Talking with Patrick Nevins
Erica Hampton: I loved the little boy's voice in your story. We see the boy love Little Curly as a dog and not as an astro-dog for scientific advancement. What inspired you to use a child's point of view in this story?
Patrick Nevins: I was looking for a way to write about Laika and came across the story of one of the Soviet physicians taking her home to his children before the launch. There’s so much pathos just in the facts of that story: This man whose job is to send Laika to her death allows her a few days to lead a normal life in his home playing with his children. I started asking questions: Did the children know the dog had been selected to die aboard the satellite? If so, how did they react? I started imagining the answers, and what emerged from that process was the physician’s son telling the story of how he’d planned to run away with Laika and save her from her fate.
EH: You chose to cut back and forth in time between the dog staying with the boy's family and the narrator's grown-up musings about what happened to the dog. What were you hoping to suggest with these time shifts?
PN: The father makes some hard decisions that seem to harm some family members while helping others. What interested or compelled you about the father as you wrote?
The facts of the story—that the father extended some kindness to Laika before sending her off to die—are so compelling that I had to center the father in the story. But it’s the boy’s story. Ivan learns that his father is capable of lying to him. Decades later, he draws some conclusions about his father that are tied to what happened with Laika. How could those days with the Laika not loom large in Ivan’s mind for the rest of his life? No one besides Ivan and Anya could say that as children they’d lived with the famous dog. Ivan would tell some version of the story many, many times. “Little Curly” is the version in which Ivan looks back on his now-deceased father and makes a judgment, which I think is a natural thing to do.
EH: I enjoyed how you withheld the hard facts of what actually happened to the dog until the end of "Little Curly." What kind of research went into this story? What do you think is the place of research in fiction generally?
PN: I read several articles about Laika. The most useful was “The Sad, Sad Story of Laika, the Space Dog, and her One-Way Trip into Orbit,” by Alice George, in Smithsonian Magazine. When I’m writing fiction that involves research, it’s an iterative process. I read some, write some, read some more, write a bit more. The writing part, of course, requires invention, and eventually invention subordinates research. There’s come a point when there are certain things I don’t want to learn more about. For example, once I had invented the children in “Little Curly,” I didn’t want to learn about the physician’s actual children. That information wasn’t necessary, and I didn’t want it clouding the vision I had for the story. At that point, the image of my own children snuggled in bed with their dog held more weight than any facts about the physician’s family I might have tracked down.
After the first draft, in which the family was invented and the story was plotted, I focused on research that would help me get the narrator’s voice right. I had to know enough details to convince readers they were listening to the voice of a man who’d grown up in the Soviet Union. I hope I’ve succeeded.
You asked about the place of research in fiction, which is a great question. For me, the term “historical fiction” meant “historical novels” until I read Jim Shepard’s collection Like You’d Understand, Anyway (2007). That book woke me up to the possibilities of the historical short story form. Bess Winter also writes wonderful historical short stories. I highly recommend her collection Machines of Another Era (2020). I’ve found that I love writing historical fiction in both short- and long-form. My first book of fiction, Man in a Cage, which will be published by Malarkey Books in August, is an historical novel that required a great deal of research in primary and secondary sources. Doing the research for “Little Curly” (and other stories) and Man in a Cage has allowed me to return to the things I loved as a kid, things like space exploration and animal science. I left those things behind when I started writing, which was a mistake. I’m glad to have those loves back in my life, and it’s especially nice turning them into fiction.
EH: By the end of the story, the reader realizes that the little boy is grown up and Little Curly has taken on greater significance in his life due to recent events. What were you hoping readers could take away from this ending?
PN: Even though Ivan knew Little Curly for only a few days, given the circumstances of her death I think his grief for her would run deep. Thinking about her death might even cause him anguish. All he can do with it is avoid certain thoughts and remember the joyful things Little Curly experienced. I struggle with knowing what to do with grief and anguish, and I’m guessing I’m not the only one. Perhaps readers will recognize their own struggle in Ivan’s.
Patrick Nevins: I was looking for a way to write about Laika and came across the story of one of the Soviet physicians taking her home to his children before the launch. There’s so much pathos just in the facts of that story: This man whose job is to send Laika to her death allows her a few days to lead a normal life in his home playing with his children. I started asking questions: Did the children know the dog had been selected to die aboard the satellite? If so, how did they react? I started imagining the answers, and what emerged from that process was the physician’s son telling the story of how he’d planned to run away with Laika and save her from her fate.
EH: You chose to cut back and forth in time between the dog staying with the boy's family and the narrator's grown-up musings about what happened to the dog. What were you hoping to suggest with these time shifts?
PN: The father makes some hard decisions that seem to harm some family members while helping others. What interested or compelled you about the father as you wrote?
The facts of the story—that the father extended some kindness to Laika before sending her off to die—are so compelling that I had to center the father in the story. But it’s the boy’s story. Ivan learns that his father is capable of lying to him. Decades later, he draws some conclusions about his father that are tied to what happened with Laika. How could those days with the Laika not loom large in Ivan’s mind for the rest of his life? No one besides Ivan and Anya could say that as children they’d lived with the famous dog. Ivan would tell some version of the story many, many times. “Little Curly” is the version in which Ivan looks back on his now-deceased father and makes a judgment, which I think is a natural thing to do.
EH: I enjoyed how you withheld the hard facts of what actually happened to the dog until the end of "Little Curly." What kind of research went into this story? What do you think is the place of research in fiction generally?
PN: I read several articles about Laika. The most useful was “The Sad, Sad Story of Laika, the Space Dog, and her One-Way Trip into Orbit,” by Alice George, in Smithsonian Magazine. When I’m writing fiction that involves research, it’s an iterative process. I read some, write some, read some more, write a bit more. The writing part, of course, requires invention, and eventually invention subordinates research. There’s come a point when there are certain things I don’t want to learn more about. For example, once I had invented the children in “Little Curly,” I didn’t want to learn about the physician’s actual children. That information wasn’t necessary, and I didn’t want it clouding the vision I had for the story. At that point, the image of my own children snuggled in bed with their dog held more weight than any facts about the physician’s family I might have tracked down.
After the first draft, in which the family was invented and the story was plotted, I focused on research that would help me get the narrator’s voice right. I had to know enough details to convince readers they were listening to the voice of a man who’d grown up in the Soviet Union. I hope I’ve succeeded.
You asked about the place of research in fiction, which is a great question. For me, the term “historical fiction” meant “historical novels” until I read Jim Shepard’s collection Like You’d Understand, Anyway (2007). That book woke me up to the possibilities of the historical short story form. Bess Winter also writes wonderful historical short stories. I highly recommend her collection Machines of Another Era (2020). I’ve found that I love writing historical fiction in both short- and long-form. My first book of fiction, Man in a Cage, which will be published by Malarkey Books in August, is an historical novel that required a great deal of research in primary and secondary sources. Doing the research for “Little Curly” (and other stories) and Man in a Cage has allowed me to return to the things I loved as a kid, things like space exploration and animal science. I left those things behind when I started writing, which was a mistake. I’m glad to have those loves back in my life, and it’s especially nice turning them into fiction.
EH: By the end of the story, the reader realizes that the little boy is grown up and Little Curly has taken on greater significance in his life due to recent events. What were you hoping readers could take away from this ending?
PN: Even though Ivan knew Little Curly for only a few days, given the circumstances of her death I think his grief for her would run deep. Thinking about her death might even cause him anguish. All he can do with it is avoid certain thoughts and remember the joyful things Little Curly experienced. I struggle with knowing what to do with grief and anguish, and I’m guessing I’m not the only one. Perhaps readers will recognize their own struggle in Ivan’s.
Patrick Nevins is the author of the novel Man in a Cage (forthcoming from Malarkey Books). “Little Curly” grew from his fascination with early space exploration, which often relied on the use of animals. Among the less-known facts of Laika’s story is that a Soviet scientist took the dog to his home before her tragic flight. “Little Curly” imagines what might have happened.
Erica Rose Hampton is a writer and avid reader centered in Columbia, MO. She graduated from the University of Missouri in 2018 with a degree in English and Latin and a minor in Art History. When she's not making pizzas or tutoring writing, she can be found at home with her two cats and excessive bookshelves.