 Author Augusten
Burroughs talks to Daren Pope about
family, sexuality, and writing.
Augusten Burroughs’ sharp wit and prickly humour have fast-tracked
his books onto the best sellers’ list. His memoirs, Running with Scissors and Dry,
mercilessly mine his life from early teens through to adulthood. Other works, Magical Thinking and Possible Side Effects, are equally
introspective.
Whether writing about his manic-depressive mother or lovers
with HIV/AIDS, Burroughs is uncensored and often very, very funny. It comes as
some surprise then, that his current book, A
Wolf at the Table is a deeply solemn affair. A prequel to Running with Scissors, the book delves
into his earlier childhood years – in particular, his relationship with his
father, a man he describes as a “classic sociopath”.
In the lead-up to his appearance at the Melbourne Writers
Festival later this month, Burroughs says there are precious few books that
deal with “bad fathers”.
“It’s like a taboo subject - all the books on fathers and
sons are about bonding and sports and advice from Dad to his boy,” he tells MCV.
Men of an older generation were not “physically demonstrative
or emotionally expressive” Burroughs says. Clearly, his alcoholic father - a
professor of philosophy - was on the extreme end of that spectrum.
“A sociopath is dangerous when they are also an alcoholic,
and when you give a sociopath a dis-inhibiting sort of drug you can end up with
someone who is actively homicidal, and that’s exactly what my father was
through out my childhood,” he explains.
Written from a child’s perspective, A Wolf at the Table is not an easy read. Episodes are recalled in
harrowing detail as the young Burroughs struggles to win his father’s love. In
one chapter, an attempt to engage his dad in a game of blow-up balloons results
in a severe beating.
‘He’d spanked my bottom but it was my head that hurt, a
hammering sharp pain …,’ writes Burroughs. ‘My father, seeing the package of
balloons on the kitchen floor, picked them up and placed them in the trash can
in the kitchen. I would find them there the next day but not remove them.’
In another chapter, in search of a surrogate father-figure,
Burroughs relates his fascination with a couple of workmen.
‘I felt that if I could make friends with these men, I might
be able to talk them into digging a small swimming pool for me …’ he writes
innocently. ‘I was so shy and especially afraid of strangers and men. But I was
also completely fascinated and wanted to watch every move they made.’
It would be expedient to bring Burroughs’ sexuality into
these memoirs as a rationalisation for his father’s behaviour (‘with my long,
curly blond hair and fair skin, I didn’t have the rugged look people are
accustomed to in a boy,’ he writes in the book) but that would be far too
simple an analysis.
“My father didn’t care if I was gay,” the writer says. “He
had absolutely no interest in that. I wish I could say he did, because that
would imply that he was able to respond to me in some way – even negatively.”
But has being gay given Burroughs perspective in the writing
of this book?
“It’s very difficult for me to say,” he admits. “The main
thing that allows me to write is that I don’t have any voice telling me no; and
it’s the same with my sexuality – I’ve never once felt guilty. I would never be
straight if given the choice – absolutely never – it’s not the preferred
operating system – so it’s not something that I have to struggle against. Any
time that you have an inner battle, that’s going to impact [on] the flow of
your work.”
Augusten Burroughs is
a Keynote Speaker at the Melbourne Writers’
Festival, Melbourne
Town Hall, August 22 at 9:30pm.
The festival runs from August 22 – 31 at Federation Square. Bookings: 1300 722 211 or www.mwf.com.au
 |
An absent love
Subscribe to this comment's feed