Books To Bury Me With: Zac Smith

The book I’d want to take with me to the grave:
I will take many half-written books to the grave with me. It would be funny to print them out and insist on being buried with them, assuming I leave behind a successful legacy of writing that people care about.

The first book that hit me like a ton of bricks:
I think the earliest pit of existential despair I ever fell into was from reading The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut in the eighth grade. I don't know if I would describe it as being hit by a ton of bricks, but I remember it was the first book I read that made me confront meaninglessness, and it made me sad for a good period of time afterwards.

The book that’s seen more of my tears, coffee stains, and cigarette burns:
I can remember crying while reading a book a few times, but I can't remember which books. I have gotten coffee stains on several books. I have never smoked a cigarette. One time, I had a nosebleed and stained my copy of Hocus Pocus by Kurt Vonnegut. I am laughing at the idea of answering every one of these questions with a Kurt Vonnegut book.

The book that shook my world like a goddamn hurricane:
A hurricane rocks someone, ideally, over the course of two distinct but related moments, re: the storm walls, separated by the calm in the eye of the storm. As such, a book that would rock me like a hurricane would follow a similar structure: a powerful, intense first section, then a brief, calm intermezzo, then another powerful, intense final section. The only book I can think of would be Through the Night by Stig Sæterbakken, which has an emotionally intense beginning and ending, with a moderately lengthed, Lynchian-seeming middle part where the protagonist wanders on a strange journey. It was the first book by him I read, and I have since read and enjoyed the rest of his books that have been translated into English. I think it shook my world in the sense that its strange structure and logic challenged me as a reader at the time, compared to typical contemporary American literary fiction.

The book I wish I’d discovered when my liver was still intact:
My liver is fine. I have never had a drinking problem. I also don't think I understand this question... I'm trying to imagine a book that is best appreciated before you become an alcoholic. I don't know what that could mean. Maybe a book that would stop you from drinking in the first place?

The book I’d shove into everyone’s hands if I were king of the world:
Abolish the Monarchy: Why We Should and How We Will by Graham Smith. Has anyone made that joke yet? Are you laughing yet?

The book that nearly drove me to madness:
I have never been driven anywhere near madness by a book. I think books are generally fun and stimulating.

The book I can’t keep my hands off of, no matter how many times I’ve read it:
I rarely reread books, but I most often pick up and reread sections from poetry books. I think maybe the I Am Dave: Hello books are my favorite poetry books to pick up and flip through because of how surprising and strange they are. Almost no one else seems to have read them. I've reread and enjoyed random Ernest Hemingway stories, too—maybe one of his story anthologies. I find that as I get older, the stories are more obviously funny and silly than I remember them being when I read them as a teenager. I imagine I'll feel even more interesting feelings reading him when I'm older.

The book I’d hide in the back of my closet, pretending I’m too highbrow for it:
I don't regret any book I've read or enjoyed. I would freely recommend any book I've enjoyed.

The book that left a scar I wish I could forget:
Books are my friends. A book has never hurt me.

The author who made me think, “Now that’s a soul in torment”:
Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur. No, just kidding. Maybe Bipolar Cowboy by Noah Cicero, which I just read recently. It's mostly about him being depressed thinking about an ex-girlfriend. I feel like having the motivation to write an entire book like that, reanalyzing various aspects of their relationship and breakup over and over, requires a moderate-to-high level of soul torment.

The book I’d get a tattoo of if I had the nerve:
I can't imagine getting any tattoo of a book thing. I feel like any time I reflect on having considered getting a tattoo about something, I feel glad I didn't get it. But it would be funny to get an entire book tattooed on your body, as a bit. I have thought about asking my friend Graham Irvin to give me a stick-and-poke tattoo that says "Limo Bizkit." He wrote two books. It would be good if he wrote a book—or a chapbook—titled Limo Bizkit.

The book that made me question everything I thought I knew:
The Structure of Scientific Revolutions by Thomas Kuhn, or other things he's written about the philosophy of science. I feel like people often study philosophy or science but less frequently the philosophy of science. His writing made me feel differently about the nature of science and how to think about scientific concepts.

The book that’s so damn good I’d never loan it out:
I have loaned out many of my favorite books, and they have almost unanimously never been returned to me. I don't think I have learned my lesson. If I ever reacquire The Sarah Book, I will not lend it out again.

The book that’s been my companion through the darkest nights:
I think reading The Plague by Albert Camus, while either drinking cafés con leche and eating toast with olive oil or at night in bed, helped me stave off despair for about a month in 2010.

The book I’d throw in someone’s face during a heated argument:
I don't think I would ever do that. But I remember when I was on the 1Story podcast with Sean Thor Conroe, he started obliquely shittalking Sam Pink at some point by dismissively saying novels had to be a certain length. I responded by sort of incoherently and belligerently repeating, "What about César Aira?"—which, in retrospect, wasn't a very good example of someone who writes short novels. I later realized Sean had probably never read him, so my reference wouldn't have persuaded him anyway. In celebration of this anecdote, I'd say Varamo by César Aira.

The book that reminds me of a lost love or regret:
I have no lost loves or regrets.

The book I wish I could have written, but know I never could:
Any good novel. I don't think I'll ever write a good novel. If you've written a good novel, you're better than me.

The book that makes me want to drink myself into oblivion:
I have never read a book that made me feel this way. Maybe the closest is the first book of Knausgaard's My Struggle, because I remember reading the scene about him drinking vodka and Sprite with his grandmother, and it made me want to drink vodka and Sprite for a while after. In general, I think Knausgaard writes well about the joy of being drunk, which I find funny, cool, and a little dangerous. I haven't drunk any alcohol in over three years, maybe.

The book that’s been my refuge from the world’s cruelty:
Writing Everything Is Totally Fine (Muumuu House, 2022) allowed me to reduce various types of cultural and societal cruelty into flippant, funny vignettes. So, to summarize: buy my book. Buy my fucking book. Everything Is Totally Fine. Muumuu House, 2022. Alt lit. 4/20. Sex, money, murder, guns, and L I T E R A T U R E.