Author Interview: Jennifer Lang

Last May 2023, I had the pleasure of interviewing Jennifer Lang for my website. Now, she's back with the next phase of her memoir writing to share with us. It seems like a lifetime ago, given all that has transpired since then, and I still haven't resumed my regular author interview schedule since October 7th. Yet, as I write here, I believe that writing is fighting, and we must keep going. One day, people will ask us how we felt, what we did, and what it was like during this war. So, without further ado, it's great to have Jennifer return and witness the evolution in her writing. Welcome back, Jennifer Lang!

GG: What formative events in your life catalyzed the writer you would become as an adult?

JL: Growing up, I often accompanied my mother to several branches of the Oakland public libraries: Temescal, Montclair, Piedmont Avenue. I remember the brick building, the trellised walkway, the hardwood floors, the dark interior. I sense the creak underneath my feet as we walked, picture my mother putting her pointer finger in front of her mouth to shush me if I dared speak. I feel the soft, warm spines of Laura Ingalls Wilder, Beverly Cleary, Judy Blume. I hear the librarian's loud stamp with the checkout and return dates.

In fifth grade, circa 1975, I wrote Beverly Cleary a letter, telling her how much I loved Henry Huggins, Ralph S. Mouse, and Ramona the Pest. I don't recall if my teacher or my mother helped me find an address and send it but do know my then beloved author responded in loopy handwriting thanking me for writing her.

Almost five decades later and an author, I am thrilled when a random reader emails, telling me what they thought about my book, if my story resonated with them.

GG: What inspired you to write this second memoir?

JL: It (as in books one and two, PLACES WE LEFT BEHIND and LANDED) started as one excessively long, beyond boring manuscript. It wasn't working. Wasn't making me turn the page. Wasn't making me feel proud of my work or confident in my words. I knew it could be better; I could do better.

After putting it away for a few months (thanks to an editor's suggestion), I slid down a flash rabbit hole. I took online writing classes, answered calls for submission, and served as assistant editor for Brevity journal. Everything I read and wrote involved short, concise prose. While the maximum word count was arbitrary, the guidelines were clear: complete stories with beginnings, middles, and ends in less than 750 words or 500 words or 250 words.

For months, I chiseled my stories. That process of chiseling made me see the importance of word choice and lazy language and overused words and so much more. To my surprise, chiseling my stories also made my prose pop. For the first time, I understood what I was trying to say, why I felt compelled to write what I wrote, where the heart of the story was hiding.

The manuscript for this second book Landed: A yogi's memoir in pieces & poses was finished and under submission when I returned to the earlier pages I had put aside. So the question isn't what inspired me to write the second memoir but the first.

During the submission process, amidst massive rejections and self-doubt, a writer friend encouraged me to link my shorts by theme and enter flash nonfiction prose chapbook competitions. I returned to and reshaped the beginning of my story and re-chiseled it into the first book called Places We Left Behind: a memoir-in-miniature.

GG: What message do you hope to convey to readers that was not in the first book?

JL: Sometimes we get trapped in our own stories, which feel like prison cells; sometimes, we don't know how to get out, can't see the way out, make excuses when anyone tries to offer possible solutions.

For years, I started my sentences with the word "but," making it impossible for me to move forward and get out of my own way. No matter what anyone—husband, therapist, friends—said, I couldn't see the way forward.

But it was up to me to figure it out. No one else could decide or push or convince me to see it differently, to free myself from my emotional prison. I had to be ready and open to think differently, to change my narrative, to find the exit.

GG: What roles do shame and guilt fill in this book?

What an interesting question. Thank you for that. Unfortunately, they both play a part.

I am too open and honest and direct and occasionally see people taken aback by my answers and comments. I detest small talk (very American) and circling around subjects (very French) and, in a way, my upfrontness makes me feel very Israeli.

As for the guilt, I felt it on many levels:

vis-à-vis my relationship with my one and only sibling

vis-à-vis house rules (kashrut and Shabbat) and my desire to break them

vis-à-vis my children feeling rootless

vis-à-vis my parents growing old alone

It's a Jewish thing. It's a struggle. It's intergenerational.

Decades ago, my mother gifted me a night shirt that said I'm 19 on one side with I hate guilt on the other.

Then there's the shame. When answering someone too honestly or when saying something inappropriate in front of my spouse or children, for example, I felt ashamed of my feelings, of my own immaturity. I knew I needed a container or device to deflect the intensity or severity, to lighten my words, and settled on caption bubbles.

The worst is the shame surrounding my relationship with my sibling. By redacting his name, I'm trying to show the reader what that guilt and shame and our relationship look like.

GG: How are leisure and recreation depicted in the book?

JL: Both leisure and recreation are depicted through many ways. The main vessel is through yoga: as escape, as profession, as community, as spiritual practice. Whether as teacher or student, my time on the mat is sacred and meaningful.

Leisure and recreation are also depicted through travel: alone, with my husband, with our family, sometimes in the country but mostly abroad. When you live in a country 33 times smaller than Texas, you need space to breathe, freedom to move.

Lastly, leisure and recreation are experienced and expressed through culture and cultural outings: dance performances, walking tours, movies and museums and more. Because of the language hurdle, I often feel like an outsider of Israeli society and culture. When there are events in English, for English speakers, I try to partake, to be part of and knowledgeable about where I live, our neighbors, my home.

GG: How is the Hebrew language presented in the text? Arabic? English?

I sprinkle other languages like on a cupcake—here and there, unevenly and asymmetrically, as a reminder that my marriage, our family life, my daily life, and some of my friendships are being conducted in a foreign language whether Hebrew or French or an odd amalgam. Arabic is used to show its influence on the Hebrew lexicon and in Israeli daily life and also a reminder of the region where I live; the official languages of Israel are Hebrew and Arabic, reflecting the diverse backgrounds of the country's population.

GG: What do you think your work says about contemporary Israeli society?

JL: With both books, I strive to show the complexities of and subtleties about Israeli society that people probably don't know or wouldn't expect. In "Bureaucratzia" and "Yihiyeh beseder," I want the reader to see the humanity behind the first and how much has changed over time in the second. In the chapterette "Sold," I highlight the high-tech sector with the story of WAZE and Google. In "Small victories," I am showcasing the heavy, overwhelming, inefficient yet democratic political system. In "Unfathomable," I show how the personal is the political no matter what we do, where we go. In short, I want readers to see the whole of Israel through my eyes—the beauty, the destructive, the daily life and desire for humanity in between. 

GG: Please share with us what's next for you?

JL: Writing. I haven't sat at my desk to write for a few years because my first two books came out like Irish twins, within 13 months of each other, and I've been mired in self-promotion. Writing is a muscle, and mine feels stiff and out of practice. I will start small, with short pieces, flash nonfiction, to flex my muscle.

Longer term, farther vision or dream, is historical fiction. Something about San Francisco. Something based on or around my grandparents' arrival from Eastern Europe in the early 20s and 30s and their contributions to the burgeoning Jewish community. Something is still vague. Requires research. Takes years.