The New Yorker Radio Hour - James McBride on His New Novel, “The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store”

Episode Date: August 8, 2023

James McBride’s new novel, “The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store,” centers on the discovery of a skeleton at the bottom of a well in a small town in Pennsylvania. What unfolds is the story of a young Black boy raised by a Jewish woman decades earlier, a story that has been closely held secret among the communities that call the area home. McBride has been writing at the intersection of race, Blackness, whiteness, and Judaism in America since his 1995 memoir “The Color of Water,” a tribute to his own Jewish mother. He speaks with the staff writer Julian Lucas. “I want to read a book that makes me feel good about being alive,” McBride says. “If I want the bad things to happen, I’ll just read the New York Times. I want a book to take me to a place that I like to be.” New Yorker Radio Hour listeners, we want to hear from you.  We have a few questions about the show and how you listen to it. The survey takes about twenty minutes, and your feedback will help us make our podcast better.  Take the survey here.

This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. James McBride's new novel opens with a skeleton found in a well. We're in a small town in Pennsylvania in 1972, and then the book travels back in time to the 30s to solve the mystery. It's just about a little town in Pennsylvania, where this Jewish woman takes in this black, black, deaf boy and the waves of activity that follow show us what America was and should be. The deaf boy is known as Dodo and the Jewish woman who takes him in is Chona Ludlow, and she runs the shop that gives the novel its title, The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store.

McBride's been writing about these themes since his 1996 memoir, The Color of Water. His book, Good Lord Bird, about the John Brown abolitionist uprising, won a national book award and it became a mini-series for Showtime. James McBride spoke the other day with Julian Lucas, a staff writer for the New Yorker. Here's Julian. Anyone who knows your work knows that you love to write about communities, whether that's John Brown's Army marching through the South or the projects in Red Hook, which you fix. nationalized in your last novel. And in this one, we have the black and Jewish immigrant community of Chicken Hill in Pennsylvania. So I wonder if we could start by just talking a little bit about that community, how you came to be interested in it and to write a book set there. Well, the truth is I was really, I really wanted to write about this camp I used to work outside Philly that dealt with, that we took care of. We took care of. We learned from disabled children. And the guy that ran the camp was a Jewish guy named Cy Friend.

And this is in the 70s when I was in college. And it was a life-changing experience for me. And then I've always been interested in Jewish life because of my own history, because my mother was Jewish and so forth and grew up in a small town. And Pennsylvania seems like a pretty good place to spend time. So I started driving around Pennsylvania. And then I looked on a map and I saw Potsville, and was not far from Pittsburgh.

And then I drove out that way, and as I was driving out that way, I noted, you know, I had one of those maps that you open up. I saw Potts Town. So I went there. And it was beautiful. It was a beautiful town. And so I did my usual bit, you know, monkeying around the library and talking to people and stuff and going to the Historical Society.

And I heard this name, Chicken Hill bandied about. And then, you know, I found the format to work. the story of community. This is such an ingeniously plotted novel, almost like a Rube Goldberg machine in the way that, rescuing Dodo from the institution, summons all of the different forces of this community, and somehow almost every single person is involved,

whether they know it or not. So I wonder how you plot your work. Do your characters tell you where they're going, or do you have a kind of grand scheme ahead of you when you begin? mostly in my books, I guess, if I have to analyze it, the characters lead the way. I draw a big circle in my office, and I just put each character there, and then I draw a line, and I connect them. And they make sure, and how they're going to connect. I used to do ABCD, and then I just, after I, now I just do the circle, and I just put all the characters in the circle.

And they got to connect some way. Always connect. Well, everything in life connects, you know, if it's right. you know, what happened was I spent years trying to write this book about the camp. It wasn't happening. I spent more years researching, and I still came up with nothing. So I'd do it for a while, and then I quit, and I'd do it for a while, and I quit. It's just research, research, you know, reading, look, and going to places and so forth.

What happened was, when Moshe became real, I just put them on the page and let them go. And then Chona arrived. And I knew I wanted to get, you know, a kid in this, in this couple's lives. Then the plot started, then the road started open more. So the characters in this case, and I think it's probably all that way happens.

I don't know. If I analyze it too much, I'd lose my mind. But, I mean, basically the characters start to open them. You know, they create the path. In this kind of big, raucous American novel that has people from so many different backgrounds,

Doc Roberts is this, you know, thinks he comes from a Mayflower family, kind of old line white man of Pennsylvania, who resents the way that the area is changing, is a Klansman, and is probably the second biggest antagonist in the novel. And yet you really do get into his head in several chapters. You give an almost empathetic description of the town that he misses where everyone knew each other and went to the Presbyterian Church. What was it like getting into the head of a character like this who really is afraid that his people are going to be replaced

and who reacts very badly to that. Well, I mean, I'm a black man. I grew up in America, so I don't need to... I mean, I've witnessed this kind of thing all my life, you know. I've seen what one of those guys does when he becomes president. So it's not hard to kind of get into that person's head. What's important is to show that some sympathy and some empathy for that person

because Doc happens to be disabled as well. But I guess the only thing I really have a little bit of disdain for in my book and in my life is this whole business. I'm like one of the 14 people that arrived on the Mayflower. I mean, come on. You know, I mean, I had enough for that. I wanted to point that out without pointing it out. I laugh quite a bit at the moment where you have a,

a dance that you describe as 19 mountain people whose 14th cousin arrived on the Mayflower, and their band sounds like boneless, noise-producing junkmongers. Well, I mean, that's about as deep as I go. That's about as deep as I poke it, you know, at them. You know, I mean, some of that music's good, you know. It's just that we all don't want to go clogging, you know?

I mean, some of us just want to dance if we can, you know. I mean, the truth is I dance like a white guy with, you know, with one finger in the air and a beer in the other hand. So it ain't like, you know, I'm that cool either, but, you know. Author James McBride, talking with the New Yorkers, Julian Lucas. We'll continue in a moment. It seems like you're interested in characters who their religious faith or their religious background inspires them to go beyond themselves, not to stay locked in a particular community, but to take their tradition and see how it's connects them to,

to others. Inspires them to kindness, you know, and wisdom, because those things last. You know, hate is, hate takes too much,

and hate is like, you know, diesel and it just gobbles up, fuel. But love and kindness, it just float like, it's like, they just float like clouds.

They just go out, you know, it's easy. So, my characters, including John Brown, are characters who are driven by love.

They're driven by, the need for justice. I'm not one of them kind of guys who writes, who creates characters and runs them up a tree and throws cans at them. I ain't interested in it. I want to read a book that makes me feel good about being alive.

I just ain't that smart. I just want good things to happen. I'm not interested in bad. If I want the bad things to happen, I'll just read the New York Times or the Post, you know, Washington Post. I'm not interested in that. I want a book to take me to a place

that I like to be. I wonder, how did you be a writer? Man, that was a mistake. What happened was... You know, when I got out of Obelin, I applied to Columbia because I was into social change.

When I was at Ovalon, we went to this whole thing at DeVest, you know, Nelson Mandela, you know, he was in prison and so forth. And I was, you know, I got, like, active. And so I became... I wanted to become a journalist because I wanted to change the world. You know, you see, that worked out. But, you know, I ended up at Columbia,

Then I went to the Wilmington News Journal. From there, I went to the Boston Globe and then to People magazine. You know, I covered Michael Jackson exclusively for six months when I was at people. Oh, wow. But when I was in Boston, I didn't like Boston at all. You know, I came there, like, you know,

right after the busing thing. You know, I mean, one of the first stories I did at the Globe, I went out, and this cat, they sent me out to do a story about a priest in the South End. And I knocked on the door. I had a big afro. before cell phones too now. I knocked on the door. I said, excuse me, miss.

I said, my name is James McBride from the Boston Globe. And she said, she said, this is the first thing out her mouth. She said, get out of here. I said, but I'm from the Boston Globe. She said, I can't where you from? Get out of here. So, so it's a slam the door. So I went down to the pay phone and I called the paper and I got the city desk. And I said, and I didn't know who the city desk.

addict there was, you know. So I said, hey, this is, you know, my name's James McBrideham in the living section. I'm supposed to be interviewing this father, father Waldron. This lady's calling me names. The guy said, oh, she's calling your names, huh? Okay, well, go back to work. And he hung the phone up. Wow. Then I called, I called the parish. I called the minister, the priest. I got someone on the phone. I said, I'm coming to see you. So I got him on the phone. And he said, oh, come on down the streets. I went back to the chair and knocked on the door. And when he opened the door and saw me, he said, oh my God. He said, oh, my God. He said, I'm sorry. And what happened was, you know,

they had sheltered this lady or something. And, you know, she just happened to open the door. And he turned out to be a great cat. His name was Father Waldron. He was a wonderful man. I hope he's still alive. Wow. And, I mean, you know, I mean, that incident, it sort of was like, It set up my life, my time in Boston. I felt Boston was, you know, I felt Philly was a much better place, man. So what you're saying is that woman saved you from both Boston and journalism?

No, she taught me a lesson. She taught me the lesson she taught me was that, you know, while something terrible can happen, you know, just stay with it and something beautiful will happen. I mean, I knew Father Waldron for years. I talked to him maybe four or five years ago. So if I had walked away and said,

the hell with it, I'd have never gotten this opportunity to meet this guy. You know, I would get on the subway, when I was on the subway, when my mother went to him and I was little, these people started calling her names, these guys, and they were calling, you know, look at her with those sh-hers and all that. And later I asked, I said, Mom, you know, why you let them call you, you know, why you, she said, their names can't hurt me. Did you do your math homework or not?

I mean, did you do it? I mean, she just was not, she would, she just discarded what was negative. And my siblings are the same way. We laugh about this stuff. It doesn't matter. You know, it's just a passing moment. Just go ahead and do what you have to do. Now, I mean, some of your listeners are going to, you know, get upset

because they use the N-word, blah, blah, blah. Look, let's get to the business of making this country better. Novelist James McBride speaking with staff writer, Julian Lucas. You've also been a musician for many years. So we wanted to play one of your compositions and ask you a few questions about it. All right, go ahead. So Kwanza is near celebrating joy and love as a happy family. Joy and our greeting with seven days of holiday,

sharing all our gifts and love and happy. Happy Kwanza, happy Kwanza. Love and peace from me to hear. So not a lot of people have worked with both Spike Lee and Barney in this world. Don't mess with my man, Bonnie now. That's my man. McBride's new novel is the Heaven and Earth grocery store, and you can read Julian Lucas on books, art, music, video games,

and all kinds of good stuff at New Yorker.com. I'm David Remnick, and that's The New Yorker Radio Hour for today. Thanks for listening, and see you next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Merrill Garbess of Tune Yards, with additional music by Louis Mitchell. This episode was produced by Max Walton, Breda Green,

Adam Howard, Callalia, David Krasnow, Jeffrey Masters, Louis Mitchell, and Gofen in Putabuele, with guidance from Emily Boutin and assistance from Harrison Keyline, Mike Cutchman, Michael May, David Gable,

and Alejandro Deccette. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherina Endowment Fund.