A Conversation with Adam Robinson

Today we talk with Adam Robinson of Publishing Genius about adjusting the kerning, hoping for the unexpected, and how good art can make us less self-absorbed.

BG: Tell us a bit about yourself. Where do you live? What do you hate? Love? Ignore?

AR: I live in Baltimore. I’m house sitting for a friend this year, so I’ve got a big three-bedroom place near a great big park. I grew up in central NY and lived in Chicago for 5 years and Milwaukee for 5 years. I’ve been in Baltimore for about 5 years. What do I hate is a funny question; nothing jumps out at me though I know it when I see it. Oh, I know — I don’t like nasty commenters on the Internet. They almost always seem counterproductive to me. One thing I love is being surprised by art. Another thing I love is being surprised by people. I’m sure I ignore lots of things, but that falls into the Rumsfeldian idea of, well, I don’t pay attention to what I don’t pay attention to.

BG: One of the greatest joys I have is when I’m reading and a sentence or stanza just forces me to stop and stare with wonder at it. For me this happens most often which imagery or an unknown word that ends up being perfect in its positioning and context. What surprises you when you read? Will you share some examples?

AR: I’m trying to think if any of my greatest joys come from reading. It is possibly so, though the feeling I get from, say, skiing is more intense 9 times out of 10. But last night I watched Winter’s Bone and — disliking “indie films” in general — I was surprised and delighted and I think I’m still a little high from that surprise. I was transfixed by the dialog, and not just the spoken things between the characters, but the visual dialog, which is something indie movies always try for, I think, something innate in their code, and something that really pays off when its achieved. The director, Debra Granik, connected the characters to the landscape with long shots, relegating the action to the distance. For instance, there’s a scene where a bail bondsman comes to speak to the main character, but most of the tension is created by two guys just standing in the background. Later you see a woman approaching the main character with a coffee mug and though they were steps apart I was already feeling the consequence of that mug. Not to mention the clothes drying on their lines everywhere the girl walked. All of this made me enjoy the movie in a way I was not expecting. I felt the movie intensely, I couldn’t fold laundry, and that stop-what-you’re-doing/rethink-what-you-know feeling is what I always want from literature. Not just something interesting or provocative, but something that is so complete that it can seem immersive. Stephanie Barber’s film “Dwarfs the Sea” has this effect for me, as did Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer. This cowboy story, “The Freighter’s Connection,” at Rope and Wire really blew me away with the seamlessness of its tone.

BG: Did you read Woodrell’s book before seeing the movie? I enjoyed the book too, but there’s a different tone in the novel than what’s evoked in the movie. The text comes across as more plodding to me, more determined, whereas the movie possesses an odd feel that makes the story seem more open even though the outcome is fixed. I suppose that’s a matter of where one’s attention is focused. Isn’t this “stop-what-you’re-doing/rethink-what-you-know feeling” a de-focusing of self-absorption?

AR: No, I haven’t read Woodrell’s book. It wasn’t on my radar. Do you ever get the feeling when you’re reading that you can’t wait to see the movie for the story, even though there is no movie? I had that in reverse. I thought, this would make a great book. I didn’t know it was from a novel because the credits come at the end and I got the movie at the Redbox.

Anyway, you did a nice job tying that into a question about focusing attention. I don’t agree or disagree with your hypothesis though. I think you’re saying that when we are surprised by something in art, we stop being self-absorbed. But I always go to art with the intention of getting swept away, and it so rarely happens. Maybe that’s because I’m so firmly tucked into myself, though.

Language about this stuff frustrates me. “Swept away,” “tucked into myself” — normally I wouldn’t let myself use metaphors like that. I’m trying something different, because I haven’t read theory in a long time and also because “self-absorbed” is equally imprecise. Essentially we’re talking about what makes good art, and that is necessarily something that can’t be said.

BG: Of course the terminology will always fail us, but we work within the constraints given us. I think people understand being “swept away” and “self-absorbed.” Certainly, some asshat will wag their black tongue and require a precise definition, but people living in the world manage to get along just fine without precision. So can art. In fact, I don’t see how it’s really possible for art to be exactly precise and still be called art. In writing, if the piece you’re reading is so fixed and defined that there can be no variation in interpretation, then it’s essentially inert. That’s what I like about the writing you put out at Publishing Genius; it’s probable, not determined. Tell us a little bit about what you look for, how you find material, how and why you started your publishing company.

AR: Thanks for noticing that about the PG books. I like what you’re saying. I guess I’ll work backward here. I started Publishing Genius before I knew anything about the small press world. I just knew I loved great writing and I wanted to participate in literary culture, and I had done zines and loved them so moving into publishing books just seemed natural. Like everybody I look for work that I wasn’t expecting, and work that I initially don’t understand. Or might never “understand.” If I read something and feel confused, I think I like it. But I also look for people who I think will be nice. And I think about 50% of the books have come from submissions and 50% from people I wanted to work with.

BG: Did you make any mistakes starting out? Anything you wish you’d done differently?

AR: I made so many mistakes starting out. I told a guy I’d do his chapbook and then never got around to it and he pulled it. That was when I had only done two chapbooks. I guess early 2007. But I make so many mistakes now, too. Probably I make more now because I’m doing a lot more now. I wish I said “No” more. I wish I would only work on one book at a time. I wish I had the patience or the luxury to stop what I’m doing and take time to set up some administrative processes so that I could have people help me and I wouldn’t fuck up so many timelines. I wish I had the energy to invest in getting the books reviewed in places with real reach, outside of our friendly world.

You know, people often say to me that they want to get their book done with PG because they feel like people would read it. Which is incredibly nice and makes me feel great, but there are so many other presses right now doing admirable work that I’m starting to feel crowded. I’m getting a little elbow-y. Well, I want to get elbow-y — damn, back the eff up Dark Sky — but I’m spending my energy, like, increasing the kerning just a little bit? and how is this lasso tool supposed to work? and thanks for sending your poetry but it’s not what we’re looking for? that I never get a chance to lunch with the staff at Mother Jones, which I assume is why they aren’t reviewing Pee On Water.

BG: What does it take to get a book reviewed outside the Indie lit world?

AR: Good question; who knows? Everything has to be in order with the book, of course — like it should include a decent press package and it has to get to the review venue in good time. Like if we’re talking about the obvious places like Kirkus and Publishers Weekly and Bookforum, that’s about four months before the release date. For places that really matter, places that actual people read, I don’t think it’s so scientific. Like, I’d love to get a book in Spin. For that, everything hinges on the package. It has to catch the editor at the right time, then it has to catch the reviewer at the right time. It’s not unlike getting published in the first place, considering how much of it depends on chance.

BG: Chance plays such an integral role in publishing. I call it luck because that word seems to connote a tad more randomness than chance, at least for me. As writers, we’re told to stay determined, to continue writing and putting your work out there, and that, in some way, is supposed to better our chances or increase our good luck quotient. Does the same methodology work for a publisher? I mean, a writer puts forth effort, which is largely unquantifiable in business terms, whereas a business invests money and needs a return on that investment in order to keep operating. A writer can keep producing without money at all, and most do. How does a publisher survive?

AR: In terms of expenses, writers have it pretty easy. I still haven’t made any money with publishing. With my modest business structure I’m within $10,000 of being in the black. That’s net loss over four years. That’s not too bad. I love that I have that luxury. I feel really privileged to get to do this, that people will support Publishing Genius as much as they have. There is a lot of life blood to keep me going. I was just at the Chapbook Festival and had such a good time that I can’t wait for next year. So now I need to be doing this next year so I can participate again. And like that I’ve locked in another year. And, like, whenever I read a book that I love, or just see a book that is beautiful, I still feel this incredible urge to try to do it myself. Melissa Broder told me recently that when she reads poetry, her first instinct is to stop reading so she can do her own poems. That’s the way I feel when I look at books from Caketrain and Wave and Ellipsis. I feed on the good things that others do. I only think about surviving when I think about the obligation I have to the people I’ve published, when I think “Mairéad trusted her work to me, I owe it to her to stay alive.” So I guess in most ways, relevant to the reason I do this, it’s not about survival. I mean, most of the time I feel I’ve never been born.

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Adam Robinson founded Publishing Genius in 2006, with the first edition of isReads, the outdoor journal. Since then, the press has published fifteen books and a couple dozen chapbooks, and has been featured in Poets and Writers, Publishers Weekly, The Believer and more, and in 2009 was awarded a Best of Baltimore award. Adam Robinson is also the author of two books of poetry, one of which,Adam Robison and Other Poems, was nominated for the Goodreads award for best poetry book of 2010.