Tucked away past the first right turn of a dark hallway — a lone light, a door ajar — is a small office where “(585) Magazine” and other JFM Publishing, LLC titles are brought to life. Inside sits Christine Green, managing editor and newly published author, next to bowls of sweets. CITY sat down in front of her milk glass candy jar to discuss “Sweet Tooth,” a collection of nonfiction pieces Green’s been compiling for years, published locally through Zaftig Press earlier this year.
CITY: You’ve spent much of your professional life interviewing and writing about other people. Was it strange to claim that imposing ‘I’?
I would say that the looking inward started before the looking outward. I was even that kid — my son is like this, too — that was already nostalgic for the last year. My mom would be like, ‘you’re 10, calm down.’ I feel, in many ways, very comfortable with that “I,” I have always been doing that.
CITY: Tell me about the title “Sweet Tooth.”
It sounds so silly, but I am really into candy. To the detriment of my teeth, I’ve always had a sweet tooth. Especially in recent years, I have more of an understanding of why I turn to candy. But when I put the collection together, these were pieces that were all separate from each other. It was only when I stood back, I saw the parallel: I’m always craving something.
CITY: You spent time as an archeologist, and the first couple of essays excavate photos for past memories. What’s the connection there?
The way I think about it, coming from archeology, you have to look at the tiny details, and then all the tiny details come together and make the bigger picture. I think what we consider the minutiae of life — whether it be a broken piece of artifact, or some so-called silly memory — is actually how you understand the whole.
CITY: In the essay “Powder Blue,” you write about words having a taste. Does the taste of words change while writing?
This is really making me think about my own brain! It’s helpful for me to know a word in my sentences by all senses. So I have to see it, and yeah, sometimes I do, especially with colors, have to taste it. For me, the words have sounds and textures that all go back to memory.
CITY: Sometimes, you slip into magical realism. I’m curious about your thought process.
That last piece, when I’m at the top of the pyramid and I fly away, obviously that didn’t happen. But that was the visual of the feeling I had. It’s, again, these small mundane moments I wanted the reader to know transcend reality, because it has created a different level in my heart. Memory, in its own way, is a type of inner fiction. There are things we hold onto as ‘memory’ that either didn’t happen or happened in a different way, and I think playing with that is exciting.
CITY: When we eat, there’s a feeling of fullness that’s comforting. When we write, we can have a similarly cathartic experience. With this book now being out in the world, how do you feel?
It feels really freaking great. Now that it’s out in the world, I’m like, ‘this is fun.’ We should have fun. We should have parties. I want people to read it and I want to hear what they have to say about it. I want to celebrate that this is out and I feel very, very happy. And it makes me want to do more. sites.google.com/view/christinegreen
Selections from “Sweet Tooth”
By Christine Green
Mirror
On my television there is a boy—probably about twelve—standing on a gray and stony Bay Area beach.
“I’m proud to be a Mexican-American!” he declares, fist pumping in the air as the ocean breeze ruffles his sweatshirt.
I stop everything when this public service announcement comes on channel two. I get right up close to the TV, so I can watch him intently and soak up every word. My mom always tells us that we should be proud to be Mexican and American.
“But we aren’t from Mexico,” I always say, confused.
I don’t yet understand about moving borders, about wars that put families first in one country and then another, about the Southwest and the borderlands.
This proud boy appears on TV once, maybe twice a day. But after a minute or two he is gone and The Brady Bunch resumes and they are so blond and have a maid and a two story house and their parents let their dog inside. I watch Marsha and Jan and Cindy because that is what is offered. I swallow the images and covet their pink ruffled room and attached bath.
I wait patiently through Petticoat Junction reruns and The Andy Griffith Show for the Mexican-American boy to return to the screen, so he can teach me how to be proud.
Sugar Baby
1983
Your mom is hot, man.
We look out the window at my friend’s mom. Her long brown legs in a white tennis skirt draw all eyes her way as she pumps gas. We stand there in the convenience store, with Charleston Chews and Sweet Tarts clutched in sweaty fists, stunned that these men with tattoos and cigarettes hanging from their lips are talking to us. We just came in for sugar.
Really, dude, she’s hella sexy. I mean, look at those legs!
We laugh. No one told us how to react when men scare us, when they reduce our mothers to a pair of legs. No one taught us how to walk away. All we know is how to giggle and eat sweets.
To be sweet.
To smile, and nod, yes.
We have not yet learned that no is an option.
1995
I walk the long seven blocks from my apartment to my job in the predawn dark. The streets should be empty, but they never are. Men (so many men) doze on sidewalks, wave hello as I pass. They serve up soft whistles, mumbled offers, and outstretched hands. I jut out my chin and pull my shoulders back convinced that I look like a badass, like I could take on whatever is put in my path. But every time I safely reach my destination, I let out the breath I’ve been holding for half a mile, half a lifetime.
This article appears in Dec 1-31, 2024.
