P.N.ZOYTLOW

[The interview was conducted by the agent/editor at a place selected byP.N.Zoytlow, the Flying J Travel Center in Limon, Colorado.  The time was mid-afternoon and Zoytlow was seated in a booth with a view of the Interstate. He was drinking a small coffee out of a disposable cup. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt purchased at the place of his last Field Report (FR), Why, Arizona. After a friendly greeting and a handshake, Zoytlow signaled that he was ready and the recording device was turned on.]

DB: You’ve no doubt noticed in the correspondence I’ve forwarded to you from your    readers that some of them see you in the tradition of the hidden writer, like B Traven. Some have wondered if you exist at all and I myself have been accused of using you at a front.

PNZ:  [Frowns]  And this surely bothers you?

DB: Why no, not at all. But I’m hoping that you can reveal enough of yourself here to put some of those questions to rest.

PNZ:   Have they read that bio section, what’s it called? On the  blog, I mean.

DB: About.

PNZ: About, OK., they know I was born on June 15, 1950. But not much more, as I recall. Well, here’s more. Galena, Illinois. Went to NIU  at DeKalb. Journalism. Then to Iowa, Rural Sociology and in 1983 had my first academic posting as a researcher for the Institute for….well, let’s leave it there. But you may surmise that my interest in field research begins in those years.

DB: Yes, you make no secret of wanting to make a notable contribution in some area that you vaguely refer to as the “social sciences,” but isn’t it really Anthropology where you hoped to make your mark?

PNZ:  “Hoped?”  What’s that supposed to mean? It’s pretty clear that in 24 FRs I nailed down one paper after another. What do my readers say?

DB:    Without denying that your work is, ah, unique, many seem to think that you reveal a deep loathing for yourself and for academia which, if I may be so blunt, marched to a different tune than you were hearing.  One of your readers said that she could not endure your obvious talent for taking a dynamite research idea and as she puts it “messing it up, big-time.” I hope this doesn’t come as a surprise to you?

PNZ: What does?

DB: That your work seems flawed, perhaps tragically so, and that you yourself…

PNZ:  [coughing] …I myself am some sort of paradigm for tragedy?  Well, now, that WOULD be something!  It rather pleases me, that turn of phrase, rather elegant!  Hah! Nice epitaph, I’ll call the obelisk makers in the morning. [Laughs.]

DB:  Let’s turn now to your oeuvre.

PNZ: My what? [Shakes head.]

DB: Your stuff.  How did you decide on the Field Reports?

PNZ: I was curious if I could extract a useful amount of information, an impression really, of a place or situation in seventy-five minutes of observation time. Like going into a large art museum, tearing though the place in an hour, then lingering at some painting or drawing that sort of bulges out at you and says: this is what this is. In every 75 minute FR, I had to hope that something would “bulge” and show me what I had been doing there in the first place. Now some of these FRs were really terrifying for me. I had to contend with the possibility that nothing really happened and that I would be held up to derision by the world.

DB: We can talk about that later, but I have to tell you that your FRs on the bloghave not gone anything near “viral” as the expression goes. Go back to what terrified you. And by the way, what does the “N” stand for in your name?

PNZ: Nepumuceno. I got very scared with FR # 7

DB:   The Beethoven House in Bonn?

PNZ: Un-huh. Nothing seemed to be happening and then everything seemed to be happening. But that’s how human culture operates, everything at once and from there I learned that stuff is happening all at once all the time, like some sort of molecular movement, only this is cultural. Look over there [points to a family looking upwards at the food service menu] there is an amazing report over there, or maybe we should just call it a story. If I sat here for 75 minutes, a hell of a lot would be happening but would I be smart enough to have a feel for it? And would I be able to convince you that you were part of it to?

DB: You’ve been unhappy with some of your FRs? Were there some you could not squeeze the essence out of?

PNZ:  The one on wine tasting haunts me. Something eluded me. I still don’t know what it was. But that was pretty effortless, too. I was already there and it fell, too easily right into my head. Take the one on the Iceman Oetzi–there was one I drove especially to see the thing, Bolzano. I was very keyed up because it just had to be a good topic. Poor devil and more so the poor devils who were there to see him. [Sighs deeply.]

DB: Do you include yourself in that category?

PNZ:  What do you think? Sure, doing FRs leads to a conceit. You’re always in thedriver’s seat and then the road narrows and becomes a grass track and thenyou’re in the sand. Wheels spinning and all that dust…

DB: OK, OK, I follow that. What were the FRs you might have done had you not, ah, retired from this work?  You did think of it as work, yes?

PNZ: The “work” was deciding if my instincts had been correct in choosing a FR. Butonce I chose a topic, I would stick with it to the end for reasons that I think I have explained, meaning everything has a hook.

DB:  A hook.

PNZ: Yes, it gives you a flash, a brief insight which says “follow the Yellow Brick Road” or something like that. It tells you it is worthwhile and that if you play your hunch carefully enough,there will be be a  payoff, a fully-evolved revelation which I called “Field Report.” Now, as to those “hooks” that it would have been a fine thing to be presented with, let me think on that.[Pauses] Remember, I did not chose the FR so much as I always thought it chose me. Recall the FR on the motel culture, or whatever that was. A bland, ordinary thing which suddenly just asked me to think on it. I always sensed an attraction to, let’s see….churches, those quick oil change places, poetry readings, and the kitchens of restaurants or hotels. But I never got to those places or if I did I wasn’t bitten. People would suggest FRs to me, but that never worked. I could not love their muse. Easier to be motivated by a half-dead sea cucumber and by the way, that one was so wonderful. This small thread of idea and then…..Jesus!

DB:  Some of your readers are indifferent to the news that the FRs have reached an end. Others seemed disappointed, at least mildly so. A few wanted to know why.

PNZ:  I gave it up because I wanted to, that’s it. Time to do something else. Anyway, as I must have made clear, none of the FRs ever quite reached the point where I thought some social science journal would get excited over it. I knew all along that I could not discipline myself to keep the subjective stuff out, keep it at bay. So, no surprise that each FR, in its own way, just reaffirmed that.

DB:     So what’s next, Phil?

PNZ: I don’t like it when people call me “Phil” and I thought you knew that. And this thingyou call an interview reminds me of the bad times I had trying to figure out thepoint of a FR.

DB: Just like your readers?

PNZ: So, that’s the way it’s going to be, is it?  Look, I’m out of coffee and I don’t want more. What’s holding me here? My joy in travesty?

DB: Your call, but if  you want to continue–what’s your thinking on the likelihood that readership of the blog has been, uh, light.

PNZ: Scant?

DB: Sparse.

PNZ: Too many blogs, too little time. I only read about six myself.

DB: So, what’s next Mr. Zoytlow?

PNZ: You’ll see. Don’t expect me to lay a curse over it by telling you “what’s next.” I hate that expression.

DB: Of course not. Whatever it is, good luck with it!

PNZ:  And if “what’s next” is nothing, just empty time and space?

DB:   Thank you. We’re done.

Note: I had made no plan regarding how the interview might end and this seemed to work for both of us. Zoytlow seemed indifferent. We shook hands. I stayed in the booth and watched the traffic for a few moments longer. Zoytlow wandered over to thepostcard rack and, moments later, was gone.