Welcome back to Bizarro Books as Resistance! For the second installment of this series, I’m pleased to present this conversation with Katy Michelle Quinn. I first met Katy back in 2013 while attending university in Seattle. We went to the same school and met through a classmate. We would often get drunk and write together at her apartment or watch David Lynch’s films. We found bizarro around the same time, and that discovery changed both of our approaches to writing. It has been a delight to see her evolve as a writer and as a human over the past decade. Her first book, Winnie, is essential reading for any fan of bizarro (as is her second book, Girl in the Walls). I’m beyond stoked for the opportunity to interview Katy and share her perspective with all of you.
Andrew: Katy Michelle Quinn, first, would you please tell me a little about your background and how that has influenced your own writing?
Katy: I grew up as a very different person than I am today. I was raised Evangelical and attended a far-right Christian private school from kindergarten through sophomore year. This was in the late 90s and the 00s, and my first memory of politics is of the pro-war, anti-Islam, god-and-country rhetoric that ran rampant after 9/11. I honestly don’t know if I met or talked to anyone who did not think or talk that way until I started community college in 2008-ish. It was very insular, and being a closeted queer person in that environment was extremely confusing.
Through college, my thinking began to evolve. I was educated and educated myself about the world outside of the bubble I grew up in. At first, this was awkward. I didn’t have the language, knowledge, or context to ask questions kindly, and I probably hurt some people because of that. But as I learned more about the scope of human experience, I realized the way I was taught to think was so fucking toxic. It was harmful to everyone, including myself, and it didn’t take long to figure out I didn’t want to be a part of a culture that tries to impose the outdated mores of far-right Christian ideology on literally everyone. That’s fucking fascism.
Fast forward through my late teens and twenties, and I’ve long since separated myself from the culture I was raised in, and actively oppose it. The way that thinking is being weaponized by the current administration is the scariest thing I’ve seen in my life. They’ve incorporated the culture in which I was raised into a monolith of hate and holocaust. Take a look at the history of fascism. This is it.
*steps off burning cop car*
Anyway, that background drastically affects my writing. The enemies are those who want to closet you, to deport you, to cage you. The characters I root for are those who resist.
Also, plenty of queer shit sprinkled in my writing 🙃
A: I can relate to the lasting trauma brought about via the evangelical movement, and I’m so glad you found your own way out of that repressive environment. And now that I better understand where you are coming from, could you share what political resistance means to you?
K: This is a harder question. The obvious answer is everything, but saying that isn’t conducive to progressing the front against fascism. I definitely think being loudly queer or defiant is symbolically powerful, and I do seek to embody that to an extent. But I’ve been pushing myself lately to find concrete ways to resist. Meaning, how can I use my situation and resources to actively work against a political system that is devolving?
Speaking up or lifting up the voices of oppressed people is political resistance. This can be creatively, of course, but also at your job, in public spaces, among family and friends.
Contributing money, time, or other resources to organizations that support the development of an inclusive society that waters all the plants in its garden is political resistance.
Getting involved in local legislation or protesting it can be political resistance.
Fostering safe spaces for those who aren’t safe in many public ones is political resistance. So is skill swapping and community education in spaces that are safe.
I mean, there’s so much you can do, even when it seems like there’s nothing we can do. Fuckin ask a punk lol.
A: Punks always have solid solutions! Probably. Maybe? Fuck idk… Moving on! Do you see your own writing as a form of political resistance, or do you view your work as an author and your work as an activist as separate endeavors?
K: Relatively separate so far, though I aspire to change that. A lot of my writing has been processing all the shit from the first question. I think it’s hard for fiction to be effective resistance as long as it grows in an environment that prioritizes money-making and maximizing profit over ethical practice. Which isn’t to say that’s all of publishing, but a lot of it. I think most activism occurs on the streets, not in your word processor. If you want your writing to be activism, write a zine on a topic you believe is helpful to your community and give em away for free. #socialism
A: Sauda, EIC of Bizarro Central, can we change the name of this interview series to “#socialism?” What if we renamed the BIZARRO genre to something more provocative? Like “#Socialistarro?” What? You said, “fuck no!?” And “#Socialistarro” is the dumbest combination of the words socialist and bizarro that you’ve ever heard? God fucking damnit! Sorry, Katy. I thought I had something there. Anyways, art and resistance. How important is it to you to incorporate your politics into your writing, and how do you balance the story as its own standalone creature with the story as a tool of resistance?
K: I definitely wear my politics and worldview on my sleeve, and I think my fiction does, too. With all the crazy shit going on in this world, I don’t have time for fiction that doesn’t acknowledge it in some way.
A: Since its inception, the bizarro genre has always been viewed as underground, outsider literature. How do you think its counterculture nature (where just about anything goes) can inspire the genre into being an outlet where books of resistance flourish?
K: I think like many niche subcultures, bizarro grabs a lot of people who hate the status quo. Thinking of various punk/metal scenes, extreme horror filmmaking, homesteading, etc. But just cause you’re against the status quo doesn’t mean you’re for the right things. You can see that in the subcultures I mentioned above: nazi black metal bands, a long list of shitty dudes making bonkers horror, homesteaders spouting sexist, trad-wife rhetoric.
Like any subculture, bizarro has potential for really cool things and really shitty things. What it really has going for it is 1) the diverse, worldwide community and 2) a penchant for stories that divorce deeply personal stories from the literal world they were inspired by. I think what I mean by that is that stripping the “humanness” from a character can also strip the signifiers that might turn people off from them. Like, if you have a story about a potato who really wants to be a carrot, and you write that with intent and empathy, it becomes less obvious that you are sharing your trans experience with someone who doesn’t think you should legally exist. It can be that “sharing a meal” moment of mutual presence and enjoyment between people that would otherwise be in a fist fight. Although, sometimes a fight is needed. Nazi bizarros fuck off.
A: Nazi bizarros fuck off forever! Katy, thank you so much for your time and your insights. With those in mind, which bizarro books are your favorite examples of resistance literature?
K: This is gonna be a shitty answer but I’ll give it a go. There’s so many bizarro books that have empowered me and helped me process depression, isolation, being neurodivergent, etc. So I guess you could say there are many examples of personal resistance against normalcy. I think there are much fewer examples of politically resistant bizarro fiction (at least that I’ve read). It’s a real growth area for the scene, I think. For the sake of the question, I will name a couple: Dungeons and Drag Queens and Witch Piss.
A: Hell yeah, love those picks. But why those books? How do they act as books of resistance to you?
K: It’s been a while since I’ve read them both, but I’ll try. DaDQ is just a fucking romp of queer joy and empowerment, which is so not what is common or expected from queer folks. Witch Piss showed a community of people who bonded regardless of their different situations, and portrayed interactions with unhoused folks that went against the norm of averting your eyes.
At least that’s what I remember!
A: Thank you again, Katy. Now, for the rest of you, go check out her work! And as always, if there’s a particular bizarro author you’d like to see included in this series, comment their name below.
If Andrew J. Stone were a dinosaur, he’d be an Apatosaurus. If he were a superhero, he’d be Marx. If he were to have a cat, her name would be Alice, and he’d be living in a residence that allowed pets. He is the author of the novellas The Mortuary Monster (2016), All Hail the House Gods (2018), and The Ultimate Dinosaur Dance-Off (2020). His short stories have appeared in Hobart, New Dead Families, and DOGZPLOT, among other places. His work has been translated into Spanish by the Colombian publisher Ediciones Vestigio. He lives in Los Angeles, surrounded by beauty and dread.
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