photo by Ryan Pfluger
Jami Attenberg
Issue #34
The Brooklyn-based author discusses her debut novel, The Kept Man, her fantasies about offing her ex, and her “wild past”
By Amber Drea
Published: December 1st, 2007 | 2:37pm
“I have been waiting for my husband to die for six years.” So begins Jami Attenberg’s debut novel The Kept Man. The narrator, Jarvis Miller, is a woman who puts her life on hold after her husband Martin, a successful artist, falls into a coma, and there seems to be no end in sight. That is, until one day she meets a group of three men at the Laudromat who call themselves the Kept Men Club. They allow her into the club, and Jarvis begins to imagine a life without Martin.
Told with a seemingly glib yet emotionally layered tone similar to Attenberg’s story collection, Instant Love, The Kept Man deftly deals with issues of identity, loyalty, the dynamics of New York’s art scene, and the ethics of euthanasia. It’s full of surprising twists, erotic encounters, and philosophical meditations. Attenberg knows how to tell a story that’s both socially relevant and a fun read. While staying in Chicago before heading off to a literary festival in Nebraska, the Buffalo Grove, Illinois–native sits down to chat.
Where did you get the concept for The Kept Man?
Living in Williamsburg, you see a lot of people who hang out all day, and I’ve always wondered what these people were doing and how they could afford to live. Then I actually met some men who had much wealthier or more successful wives, and there’s a lot of real estate agents–slash-actors in New York City who have wives who are doing really well. I was also fascinated with the whole Terry Schiavo case, and both of those things kind of came together at the same time.
I also think the book is a metaphor for a failed relationship in general. I was in the process of a breakup at that time, so it just seemed to drag on forever. But maybe there was a little bit of a wish fulfillment that I could kill him off in some way. That’s nothing like the character in the book. I don’t think that anyone would wish to be in the situation that Jarvis was in, but at the same time, it is a tantalizing idea, being able to put a relationship away in a corner.
Why do you think Jarvis was keeping him alive for so long — out of love or out of loyalty?
She doesn’t know what to do with herself. [Before he goes into the coma] she doesn’t really have that much that she does with her time except make him happy. She sort of operates as this muse, which [is what] a lot of women who are partners to these dominant male artists end up doing. They don’t have their own identity. And so her whole identity was fused with this person and then when he disappeared, she didn’t have any [way] to uncover that identity.
At first you think Jarvis is such a good wife and has the best intentions, but then you realize she’s got a dark side.
We wrong as much as we are wronged in this life. No one’s a saint, but you can still be a good person, even if you fuck up. And [in that way] I identify with her, because I certainly have had my wild past. Like people who knew me 10 years ago probably wouldn’t recognize me from the way that I am now. But I feel like I’m exactly the same person — I’m just doing different things with my time. And I think that this is the really important part: At the end of the book, you realize that Jarvis is just about to become the person that she can be in this life. There’s always a chance for redemption.
You really capture the feeling of Brooklyn in the book — it’s almost like a character.
It is a character to me in my life. Especially when I was writing this book, not as much now, but at the time, I was getting up every day and riding my bike or going for walks on the streets that Jarvis was walking on, and I was taking pictures and looking at the world around me. I was obsessed with how much the neighborhood was changing because it’s just so rich there. So [the book is] definitely a love letter to the neighborhood, and because it’s ever-changing, it seemed like a good place to put it. I think I don’t need to write about New York again. At least not for a while.
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