Christina Clancy

Christina Clancy is the author of the forthcoming novel The Second Home, out June 2020, St. Martin’s Press. Her fiction and essays have appeared in The New York Times, The Chicago Tribune, The Washington Post, The Sun Magazine, Glimmer Train Stories, Hobart, Pleiades, and on Wisconsin Public Radio.

Twitter: @christi_clancy

Instagram: @clancychristi

Are there particular films that influenced your writing?

A few months after my daughter read The Second Home, we watched my favorite movie, You Can Count on Me. It’s the brainchild of playwright Kenneth Lonergan, a writer I admire because his characters are so well-drawn—so human and relatable. The film is about a brother and sister played by Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo (who is impossibly hot) who are still reeling from the death of their parents in a car crash when they were kids.

When it was over, my daughter looked at me and said, “Mom, that movie is so much like your book!” I didn’t think I was directly inspired by the film when I wrote my novel, but I could see how it must have seeped into my creative conscience. My characters also find themselves unmoored when life doesn’t turn out the way it should. They have a hard time communicating, and they keep screwing up in ways that are frustrating but understandable, because they are trying to preserve themselves. What drives the narrative is the sense that the characters are better off with family—not necessarily a traditional family, but one that is necessarily reconfigured. The family home, a victim of upkeep and neglect, is like a character, too, quietly insisting itself as both a problem and a solution.

Vacation druthers… City or Rural destination? Why?

Normally I’d say that I prefer rural vacations because I love to run, hike and swim, and I like to chill (although this extended quarantine is challenging that). I’ve always been a daydreamer and like to let my mind ramble. I could swing on a hammock with a book or sit on a beach for hours on end. I enjoy having time for books, jigsaw puzzles and games (again, quarantine is really pushing me to the extreme). I think this is why the bookcase and the game cabinet are so important in my book. They represent time: time to read, play, and be together without being rushed.

Favorite non-reading activity?

I’ve taught spinning for twenty years—and I don’t mean the weaving kind. I got started not because I love group exercise, but because I love music and making playlists. I can’t hear a song without thinking, hill or flat? My specialty is theme rides. I made a cheaters playlist to take out revenge on my friend’s ex-husband when he came to my spin class with his new girlfriend (I wrote about this for the New York Time’s “Modern Love” column). I have playlists for just about every holiday, from Earth Day to Easter to elections. I never play Christmas music, though, because I really dislike holiday music and I know some people have complicated feelings during that time of year. Getting certified to teach spin is one of the best things I’ve done. It forces me to stay fit and I’ve met the most amazing people in my spin classes, many who have been coming every Saturday for years and years. 

Is your go to comfort food sweet or savory? Is it something you make yourself? Does food inspire your writing?

Indian food. I could eat chicken or paneer tikka masala every single day and never get sick of it. It’s especially perfect for long Wisconsin winters when you need warmth and spice. My whole family is obsessed with a restaurant in Madison called Swagat. We eat there all the time, and during our quarantine we order out at least once a week to help support the business. Because we’re such regulars, the food feels so refreshingly normal in these abnormal times.

Is there a work of art that you love. Why? Have you ever visited it in person?

This is such a cliché, but I was blown away by the statue of David at the Accadamia Gallery in Florence. Sometimes when we view a famous work of art a million times in textbooks or ads, like the Mona Lisa, in real life they can seem smaller, or amazing but not necessarily transformative, or they suffer from our own prior expectations (anyone who’s read Walker Percy’s essay “The Loss of the Creature” can relate). The David, though, was so massive and perfect. I love the sensitivity and youthfulness of his expression, and appreciate that David is contemplating battle instead of boasting of his victory. He looks as though he might come to life and step off the pedestal (I would be one-hundred percent there for that). I saw it so long ago, but my feelings of admiration and awe have stayed with me—not just for the statue, but also for Michelangelo. I read that when he worked on the David he slept so little that he even went to bed with his boots on. Great art is truly born of obsession.