Author Q&A: About the dystopian East Village future of 'Drained'

Marc Daniel Acriche, a native New Yorker and longtime East Village resident, recently self-published his first book (this does not include the one he wrote about dinosaurs in the first grade). 

"Drained" is a young-adult dystopian thriller taking place in the near future (2048!) NYC.

"A good deal of it was inspired by Hurricane Sandy," Acriche told me. "Tompkins Square Park, and the neighborhood generally, are characters in their own right. There's brainwashing, there's spycraft, and, of course, some thrills."

Acriche (aka the EVG commenter who goes by creature) answered a few questions about the book...

Why was this genre appealing to you?

While "Drained" was always meant to be a thriller, taking place in a near-future, dystopian NYC — my first significant read as a kid was Stephen King's "The Stand," so dystopia is in my blood — it was never intended to be a young adult book. 

"Drained" started as a three points-of-view story with Casey Parker, our eventual 17-year-old protagonist, being one of the three. Then, after about 20,000 words, Casey started taking over the story — she would not be denied — and I went back and started over with her as the single point-of-view character and the book really took off from there. 

The last thing I expected was to write a book with a teen protagonist, but here we are. She took over and we never looked back. 

What role does the East Village play in the book?

What role doesn't it play?! As a longtime resident, it was a natural choice for me to place most of the story down here. That said, the story's setting did not fall into place until after Hurricane Sandy. The images from those days stayed with me: the brightly lit food trucks, the communal phone charging and, most of all, how the lights stayed out below 14th Street. 

I remember taking a cab home from work a few days after Sandy, passing from the lit streets to the dark, looking out the back window and seeing how 14th Street appeared to be an actual border of light. It was striking. I ended up calling 14th Street the "Light Border" and it came to define so much of the story.

Tompkins Square Park also plays a large role. In the book, it's become a refuge for a good number of the displaced residents from the flooded and condemned streets surrounding it, and, as the park has always been a refuge of sorts, it seemed right having it play that same role in the book.   

Talk about the Spotify soundtrack that you created to accompany "Drained." (Ed note: Amyl and the Sniffers!)

I love the soundtrack, I loved putting together the soundtrack, and appreciate you asking about it. First, the Cure aside, most of the songs are from the last few years and were part of my background while writing and editing, but, really, I tried to match up the songs — with the help of my best friend BAGeL Radio's DJ Ted who hosts the list — to the mood of the chapters they represent. 

Whether it's the title, the words, or the beat, the songs on the list spoke to me, and, I would hope, the reader as they take the book's journey. That said, on another level, our protagonist is a big music fan, who goes to shows and has band posters on her wall, and it was just natural to have a soundtrack that represented her love for music as well.

-----

Find more book and author info at this link.

A conversation with Lilly Dancyger, author of the East Village memoir 'Negative Space'

Growing up in the East Village, Lilly Dancyger had many happy memories, from sitting and reading books at the Strand to getting ice cream at Ray’s Candy Store.

At the same time, however, she learned that there was a troubling undercurrent to her childhood as her parents struggled with drug addiction.

Her father, Joe Schactman, was an artist who made sculptures and other art out of discarded objects and was part of the vibrant East Village scene in the 1980s. He died suddenly at age 43 when Dancyger was 12 years old. (A cause of death was inconclusive.)

She spent her teens often in a rage, dropping out of school, experimenting with drugs and staying out all night wandering around the city. Years later as a writer and journalist, Dancyger revisits her own past and father's legacy in “Negative Space” (SFWP), a must-read memoir released to positive notices this spring. 

Dancyger, guided by her father’s letters and journals and interviews with his friends (not to mention in-depth conversations with her mother), creates a compelling generation-spanning narrative — part memoir, part investigative journalism. 

In the process, she uncovers a patchwork view of her father's life while also coming to terms with her own memories. “Negative Space” includes photos of Schactman’s paintings, prints and sculptures, sharing his art with a new audience in the process.

Today, Dancyger, a writer and editor, lives on the Upper West Side with her husband Soomin, also an East Village native. During a recent phone conversation, Dancyger talked about why she stuck with this book project, her decision to move away from the East Village and the importance of Ray’s Candy Store. 

After the book came out, you spotted copies of it at the Strand, a place you spent a lot of time with your father while growing up. How did this sighting make you feel?

Seeing my book at the Strand drove it home and made it feel real in a different way. I’ve been going to the Strand my entire life, and I always browse the front tables; over the last few years, I would check the main non-fiction table and see my friend’s books. So seeing my book there was really cool.

I had been waiting for when it would feel real. Even after the publication date … it felt as if I was pushing this boulder up a mountain for the rest of my life. So it is really, truly out there in the world, in the Strand — that has really sunk in.

My dad loved that store. And we used to go there and hang out for hours. He would hand me a book from wherever he was looking, and I would sit on the floor and read.

In the book credits, you mention that various publishers rejected the proposal more than 50 times through the years. What drove you to make this book a reality?

It was a combination of things. I wanted to give up at a few different points. However, it was my father’s story. And I was doing it not only for myself but also for him. It became this thing where I had committed to doing it, you know? I committed to getting his work out into the world, and I couldn’t give up on that. I’d already sunk six, seven, eight, nine years into this. I had to see it through — otherwise, what the hell was all that for?

Why did you decide to move away from the East Village in recent years?

I held out for as long as I could. For years I felt like I was stubbornly staying there, trying to be a holdout. And eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore — just the changes in the neighborhood. I was walking around bitter and angry, and it was just too painful and upsetting to walk down the street every day thinking about what has been lost in the neighborhood.

It was starting to get to me in a way that negatively affected my mental health and took up too much of my mental energy just getting angry. The whole city is changing. I’m on the Upper West Side now, and it’s not changing as quickly. And I don’t take it personally when something closes up here. I’ve just calmed down.

I’m trying to remember what Jeremiah Moss once wrote: If such and such place closes, he’s moving. I can't recall what place it was.

I used to say that if Ray’s Candy Store ever closes, I’m out of here. Luckily, he’s still there. I think he will outlive us all.

Speaking of Ray’s, in 2010, you and your friend Haley held a fundraiser for Ray’s — the Day of Ray — when he was struggling with a rent hike. Why did you decide to do this?

I had to. There are so many places that closed that I took personally and made me sad, but Ray as a human being and Ray’s as that place — it’s just so important to the neighborhood and so important to me personally. I went to Ray’s when I was a baby with my parents.

When we moved back when I was 14, after being on the West Coast for a few years, I went into Ray’s, and he remembered me from when I was 4 years old. And you know, it felt so great. I had intense emotions about being back. I was happy to be back, but I was angry that I had been away, and I felt like I wanted to be part of the neighborhood again, and I felt like I was coming in as an outsider even though I felt very attached to it already.

When I was a degenerate teenager wandering around by myself, I could go hang out in Ray’s and chat with him at like 4 in the morning. I care about him, and the idea that this gentrification would take that place from him and us was not acceptable.

I highlighted a passage in the book talking about being in Tompkins Square Park with your father: “the smell of water cooking off of asphalt in the sun is one of my strongest sense memories of childhood.” There are happy moments in the book like this. How did you balance these memories with the reality of drug use?

I wanted to show that complexity. I didn’t want to whitewash it and pretend that there was no downside to being raised by drug addicts. However, I also didn’t want to make it salacious and turn it into this drama porn because there was a lot of happiness and love, and my childhood memories are good ones. So, I wanted to make room for all of those different things that are true at the same time.

Was there a point when you realized that perhaps you weren’t experiencing a typical childhood?

It was a slow realization. I think that’s also part of my coming back to New York and coming back to the East Village was so emotionally healing for me — because then it was normal again.

When we were on the Central Coast of California, it was a beautiful, sunny, rich place. I saw that my mom stood out from the other moms — she was the only one with tattoos, motorcycle boots and a nose ring. I waited for her to pick me up with all these sunny California moms.

Back in the East Village, all my friends’ parents were weirdos and artists and a lot of them had drug problems and were kind of strange in one way or another. When I was back in the city, this was all normal, all fine.  

In the book, you meet some of your father’s friends, who describe this long-lost East Village world that will likely never exist again. Did you ever think about what it would have been like growing up in a different time in the neighborhood?

I felt that a lot when I was a teenager. In the early 2000s, I felt like it was already too late — I wished it was the 80s or the 90s. But looking back at it now, I realize that I got the last little bit of it.

Postscript: 

On June 23-24, Dancyger hosted a book party and exhibit featuring her father's work at 17 Frost Gallery in Williamsburg ...

 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Lilly Dancyger (@lillydancyger)