A Conversation with Randa Jarrar, Author of ‘Love Is An Ex-Country’

Queer. Muslim. Arab American. A proudly Fat woman. Randa Jarrar is all of these things. In Love Is An Ex-Country—what Kirkus Reviews calls a “viscerally elegant” and “intimately edgy” memoir of a cross-country road trip—she explores how to claim joy in an unraveling and hostile America.

Jarrar’s work has appeared in the New York Times Magazine, BuzzFeed, Guernica, The Rumpus and many others—including Catapult. Before publishing her latest book with us, she also wrote a magnificent short story called “The Bereavers at the Crying Competition.” It was edited by our editor-at-large Megha Majumdar, who ended up editing Love Is An Ex-Country for the house. Jarrar’s and Majumdar’s collaboration is a winning one, so we invited them to sit down for a conversation about joy, pain, and the road trips that cover everything in between.

The interview below has been edited for clarity.

Megha Majumdar: The book is so beautifully about joy. Where have you been finding joy these days?

Randa Jarrar: Books! Art! Film! Music! Weed gummies! My sweet, elderly Boston terrier. Venturing to the pacific once in a while, and finding a safe quiet spot. Communing with the waves. Facetiming with my friends when I have the capacity to. Stretching my body. Perfumes and oils- especially jasmine. Taking showers. Having gratitude for the life I lead. Making art that I'm not used to making- writing a screenplay and drawing and painting. Low-stakes creativity. Sleeping.

MM: This is also a book about pain—it takes on domestic violence, sexual assault, racism, and doxxing. What was your process for writing these difficult sections? What advice might you share with others who are doing this work?

RJ: I tend to write a fast first draft, not holding back. In the places where the memory of the trauma is too much, I simply type in (fill more here) and leave it at that until a newer draft. I care for myself during these moments by being tender, remembering that I am no longer in that terrible place anymore, and practicing radical self-care, which includes resting and calling on friends and lovers to care for me.

When I revise, as I approach the hard parts, I remind myself that the work I am doing is for my younger self and for others who are out there suffering and might find use in my work. I keep pushing for them.

MM: What was it like turning from fiction to memoir? Are there craft lessons and inclinations that you’ve carried over from one to the other?

RJ: I have always written both. Even as an undergraduate, I wrote a hybrid critical essay and memoir as my thesis, and began a novel. In Egypt, where I spent a lot of time as a child, prose is prose is prose. Fiction and nonfiction, autobiography and novel-writing, all of it lives in the same place. The great novelists were also journalists. The strict categories that exist in the Global North simply don't apply.

I do think it helps that I am primarily a fiction writer. To my memoir, I brought my experience writing dialogue and composing in scenes. Once you learn to write fiction in scenes, I believe writing memoir comes easy.

MM: I love the road trip in this book. Was there a part of the trip that didn't make it into the book?

Thank you! I think the stuff that didn't make it in was the more yucky parts. Things are... rough in parts of the country that are food deserts. Some days a gas station banana and peanuts were my only means for survival. There were some unfortunate chilli bowls from Wendy's. I also kept myself company by making dozens of snapchat videos while driving, which was truly stupid and dangerous. There were also lots of awkward motel and Airbnb moments involving my dog and other people's pets, and other mundane details I left out. But I'm glad I still have a record of those, even if I wasn't able to elevate them into art.

Get your copy of Love Is An Ex-Country here.

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