Ryan Chapman explores unlikely juxtaposition of prison, humor

Earlier this week, Chapman spoke by phone from the Merrill House. His comments have been edited for space and clarity. Friendly and generous with his time, Chapman has the mellow, assured voice one would otherwise associate with a late-night DJ on a jazz station.

Q. Reviews of “Riots I Have Known” consistently praised the book as extremely funny, though some critics at the same time complained the satire comes at the expense of the incarcerated. It could be argued it’s increasingly difficult for a writer or comedian to simply be funny for the sake of it — that the potency of satire in particular has been diminished by PC factions. Did you set out with this book to simply write something funny because you could, or do some of the critics just not get it: That you are in fact making a point about incarceration and they just don’t get it?

A. One thing I really like about satire or humor is that it can be disarming, a sort of Trojan horse that reveals ideas about parts of ourselves we don’t like to think about. I worked in publishing and was paid to read a lot of novels, and when I decided to write a novel I wanted to challenge myself with something that required sustained focus and do something readers hadn’t encountered before. That included the idea of the monstrous narrator.

The thing about readers is they’re self-selecting. I understand if someone says, “This book is not for me.” For others, it stimulates and tickles them in different ways. Ultimately, if someone doesn’t see that, there’s nothing the writer can do about it when it happens ... It took me a long time to realize that using dark humor or black wit as a tool to work ideas about people and culture into a narrative is a useful tool, and it fascinates me.

Q. In that spirit, is it accurate to say that among the targets in “Riots I Have Known” is the American penal system?

A. I think of satire as a lens through which to view “Riot’s” world, and its abiding spirit. Its targets are numerous, though I wouldn’t include the American prison system among them — that’s more environment and setting, a poisoned hothouse for the narrator’s delusions of grandeur. This was one of the challenges in writing the book. In comedy one should never “punch down,” and fiction readers don’t need a novel to learn about the country’s inhuman treatment of our incarcerated population. (For that, I’d direct people to books by Albert Woodfox, Ted Conover, and Shane Bauer.) I wanted to thread the needle such that readers encounter something truly new. And it’s been nice to receive letters of praise from former prisoners.

Q. One of the best characteristics of the narrator is his hyper-reliance on over the top allusions and references. It’s clear he’s really smart, but there’s also a humanizing element wherein he’s trying so hard that we wonder about his own insecurity. Is that accurate?

A. With regards to allusions and cultural phenomena, it’s another layer of humor to work with, and an inescapable part of modern life. Also, I figured a Sri Lankan who considers himself a blank slate would, upon his immigration to New York, “overcorrect” on brand names, pop culture, and the sad absurdities of late capitalism.

Q. Not to overgeneralize, but it could be argued someone is either intrinsically funny or not. Further, just because someone can make friends and family laugh doesn’t necessarily mean he or she can “write funny.” Were you a funny kid and when did you figure out that extended to the written word?

A. I think I can say I was aware of a comic disposition fairly early on. I certainly had that. When I was in fifth or sixth grade, a local library had a writing competition and I wrote a story hardboiled detective story that was like Raymond Chandler mixed with tentacled alien — and I won $ 50. That was like a million to a kid and, equally important, it was an early signal that this was something I enjoy doing and seemed somewhat natural. I think seeing life comically is a great shield or suit of armor, if you will, for some of the knocks life delivers. It’s certainly helped me. And, as Martin Amis said, “Life is funny and so novels should be funny, too.”

Q. A residency at the Merrill House is not your first on-site fellowship. Is it a bit strange to acclimate oneself to a new environment — with a prescribed amount of time — and then immediately be productive?

A. In the months leading up to (a residency), it’s pretty great, like you’re anticipating going on vacation. As it gets closer, the spring gets a bit more tightly coiled but ultimately it’s a pretty easy situation to jump into. I’m very cognizant, as you say, that I’m there for a limited time with a specific purpose. And so there’s this great freedom and a sense of, “If not now, when?.” Plus, you don’t have to worry about dusting the house.

Q. This is your first time in this part of Connecticut. What do you think?

A. I’ve been soaking up the atmosphere, both in this wonderful home and in the area. There’s an incredible library and these chaise lounges everywhere. It’s as though James (Merrill) and (his partner) David (Noyes Jackson) built this place for mentally stimulating idleness. To be here feels like a true indulgence. Stonington village is beautiful. I just take walk around and breathe the oxygen. The timing is perfect, too: It’s autumn. I’ve also explored Mystic and Westerly a bit. The Merrill board members have been great and generous and it’s been totally enjoyable to negotiate the exploration of this area with leading a monastic life of productivity.