Helen Oyeyemi writes magical, unsettling novels in which nothing remains fixed.
Shes lived her life that way, too.
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The first storythe world told about Helen Oyeyemi was that she was a prodigy.
When she was about 15, she read a perfect book.
I stayed home from school, she told me.
I cant believe this.I immediately wanted to try it.
Reading was an intense, isolated, even isolating experience.
Thats what made it feel like it was my lifeblood or my own heartbeat, she said.
It just couldnt be discussed.
She wrote short stories throughout her adolescence and sent her strongest one to an agent, looking for advice.
He called her the next day.
Reviews were strong, though most of them seemed aware of her youth and the story of her discovery.
You cant help but think of other stories while reading hers, making the experience weirdly dreamlike and personal.
In Oyeyemi land, there are more hurried glances and grazing fingertips in bookshops and libraries than in bedrooms.
She often seems on the verge of laughter, especially when speaking about things she takes very seriously.
She says she has a three-quarter theory that she is somehow a fox.
Myth has taught her that every story changes when the light does.
When we started to approach things she would rather not discuss, she laughed and moved swiftly on.
I kept picturing something like the demonic Bob fromTwin Peaks.Dont you feel sorry for him?
she said, laughing as I shuddered.
Hes just trying to assert himself.
Oyeyemi herself squirms when people, even friends, tell her shes one thing or another.
Being interested in folk legends means she is by definition also interested in women in danger.
It was good in terms of story analysis for me.
In 2006, the year after she published her first novel,Oyeyemi was assaulted in a London park.
They were in full view of passersby, none of whom intervened.
She kicked her way free.
Even before the assault, Oyeyemi hadnt felt at home in London.
She wanted to live in a city that wanted her back.
So she moved and moved, all through her 20s.
After getting her degree from Cambridge, she went to New York for an M.F.A.
I cant do a rules-based writing program, she said.
I cant find something for workshop once a week.
My mind was too crooked for it.
She tried Paris and London and Cambridge again, then Budapest and Berlin.
She gave each city six months to a year.
But having visited Prague, she kept comparing other cities to its mystery, its secrets, its doubleness.
Finally, Oyeyemi moved to Czechia, and that was it.
Her wandering, and the fear that went with it, became part of her writing discipline.
You have to decide how much the fear can restrict you.
Since then, elements of autobiography have largely vanished from her novels or been transformed past recognition.
This doesnt mean theyre not personal.
She started writing the empoweringMr.
She hasnt quite worked out why she wrotePeacesyet.
With the train journey, Im not interested in the beginning point or the end point, she said.
In this way, at least, the book has already done its magic.
When I was writingPeaces,Id completely given up on meeting anyone, Oyeyemi said.
I was just kind of like,This is doomed.
Its just not going to happen.But then, quite predictably, after finishingPeaces,I fell for someone.
Her new partner is an anthropologist (A wonderful kind of anthropologist!)
and is, fortunately for the relationship, a Praguer.
She set out to visit four of his castles.
She got sucked into conversation with other passengers, grew disoriented, almost missed stops.
When Oyeyemi and I spoke, Prague was entering a particularly severe three-week COVID lockdown.
Even when she can travel more freely, Oyeyemi isnt one for wandering aimlessly.
She needs outings to be arranged as little quests whether or not she sticks to them.
She doesnt really take walks, said Cieplak.
Im unscared, Oyeyemi said.
Also Im so scared.
But I think that all I can do is have fun with it.
Otherwise, my heart will literally stop beating before I manage to write the first chapter.
Getting turned around seems to be at the heart of Oyeyemis process.
And indeed, how else can you perceive things no one else sees?
You have to look at every place as though its the wrong one masquerading as the familiar.
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*An earlier version of this piece mistitled Oyeyemis book,White Is for Witching.
