Chelene Knight’s debut poetry collection, Braided Skin, was celebrated as a vibrant telling of mixed ethnicity and urban childhood poverty. Her sophomore book Dear Current Occupant, a creative nonfiction memoir, is a nuanced account of growing up in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside in the 80s and 90s. Dear Current Occupant employs a breadth of forms, including letters, essays, poems, and photographs of the many different rental houses Knight moved in and out of with her mother and brother. The non-linear structure and hybrid form highlight Knight’s keen and poetic observations of her own lived experience. Dear Current Occupant is a creative touchstone that shows us how our stories of survival can and should be told.
I caught up with Chelene at the 2018 Growing Room: A Feminist Literary Festival, where she serves as the festival’s programming director.
You have said that while writing your memoir you felt like you were in conversation with your mother, that she was very close. How did it impact your overall writing process to have a specific person addressed so intimately?
Knight: There are multiple people and multiple versions of people addressed in my book, including multiple versions of myself, both younger and older. In the book, I never speak directly to my mother, instead I tell her my feelings through the current occupants, through the city, through the houses, and through the streets. The multiple references to doors, windows, floors are also vessels for me. These were the things that changed so much. Perspective and proximity both play pivotal roles in the book. Writing to specific people was important to my process. It made me think about the words I wanted to say based on knowing who would be deciphering them.
Do you want to share anything about how your mother or other family members are receiving your books so far?
Knight: When I first started writing this, I went into it without thinking about family reactions and I did this for two reasons. First, I didn’t want to censor myself. Second, these were the stories told from my perspective. I was the only one inside my head, the only one who witnessed these things with my eyes. My eyes. When I found out the book was going to be published, that’s when little trickles of fear crept in. But I have recently had a few great conversations with my mother who in turn opened up even more and started to share some very specific experiences she had that I did not know about. Hearing her perspective made me realize how strong she is. There’s a mutual respect now. I think she’s proud of me and I can say the same about her. At times I know she feels “less than” because of the things she’s had to go through. She feels like folks can see the things inside she doesn’t want anyone to see. She’s a wonderful woman. I am thankful she is here with me. And now that I’ve had my Vancouver launch, I can honestly say my book is changing my life. I shared space on the stage with my mom and brother. And to top it all off, my father walked into the launch after fifteen years of not seeing him. The night was filled with emotion.
You began writing Dear Current Occupant as second collection of poetry. What lead you to memoir?
Knight: I wanted to hide between the layers of poetry. I wanted to share my story, but in code. I think it was pretty obvious that this wasn’t working. There was a story there that needed to get out, but the poetic recipe wasn’t right. It’s almost as if I were choking and needed someone to slap me on the back to cough it up. The good folks at Book*hug did just that. They suggested I try to write it as creative non-fiction. I definitely agreed with this, I just needed the permission. I needed a boost. I needed a slap on the back.
Many memoirs that gain marketplace success are structured as a story arc, where the author might hone in on a specific pivotal event of their lives and position it as an inciting incident. Memoirs that break from this structure are often called “experimental.” My memoir was called experimental. More recently, Terese Marie Mailhot’s Heart Berries has been called experimental. Do you consider yourself an experimental memoirist? In your own words, how would you describe your writing? And do these genre and style descriptors matter to you?
Knight: This is probably the most important question anyone has asked me about my book. I steer clear of the word experimental because I don’t see my life experiences as experimental. An experiment is something you try out and change if it doesn’t work out. Can’t do that with childhood! What I am trying to do now is break down the confines of what defines memoir. My goal is for publishers to be open to these hybrid forms and to understand that there is a market for it. We just need someone to go to bat for us.
I recently had a conversation with a literary agent who was interested in me and she said “to break into the big leagues, you’ll need to write in a more conventional style, that’s just the way publishing works.” I eagerly wrote that down thinking, “oh, I can do that.” But I sat with that comment for a bit and realized, no, my stories are fragmented and broken, and jagged, and beautiful, and sad, and the writing should mirror that. There are so many ways to tell stories, and I refuse to accept that my “experimental” writing will never be “good enough” to break into the big leagues. I’ve been having conversations with people who have said that they’ve never read a book like Dear Current Occupant, and that the stories and memories are shared in such a way that the reader is right there. And isn’t that what reading books is all about? Isn’t that the experience we want the reader to tuck under their pillow? But believe me, if you tell me I can’t do something because I do not have the ability to do it, watch out, ‘cause I’m going to do it.
When you work beyond the confines of chronological time, what guides you in deciding how memories, events and ideas are ordered?
Knight: Trauma affects memory. Memories are fragmented, distorted, unorganized, cracked, so that’s how I wrote the book. I thought about the ordering of the sections, which piece would lead into the next and why, but not in terms of chronological time. There were two sections I wanted to act as book ends, and I needed it to be clear that I was an adult in these. In the first piece, I am an adult going back to one of the old places and the young girl I am watching is me. I am in a non-verbal, observant conversation with myself. In the last piece, I am moving out of the last house I lived in with my mother. And I am writing to her, but I am writing to myself.
You’ve participated in creative writing workshops at The Writers Studio at Simon Fraser University, what advice would you give to workshop mentors and students to best create rigorous, supportive and inclusive environments?
Knight: Listen. Step aside and make space to listen. We all inhibit the same space, some folks will need a bit more, so move over. It isn’t all about critiques. Tell folks what resonates with you when you read/hear their work. It’s important. Mentorship is everything. I think young writers need to hear this. I recently got to hear an amazing up and coming voice, Simone Chnarakis, a fourteen year old writer. I was blown away by her poetry, confidence, voice, and strength. Being supportive and inclusive also means going out of your way to shine the light on someone else. I love the idea that the new stream of writers could possibly have this ingrained if we keep nailing home this idea of making space. It’s so damn easy to do.
Amber Dawn is a writer and creative facilitator living on unceded Coast Salish Territories (Vancouver, Canada). She is the author of four books and the editor of two anthologies.