Born in Pittsburgh, Keith Donohue is the author of six novels, including The New York Times bestseller The Stolen Child, and Angels of Destruction, Centuries of June, The Boy Who Drew Monsters, The Motion of Puppets, and most recently The Girl in the Bog. He also edited and wrote the introduction to the Everyman edition of The Complete Novels of Flann O’Brien. His work has been translated into two dozen languages, and he also writes reviews for the Washington Post. A graduate of Duquesne University, he lives in Maryland and works at the National Archives.
What is your greatest fear?
Fear is a tricky business. In some regards, I’m not afraid of anything. I don’t suspect a murderer is hiding behind a tree or giant mutant fascist spiders will one day hatch from the desert and lay waste to the nation. Almost never do I wonder if Norman Bates is hiding behind the shower curtain, and I certainly do not need to check under the bed for the bogeyman or a vampire or dust bunnies with chattering sharp teeth suddenly springing out to gnaw at my toes.
On the other hand, I love a good “jump scare.” Jonesy, the cat in “Alien,” gave me a heart attack. Even worse than the creature bursting from the astronaut’s belly.
Okay, then, what are your phobias?
That’s another matter altogether. I have an irrational fear of falling from great heights. So, bridges, cliff edges, the observation deck of 30 Rock, the Grand Canyon, and other such canyons, accidentally skydiving, the space beneath the railing of an ocean liner or a boat, ladders, roofs, observation decks, tall piers, and so on. It is not the height of the place (I am totally fine on an enclosed airplane or spacecraft) that bothers me. I simply do not want to plunge to my doom.
How do you deal with fear?
Rather poorly, for the most part. I try to confront panic and anxiety by staring into the abyss and telling myself it isn’t real. Or mutter a string of foul curses under my breath. I’ve tried using the mindfulness technique of naming things and saying their colors to take my mind off the perceived threat. It actually works sometimes!
Or I coolly avoid the situation, and if I am with other people, I say you go ahead and climb to the top of the mountain while I turn my back. I don’t want you to fall to your doom, either.
You poor thing. Does your fear of falling come about from some childhood trauma? What is the scariest thing you remember from childhood?
The curious thing about fear of falling is that I never fell. I do not remember some incident that perhaps brought on agoraphobia. In fact, we used to leap off the deck of our backdoor stoop with complete aplomb, despite being high enough to cause sharp pains in the ankles. And I climbed trees like any normal human.
Childhood, itself, is scary. Ghost stories around the campfire. Innocently watching an episode of the Outer Limits or Twilight Zone, and suddenly there’s a doll dancing madly across the screen or a ventriloquist dummy come to life. Puppets are uncanny. The sudden realization of one’s own mortality. The vortex of the bathtub. The first day of school. Responsibilities.
“I would contend that the existential monster is the worst one of all.”
Is there any fear you’ve overcome in your life? How has that changed you?
I used to be afraid of girls, but overcoming that has changed me for the better. At least from my point of view.
Growing up in the 60s, we had a pretty plain American diet, and I was “afraid” of trying certain foods. To impress girls (see sentence above), I would force myself to try new cuisines, and my life is much better for Indian food, sushi, Maryland crabs, and so on.
Now that you’ve asked, I really should try to overcome all my fears. What could go wrong if I try to scale a cliff? How likely is it, after all, that I will trip on my shoelaces at the top of a waterfall?
As a writer, do you have any fears?
You have stabbed at the heart of the matter. Nobody begs us to tell a story, not even the children after a certain age. And yet, something compels us to fill that blank page, and then? Will anyone read it? Will anyone “get” the reason for the story? The only solution to the conundrum is to go to the edge and write and hope and be mindful, I think, of the worthiness of your effort. It is okay to be misunderstood after all these years. The only thing worse than fear is regret.
What’s your favorite horror movie or television series?
Thanks for bringing that up! Stories, books, movies, and television shows are on a different plane. I dig the visceral thrill of a cliffhanger. And even more I adore spoofs of the conventions of the genre. My sister used to turn on Dark Shadows every afternoon following school, and we were into the campy soap opera. And I came of age during the years when the Munsters and (my fav) The Addams Family were in first run or reruns.
Maybe that’s what has informed my own writing, the slightly absurd reaction to the fear impulse and knowing that there’s a hand beneath the puppet, a charlatan behind the curtain in Oz. I loved the cheesy special effects of the skeleton sailors in Sinbad or the stop-motion King Kong atop the Empire State Building. It’s Halloween all the time, actors in masks or sheets, the communal will to join in the glorious sham-fakery of the arts.
What is your favorite monster?
The Great Pumpkin. Never shows up. Some might argue that the Great Pumpkin is not real, but tell that to Linus. I would contend that the existential monster is the worst one of all. You will have to drag me, too, shivering and teeth-chattering, from the pumpkin patch.
There are a lot of contenders for second place. Dr. Praetorius in Bride of Frankenstein with his little people trapped in glass jars, and Elsa Lancaster’s bride is particularly delightful when she hisses at her man. Grendel, the monster from Beowulf, in John Gardner’s novel. The dragon in the “Faerie Queen,” who sprouts more dragons if its head is cut off. As a person of Irish persuasion, I cherish a good banshee. Not to mention a pooka) in Flann O’Brien’s At Swim-Two-Birds or the Jimmy Stewart version in Harvey. Poe has the best fiends, the bricklayer in “A Cask of Amontillado” or the sadist of “The Pit and the Pendulum.” Hard to beat the talented Mr. Ripley or the gathering flocks in Daphne du Maurer’s short story, “The Birds.” Or the monster Walter White becomes in Breaking Bad. Unless one counts the townsfolk in Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” and any number of beastly people created by the underrated Steven Millhauser.
I am afraid I could go on.