Interview with E.A Aymar, author of They're Gone (written under his pseudonym E.A. Barres)

Today it gives the Indie Crime Scene great pleasure to interview E.A. Aymar, whose forthcoming new release They're Gone, written under his pseudonym E.A. Barres, debuts on November 10.

This novel has two female protagonists. How important is writing from a woman’s viewpoint to you, and what are the challenges, as a man?

I don’t want to come off as too thirsty with this answer, or pandering, but I think the concept as women as heroes is much more interesting, and pertinent, than men as heroes. My last novel before They’re Gone (2019’s The Unrepentant) delved into sex trafficking, and the glaring results of my studies showed that men are almost always the perpetrators…and the crimes, and ages of the victims, are as troubling as you can imagine. And I know men. I’ve grown up in a number of male-privileged societies. I know what we’re capable of, and how much of that is either permitted or excused.

It’s not that women are blameless, of course, but the violent and sexual crime index is populated by men. As a society, we often blame race or class or poverty on crime. And we ignore that criminals tend to fall, overwhelmingly, into one sexual identity.

So I grew tired of the trope of men saving women, and wanted to write about women saving themselves. And I was keenly aware of not doing that viewpoint justice. But I’m fortunate to be surrounded my women who don’t put up with my bullshit. My agent, editor and beta readers are all strong women who call me out on my errors, and I’m grateful to them.

In the novel, two women who are recently bereaved start to uncover a mystery - and perhaps a connection - about their husbands’ pasts. Neither woman is a detective, instead they are victims of crime. Why do they become involved in trying to solve the murders?

That’s the real bane for crime fiction writers, particularly when you don’t write police procedurals – why don’t they just go to the cops? Fortunately, my personal mantra tends to echo in my writing, which is that any authority should be checked and (somewhat) mistrusted. 

Of course, I want my characters to be as realistic as possible and, for me, that means IMMEDIATELY turning to whoever can get you out of a jam. And there are frequent points in They’re Gone where authority figures are present. But the question of faith in an institution is one of the things that my novel addresses, and what people do when that faith is corrupted.

This seems apt to the current year, to be honest.

As a writer of crime, how do you feel about the representation of women in crime fiction?

I addressed this a bit earlier, but I want to expound on the answer. I think the representation varies. You still have your muscular, male-dominated thrillers, where, I dunno, some former SEAL named Hawk Lyons is stopping Mexican Islamist terrorists from destroying Alabama because terrorists hate freedom and also want our way of life, and the women in those books tend to be unchallenging.

But there are so many writers writing different, complicated characters. Cozies – which can have wonderfully intricate plots, honest characters, and warm humor – tend to show women in much more positive lights. And psychological suspense, currently the forefront of mystery fiction, is dominated by female writers and  characters. Gillian Flynn, Laura Lippman, Megan Abbott, Jennifer Hillier, along with newcomers like Kathleen Barber, Angie Kim, Christina Kovac, Hannah Mary McKinnon, and so many more, are taking over the marketplace. I don’t think this is a phase, or a temporary splurge. The psychological thriller, as a genre, may someday lose speed, but I think the audience for intricate, complicated women will remain.

Why is it important for you to incorporate your heritage into your books, and to feature points of view from characters with mixed race backgrounds?

The cliché response to this question is that I didn’t see characters like me in the books I read growing up…and that happens to be true. But I also don’t see characters like that in books today.

I didn’t think I had a voice until recently, and certainly not one important to readers. I’m of mixed-race (half my family is from Panama, where I was born, and the other half is from the states and white) and, while there has been important and necessary attention paid to writers of color, that doesn’t tend to apply to writers who don’t fall squarely into a certain demographic.

But I look around, and I see so many mixed-race relationships, and I think America is going to have a lovely, large population of mixed race kids someday. And, like me, I think those kids are going to be confused about culture, wondering where they belong, and often not accepted by either. That’s been the story of my life, and now I think it’s a story worth telling.

How important is humour in your work?

I wish I was a funnier writer! I mentioned how cozies do such a wonderful job of incorporating humor, and I’m a fan of P.G. Wodehouse and his Jeeves books. But those books are funny from the plot on. Everything is tinged with humor, and that makes those books so inviting to read. It also makes those books deceptively complex.

My humor isn’t as prevalent as those works, so my books could never be classified as comedies. But I hope there’s light-hearted moments on nearly every page, even in ways readers don’t realize. It could be something a character says, it could be a plot turn, or it could be within the prose. That light is important.

You make a path for a reader when you write a book. I want my readers to follow a path lit by humor, even if it seems dimly-lit at times.

You live and work in the DC/MA/VA triangle. Can you explain the significance of this area, and why it is a hub for crime fiction?

Whenever I have the opportunity to teach writing, I always come across drafts – particularly in short stories – where location is neglected. Some of that is because the writer, in an attempt to concentrate on characters, has ignored the location.

But location informs character. A crime and the response to it, for example, are going to very different in, say, Baltimore compared to Hawaii. And that difference needs to be examined and understood, as best as can. 

You don’t have to love a place, of course, but even that complicated mix of emotions is important. I’ve lived in the D.C. region for close to thirty years, and despite its wonderful gifts – diversity, a well-read populace, jobs, excellent schools, Georgetown Cupcakes – there are things about living here I dislike. I hope that makes its way into my fiction, and I hope it’s something that which readers – both locally and nationally – can relate.

What do you mean by a writing community?

I was never the type to seek out a writing community. One of the reasons I like writing is because it’s somewhat isolated. And – I probably shouldn’t say this – but I don’t always like other writers. Blame Twitter, because social media shows the worst sides of people. Often, whether they realize it or not.

That said, I’m surprised at how important the writing community has become to me.

And, really, what I mean by that are the friends I’ve made in that community. Writers I’ve met at conferences or events have become friends-for-life, and it’s astonishing how much we have in common – everything from political leanings to cultural outlooks. It’s wonderful. I always felt so alone, and I never suspected there were others out there I’d vibe with to this extent.

There is a loneliness that comes with art, particularly if your work isn’t collaborative.  And there used to be a mindset that that loneliness was correct, and the depression it could lead to was necessary.

Depression is never necessary.

There will be setbacks, and you do have to learn how to deal with those productively, and how to honestly make your work good.

But you don’t need to do it alone.

You run the Noir at the Bar series in Washington, DC. Please can you tell us what that involves, and how it has changed since the arrival of Covid?

I ran the D.C. Noir at the Bar series for years at a bar called the Wonderland Ballroom, and it was such a fun event. We had an upstairs bar all to ourselves, and fifty or more writers and readers would gather and listen to 8-9 writers tell short stories. The stories were often raucous and the crowd lively. It made for a wonderful, warm evening.

But after COVID-19, I moved the series online. And I worried about how it would translate. After all, the crowd would be gone. But the virtual events have been a great experience, and the crowd (which always numbers into the hundreds) is present and engaged in the comments. I also added a fantastic jazz musician named Sara Jones to provide musical excerpts, and a local mixologist named Chantal Tseng crafts a custom cocktail and does a demonstration for each event. This virtual series has become one of the things I’m most proud of in my (relatively) short writing career.

It goes back to that sense of community. When this series first started, back in April, it felt necessary. We were all scared, and we missed each other, and everything was so uncertain. That fear has dissipated, as has the universal sense of partnership we shared at the time. But this community, the one that enjoys these events, persists. I’m grateful for that. I think, in some ways, people need this.

That’s a lovely thing to share.

Amazon

About E.A.Aymar:

Anthony Award-nominated E.A. Aymar’s next thriller, They’re Gone will be published in November under his pseudonym E.A. Barres. His most recent thriller, The Unrepentant, was published in 2019 and is currently a 2020 nominee for the Anthony Award in the category of Best Paperback Original.

His past thrillers include the novels-in-stories The Swamp Killers and The Night of the Flood, in which he served as co-editor and contributor. He has a monthly column in the Washington Independent Review of Books, is a former member of the national board of the International Thriller Writers and, for years, was the managing editor of The Thrill Begins, an online resource for debut and aspiring writers. He is also an active member of Crime Writers of Color, the Mystery Writers of America and SinC. He also runs the Noir at the Bar series for Washington, D.C., and has hosted and spoken at a variety of crime fiction, writing, and publishing events nationwide. He was born in Panama and now lives in the DC/MA/VA triangle.

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