Deón: I wish I could say it was one place. My first novel, Grace, had a clear genesis, which was a dream. The Perishing seemed to be a story that was on its way all of my life, beginning with unanswered questions in Sunday school church as a child. Then it became the feeling I got when I met someone for the first time and it seemed that I’d known them forever…or before this life…whatever that means. But what made me get up in the middle of the night to begin penning The Perishing was, like my first novel, a dream that scared me. I was a character in my dream—a fair skinned, white passing Black woman who was in love with a Chinese man and he loved me. I could feel that in the dream. We were both living in Los Angeles in its early days, the mid to late 1800s. I could tell by the architecture and adobe buildings in the dream. The dream ended in fear. When I woke up that night, I was so convinced it was real that I began googling details of events that happened around that time in history in L.A., and if it were possible for people like those I saw and who I was to exist. That’s when I read for the first time about the Chinese Massacre of 1871. And it was the spark. It became Chapter 35 of The Perishing.
ER: I’m quite fascinated with how narrative is used in both Grace, your first novel, and The Perishing. We are introduced to various characters throughout your books, each deserving of their own chapter, and the leaps between voices and time periods create multiple arcs woven into an overarching narrative rich in nuance and soul. How did you conceive of narrative when you began writing your novels and why was it important to showcase time in this manner?
ND: For both novels, I feel less like I’ve chosen the narrative but more like it has chosen me to carry its voice. Where “it” comes from is wherever inspiration comes from for artists. It’s different for all artists. I’m not trying to be spiritual about it. I do believe artists are inspired from things they see or experience or feel. With my first novel, I “heard” the voice of character as I wrote it. And maybe “heard” is the wrong word. I heard or recalled the voice of my grandmother…if she were seventeen and not eighty-years old. In my second novel, I “heard” two voices and I should say, I don’t have audio hallucinations, it’s more like a knowing…like having a conversation with yourself and knowing it’s you talking to yourself without having to question it. So when I conceived of the narrative, I wanted to honor these character’s voices and see where they might take me.
ER: For many, the idea of death is tied with one’s religious beliefs and experiences. But in Grace, Naomi’s death is merely one more phase in her journey and in The Perishing, Lou’s inability to die creates a burden and an opportunity she can only share with a small number of people. Neither of these character’s disposition is outwardly religious. In what ways do you view death in relation to life and how has rendering it on the page in the manner that you did changed/enhanced your understanding of our time on earth?
ND: I guess I’d answer first by saying that no one has to be religious to die. (I’m smiling here). We all have that physical appointment. In America, especially, we try to avoid and prolong the inevitable…or force others to. A friend’s father, who had been an oncologist for decades, shook my understanding of “fighting cancer” when he refused cancer treatment for the cancer he developed. He just wanted to die comfortably…and he was an oncologist. Recently, I lost a pastor friend and remember thinking, maybe no one has more pressure to survive and heal than a Pentecostal pastor. Everybody was waiting for his miracle and wanted updates and his cheery optimism as a display of faith, even as he suffered. I wonder what he wanted? Maybe that was it.
I view physical death as one marker that illuminates life and how quickly time passes; the quality of life and how we decide what makes it quality. How we treat others. I’ve asked clients in particularly dire straits, “If one life is all you get, is this how you want to go out?”
ER: What literary influences helped shape the writing of both your novels? And what non-literary influences provided inspiration as well?
ND: A book called Push by Sapphire is what “gave me permission” to write. I was and am a fan of Black literature and fantasy and historicals, and being a fan maybe made it even more intimidating to try something. But when the main character in Push began to speak on the page…a pregnant teen mom in NYC…I connected to her instantly, feeling like the soul of this imaginary character was on the page and it stirred me differently. As far as non-literary influences…well, whether someone calls it literary or not, it would have to be the Holy Bible.
ER: As a criminal lawyer, what aspects of this profession have lent themselves to your writing, and vice versa? And how do you balance being a writer with being a lawyer, professor, mother, and wife?
ND: All of it. All aspects of my criminal professional life affect my writing, but most often the people. The people who’ve made mistakes or who’ve intentionally committed crimes for whatever reason. And also mercy, forgiveness, reconciliation. Injustice.
People often ask me how I balance my life and I’ve answered it in different ways over the years. God is my truest answer. He “lets me” and He carries me. The part I do is I keep walking. I get up when I fall. I try to treat people right. I make mistakes. I have a beautiful partner in my husband, a larger than life mother, children who I’d want to be friends with, and all of them are hilariously funny no matter what terrible thing or beautiful thing might be going on. That’s how.
ER: There are many great novels situated in Los Angeles and in the surrounding southern California landscape. As a Los Angeles native, can you describe the role the city plays both in The Perishing and in your life?
I was born in Los Angeles in the late-1970s and the Los Angeles I grew up in looks so different and the same as it did. It’s like it has only aged but in places it has a whole new face. Like an old man getting a major facelift and lip injections. The new stuff looks strange and sometimes cool—if he likes it, I love it—but I can also remember the old face and miss it, too. In The Perishing, I wanted to create an atmosphere of mourning for the City of Los Angeles that has no choice but to change and grow older, differently. I also wanted to celebrate the joy, hope, and resiliency of such a magical place that’s willing to wrestle with its inhabitants. I wanted to uncover things in the past that still have consequences to us today—from the 1800s to 1930s to 1970s to now. Many patterns still continue…even the same arguments. Instead of COVID anti-vaxxers in the 2021, it was polio anti-vaxxers in the 1930s (before then Smallpox), instead of redlining in the 1930s, it’s gentrification now. The people who keep humanity divided are still playing from the same deck of “reasons”—race, vaccination status, etc. And that fascinates me. Because I believe if we can see a pattern, we can change it. And start treating each other better no matter where they fall on the divided political or social line.
ER: What conversation do you hope The Perishing has with Grace and with your future work?
Both of these novels are about the ways we choose to live within the parameters of the life we’ve been given. And then, choosing to do better. I hope these conversations continue and that they foster hope.
