If you find yourself being questioned about a crime you
did not commit, resist at all costs the impulse to be helpful.
—social psychologist Richard Ofshe
Where were you the night of July 10?
I am unable to say from what place, from which dream,
anything comes.
If you were to commit a crime . . .
I would prepare the hundred masks that must fit a single face.
You would plan it?
How many persons, cities, or roads does jealousy make us
eager to know? I'd think about details.
Like hair and fibers?
On a novel about a vacuum-cleaner salesman, demo tapes, and the music of Tyler Childers.
From left, Galway Kinnell, Robert Hass, Olds, and Brenda Hillman in the Oakley house at the Community of Writers, Olympic Valley, California, 1989. Courtesy of Sharon Olds and the Community of Writers.
Sharon Olds published her first book, Satan Says, in 1980, at the age of thirty-seven. The book is organized into four sections, “Daughter,” “Woman,” “Mother,” and “Journey,” and it begins with its title poem, whose speaker is locked in a box she can open only by repeating after Satan: “Say shit, say death, say fuck the father.” At the time, Olds—who was born in San Francisco, graduated from Stanford, and received a Ph.D. in English from Columbia—was married to a psychiatrist, and she spent her days on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, caring for their two young children. Not long after the book’s publication, she told me last year, someone who had invited her to give a reading picked her up at the airport and said, “I thought you would look angrier.”
Rachel Cusk photo courtesy the author.
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