Amy Hempel Bio, Short Stories, The Harvest, Reasons To Live, Quotes, Interview

Amy Hempel is an American short story writer and journalist. She teaches creative writing at Bennington College and the University of Florida.

Amy Hempel Biography

Age, Nationality & Early Life

Hempel is an American native-born (on December 14, 1951) in ChicagoIllinois. As of 2019, she is 67 years old currently residing in Florida and a professor of creative writing at the University of Florida.

She relocates to California at the age of 16, where much of her early fiction takes place. She then moves to New York City in the mid-seventies. In New York, she connects with writer and editor Gordon Lish, with whom she maintains a long professional relationship.

She was the Briggs-Copeland Lecturer of English at Harvard University from 2009 to 2014. Additionally, she teaches fiction in the Low-Residency MFA Program in Writing at Bennington College.

She earlier taught at Sarah Lawrence College, Duke University, The New School, Brooklyn College, and Princeton University.

She is also a contributing editor at The Alaska Quarterly Review.

Awards

2000

Hempel receives the Hobson Award and is awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship.

2005-2006

Hempel receives the John William Corrington Award for Literary Excellence from Centenary College in 2005. She is then awarded a USA Fellowship grant by United States Artists, an arts advocacy foundation dedicated to the support and promotion of America’s top living artists.

Amy Hempel

2007-2008

She wins the Ambassador Book Award in 2007 for her Collected Stories, also named as one of The New York Times’ Ten Best Books of the year.
In 2008, she wins the Rea Award for the Short Story.

2009

In 2009, she receives the PEN/Malamud Award for Short Fiction along with Alistair MacLeod.

Career

Bibliography

  • Reasons to Live (1985)
  • At the Gates of the Animal Kingdom (1990)
  • Tumble Home (1997)
  • Unleashed: Poems by Writers’ Dogs (1999) (editor, with Jim Shepard)
  • The Dog of the Marriage London: Quercus, 2008. ISBN 9781847242358, OCLC 883157641
  • The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel New York: Scribner, 2006. ISBN 9780743289467, OCLC 470253093
  • New Stories from the South 2010: The Year’s Best (editor with Kathy Pories) Chapel Hill, N.C. : Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2010. ISBN 9781565129863, OCLC 505423883[11]
  • Sing to It New York: Scribner, 2019. ISBN 9781982109110, OCLC 104247653

Beginning of Career (Short Stories)

Hempel is a former student of Gordon Lish, in whose workshop she wrote several of her first stories. Lish is so fascinated with her work leading to her publishing her first collection, Reasons to Live (1985), including “In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson Is Buried”, the first story she ever wrote.

Hempel credits Lish’s influence on the lack of pressure she has felt to become a novelist rather than a short story writer.

First published TriQuarterly in 1983, “In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson Is Buried” is one of the most often anthologized stories in modern fiction.

She wrote 3 other collections: At the Gates of the Animal Kingdom (1990), which includes the story “The Harvest”; Tumble Home (1997); and The Dog of the Marriage (2005). Tumble Home was Hempel’s first novella, which she structured as a letter to an unspecified recipient and called “the most personal thing I’ve ever written.” Both “In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson is Buried” and Tumble Home highlight animals’ ability to express emotions and draw them out of people.

In an interview in BOMB Magazine, Hempel explained, “I think there’s a purity of feeling there that humans can connect with if we’re lucky, or if we’re looking for it.”

The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel (2006) gathers all the stories from the four earlier books. She co-edits (with Jim ShepardUnleashed–Poems by Writers’ Dogs (1995), including donations by Edward AlbeeJohn IrvingDenis JohnsonGordon Lish, Arthur Miller, and many others.

She writes articles, essays, and short stories for such publications as Vanity Fair, Interview, BOMBGQ, ELLE, Harper’s Magazine, The Quarterly, and Playboy. Hempel participates in various conferences including The Juniper Summer Writing Institute at the University of Massachusetts Amherst’MFA Program for Poets & Writers. In 2015, Hempel judged a flash fiction competition for Nat. Brut magazine.

Generally termed a minimalist writer, along with Raymond Carver, Mary Robison, and Frederick Barthelme. Hempel is one of a handful of writers who have built fame based entirely on short fiction. She purposefully leaves her stories’ narrators unnamed, as “there are more opportunities when you don’t pin down a person with a name and an age and a background because then people can bring something to them or take something from them.”

Hempel currently teaches at the Creative Writing and Literature program at Stony Brook Southampton, in Southampton, NY.

Reasons To Live

Hempel’s now-classic collection of short fiction is peopled by complex characters who have discovered that their safety nets are not dependable and who must now learn to balance on the threads of wit, irony, and spirit.

Amy Hampel Interview

Rob Hart: Can you tell us about your process? I know you start with a first and last sentence, and the story shapes itself from there, but what’s your rewriting process like? How long do you rework a story, and do you have a method for that? How do you know when it’s done?

Amy Hempel: Not much from the past years still holds how the stories show up. I do still need the last line before I begin, and that’s how I know the story is done–when I reach it. I’m not being glib, that’s really the way. If I’m writing a short-short, I try to get it as close to a poem as I can, and if it’s longer, I just try to remember something Grace Paley said about revision–that you should go back and look at every word and ask yourself if it’s true.

Sometimes I look at a story that ALMOST works and feels like the narrator in Donald Barthelme’s story “I Bought a Little City,” where he says, “…What a nice little city, it suits me fine. It suited me fine so I started to change it.”

RH: How about your writing environment? Some people need music and a glass of wine, others prefer complete silence and sobriety. Some do it in short bursts while others lock in for days at a time without break. How do you write?

AH: I’m grateful for occasional short stays at Yaddo where I can think and write unlike anywhere else. But most of the time it is done with dogs sleeping on my feet (see the James Dickey poem about this) or bringing me their leashes to go out. I have two desks–the writerly one that is an antique library table with the silver-framed photos on it, etc., and I have the plain pine table with legal pads on it and those Uniball pens, the desk I actually use. Used to write only after midnight (in my 20s and 30s), but now it’s in the morning after buying off the dogs.

RH: Could you tell us a bit about Yaddo – your experiences there and the freedoms/benefits it affords you as a writer?

AH: Each time I’ve gone to Yaddo, something good has happened. I finished a book there (TUMBLE HOME), I started and finished stories there. The last time I went up, it was just for a week, but it was great. I’m suggestible, so it means something to move into Elizabeth Bishop’s room or Philip Roth’s room. I love the place, and though I can’t spend a long time there (my dogs), the time is charged, and feels unlike time anywhere else.

Imagine getting to have breakfast and dinner every day with Allan Gurganus, or Walter Kirn, or Donald Antrim–that is what Yaddo is, too.

RH: You teach writing, and while it would be unfair to ask for a breakdown of your curriculum – I haven’t paid tuition – can you give us a sense of how you work with your students and the kind of assignments you give them?

AH: In the fall, I will take over for Michael Cunningham as director of the graduate fiction program at Brooklyn College. Michael did a brilliant job for the past seven years, and I’ve been working with him on Admissions in advance of officially beginning in September. I’ll be teaching, too, of course.

I hope the people who work with me get an ampified sense of what a story can be. There are basic requirements for any story, I think, and I’m glad to see someone stand these on their heads, if possible. A lot of good things have come as responses to stories or poems I bring into the classes, and this creates a sense of continuity, a continuing engagement with the work of others. The writers I work with–I don’t want them to hide from real feeling, but I don’t want any sentimentality; this is crucial. Finding out what that sounds like is a good part of the classes. I put a premium on the SOUND of a good sentence, the acoustics of a sentence.

And I advocate something I learned from Mona Simpson, which is to urge writing students to do some kind of volunteer work. It not only ensures you do some actual good in the world, but often takes you quickly to the core of experience: think of crisis center work, hotline work, etc. It’s something I’ve always done, and though one doesn’t go into it in order to write about it, that can happen too.

RH: Who are the writers you would recommend for someone learning the craft? Which books do you think every aspiring writer should read?

AH: I would recommend the writers I read early on for their singular voices: Grace Paley, Leonard Michaels, Mary Robison, Barry Hannah, Gordon Lish, Rick Barthelme. As always, I know I’m leaving people out. It’s such a big question–I mean you just have to read poets and essays–Emerson, Montaigne, and on. I don’t know what would turn on the lights for someone else, but these have been important to me.

RH: Your longest written work, Tumble Home, is a novella. Have you ever considered or attempted a full-length novel? And what attracts you to the short story form?

AH: I have never wanted to write a novel, though I might write another novella someday. I never get tired of what stories can do. I’m working very short again, and will continue this way (short-shorts, prose poems) until that gets old. I’m still drawn to MOMENTS, moments when power shifts between two people, or moments when something small but encompassing happens. There is a poem by Jane Hirshfield titled “Changing Everything” that best describes what I mean by that last– a person walking in the woods who picks up a stick and moves it to the other side of the path and says, “There, that’s done now.”

RH: In a recent interview with The Believer, you spoke about the lyrical, poetic quality of your work. Can you tell us what importance poetry has played in your writing career, and what can be taken from it? I get the sense a lot of younger writers don’t spend a lot of time with poetry. Is that to their detriment?

AH: Poetry is the biggest help in writing stories that I know. You learn so much about rhythm and acoustics and compression and selectivity. No wasted words, no “furniture moving.” I read and re-read certain contemporary poets all the time. Look at John Rybicki out in Michigan, someone I quote often. The passion is palpable, the heartbreak–you have to read his new book, WE BED DOWN INTO WATER, to see what a strong man does with soul-shattering grief. I find I bring more poetry into my writing classes than fiction.

RH: Could you name a few musicians that, if you could no longer listen to their music, you would be terribly disappointed?

AH: My pal Syd Straw’s music is crucial to me–wait till you hear the CD she’s bringing out soon!–and I like Trespasser’s William, and so many of the old Verve recordings (Jimmy Reed, for example), and all the soul music out when I was a teenager, and Dusty Springfield and of course Al Green, so, so many; the Wingdale Community Singers, I’m forgetting so many…

RH: This is a site that highlights the work of Chuck Palahniuk. He hasn’t been shy about his love for your writing, and I think a lot of people who wouldn’t have found your books before call themselves fans now after that endorsement. Has anything noticeable changed about your fan base, and how has his writing affected you?

AH: I’m really looking forward to being at Barnes & Noble Union Square with him on June 2 (note: The event was canceled, and has since been rescheduled to Aug 30th at The Strand.). I’m reading SNUFF right now. Chuck continues to beat his own best time. You sometimes hear, about poems, that the poet “stops just where he should begin,” that the poet loses his nerve just as he is about to finally SAY something. That’s where Chuck STARTS. His humor often involves escalation, and the hard thing there is–how do you get out of it?? It’s thrilling to read Chuck and see that imagination fused with research solves this question every time. I’m probably less timid on the page as a result of reading his books. And I can still make myself laugh out loud with his lines–for example: “I fell asleep and you ate my ass?!!”

Chuck looks at what many other people don’t want to see, or are afraid of seeing. I don’t think it’s a decision he makes, and I don’t think it’s about selling books, even though he does. It looks to me more like a moral stance. He does it without hesitation, and with enormous energy and humor. This is what I found the first time I read him, and why I continue to read everything he writes.

Yes, as a result of Chuck’s generosity in recommending my work to his readers, I do find more young men (but not ONLY men) applying to work with me at Bennington and at Sarah Lawrence. It’s really nice, and the times I’ve worked with people who heard of me from Chuck–these people have been very enthusiastic, experimental, FUN. Or they turn up at my readings and tell me they heard of the books from Chuck. And another thing about Chuck’s writing that has affected me–I’m thinking here of the nonfiction pieces–is the level of hard truth he tells. That is always a good model to have.

RH: As a writing teacher, and in the interest of all the aspiring writers reading this, what’s the most common mistake young, fresh writers make?

AH: This is the young writer’s mistake question: Wanting to publish more than wanting to write well.

RH: This is an involved, and maybe ridiculous, question to ask in this format, but where do you draw your inspiration from? Your stories are, at the same time, hysterical and heartbreaking. Many of them teeter between melancholy and, for me at least, hope. Not to dig too deep, but does your own life, and the lives of those around you, inform what you write? Or do the words just tell you where to go?

AH: As Chuck shows us in STRANGER THAN FICTION, it’s hard to do better than what real life offers. I have drawn a lot from my experience, though it ends up altered on the page (sometimes not very much, sometimes a good deal). I’ve found that nearly every time I’ve written about something that happened, I’ve had to tamp it down, cut it in half, to make it credible as fiction. One thing that has never inspired a story is an idea. Never. An idea might spark an essay, but never a story. I confessed this to Barry Hannah years ago, and he said, “Ideas, Sugar, are not sexy.” I never worried about it after that.

RH: “Reference #388475848-5” from The Dog of the Marriage, I think, answers some of these questions about why you write. But, as a fellow New Yorker, I’m curious to know, was this a real response to a real ticket?

AH: The story titled “Reference #…” did begin as a letter to the Parking Violations Bureau. I sent them a part of the story with the photos of my license plates, and they dismissed the $65 ticket! Then I saw a feature on the local news one night about this practice, labeled a “scam” run by the traffic cops.

Amy Hempel Quotes

“I want to know everything about you, so I tell you everything about myself.”
― Amy Hempel

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“We can only die in the future, I thought; right now we are always alive.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“I meet a person, and in my mind, I’m saying three minutes; I give you three minutes to show me the spark.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“ I think of the chimp, the one with the talking hands.
In the course of the experiment, that chimp had a baby. Imagine how her trainers must have thrilled when the mother, without prompting, began to sign her newborn.
Baby, drink milk.
Baby, play ball.
And when the baby died, the mother stood over the body, her wrinkled hands moving with animal grace, forming, again and again, the words: Baby, come hug, Baby come hug, fluent now in the language of grief.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
tags: grief
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“Just once in my life–oh, when have I ever wanted anything just once in my life?”
― Amy Hempel, The Dog of the Marriage: Stories
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“Just because you have stopped sinking doesn’t mean you’re not still underwater.”
― Amy Hempel
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“Dreams: the place most of us get what we need.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“if it’s true your life flashes past your eyes before you die, then it is also the truth that your life rushes forth when you are ready to start to truly be alive.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“I get rational when I panic.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“The worst of it is over now, and I can’t say that I am glad. Lose that sense of loss—you have gone and lost something else. But the body moves toward health. The mind, too, in steps. One step at a time. Ask a mother who has just lost a child, How many children do you have? “Four,” she will say, “—three,” and years later, “Three,” she will say, “—four.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
tags: grief, loss
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“I exaggerated even before I began to exaggerate because it’s true — nothing is ever quite as bad as it could be.”
― Amy Hempel, At the Gates of the Animal Kingdom: Stories
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“The other day I was playing Scrabble. I saw that I could close the space in D-E- -Y. I had an N and an F. Which do you think I chose? What was the word I made?”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“I thought, my love is so good, why isn’t it calling the same thing back.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“Then the children went to bed, or at least went upstairs, and the men joined the women for a cigarette on the porch, absently picking ticks engorged like grapes off the sleeping dogs. And when the men kissed the women good night, and their weekend whiskers scratched the women’s cheeks, the women did not think shave, they thought stay.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“I moved through the days like a severed head that finishes a sentence.”
― Amy Hempel
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“There’s no such thing as luck. Luck is where preparation meets opportunity.”
― Amy Hempel
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“It is possible to imagine a person so entirely that the image resists attempts to dislodge it.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“I had my own bed. I slept in it alone, except for those times when we needed—not sex—but sex was how we got there.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
tags: love, lovers, marriage
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“I would like to go for a ride with you, have you take me to stand before a river in the dark where hundreds of lightning bugs blink this code in sequence: right here, nowhere else! Right now, never again!”
― Amy Hempel, Tumble Home: A Novella and Short Stories
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“Since his mother died I have seen him steam a cucumber thinking it was zucchini. That’s the kind of thing that turns my heart right over.”
― Amy Hempel
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“I know that homes burn and that you should think about what to save before they start to. Not because, in the heart of it, everything looks as valuable as everything else. But, because nothing looks worth the bother, not even your life.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“Maybe this is not a come-down-from-the-ledge story. But I tell it with the thought that the woman on the ledge will ask herself a question, the question that occurred to that man in Bogota. He wondered how we know that what happens to us isn’t good?”
― Amy Hempel
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“They say the smart dog obeys but the smarter dog knows when to disobey.”
― Amy Hempel
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“He wondered how we know that what happens to us isn’t good.”
― Amy Hempel, Reasons to Live
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“I often feel the effects of people only after they leave me.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“It was like that class at school where the teacher talks about Realization, about how you could realize something big in a commonplace thing. The example he gave–and the liar said it really happened–was that once while drinking orange juice, he’d realized he would be dead someday. He wondered if we, his students, had had similar ‘realizations.’
Is he kidding? I thought.
Once I cashed a paycheck and I realized it wasn’t enough.
Once I had food poisoning, and realized I was trapped inside my body.”
― Amy Hempel, Reasons to Live
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“consolation is a beautiful word. everyone skins his knee-that doesn’t make yours hurt any less.”
― Amy Hempel
tags: healing
“He could not wait to get rid of them so he could enjoy remembering them.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
tags: offertory, short-story
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“I think you would like Warren. He drinks Courvoisier in a Coke can, and has a laugh like you’d find in a cartoon bubble.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
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“Look at me. My concerns-are they spiritual, do you think, or carnal? Come on. We’ve read our Shakespeare.”
― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories