Chad Broughton's Blog
January 9, 2015
Brazos Bookstore Q&A
1. Given your academic background, readers might find this book a little intimidating. How would you describe it to somebody who claims not to like books about economics?
I would describe it as a book about ordinary people caught up in a time of extraordinary economic change—the dilemmas they face, how they adapt, where they fall down, how they pick themselves up. I tried to write an engaging a book about people, and the places where they live, with brief explorations of the historical, sociological, and economic contexts in which they find themselves.
2. Do you think you're writing for an academic audience or a more “general” audience—and if so, how do you define that general audience?
I have been driven for the past decade or so by the desire to craft a book that would be well received by my colleagues in sociology, but also a book that my family and friends would enjoy. It’s a fine balance, and one runs the risk of pleasing neither audience. I hope the final product works on both levels, but I’m especially hoping book lovers of all sorts will like it. I think a general audience—all of us who are curious and love to read, really—relate to storytelling about people and places, and that’s what I’ve tried to do.
3. How did you decide which personal stories to include or exclude? What responsibility do you feel for your subjects after you write about them?
That’s a great question. You’re right; I didn’t include everyone I interviewed. Instead I focused deeply on stories that I found to be suggestive of common experiences in both Galesburg and Reynosa—and, more generally, of the Rust Belt and the U.S.-Mexico border.
I love your question about responsibility because I feel it’s so important. I’ve known many of the subjects of the book for over 12 years now, and they’ve been incredibly generous to me. So it’s essential to represent faithfully the facts and lives of the people with whom I spoke, and to do so with empathy and compassion. When people invite you into their lives for that long and agree to share their life stories—especially in this case, in times of hardship and turmoil for many—one has to get it right, down to every detail.
4. What surprised you most in the writing of this book?
That everyone has an interesting story if you’re willing to listen. Whether it was in Galesburg, Reynosa, or Veracruz, I found people who not only had something to say, but something they wanted to say—and these are people who are not typically listened to by journalists, politicians, or corporate leaders. I love to listen and to try to draw out insights, to have conversations with people from all types of backgrounds. That has been surprisingly easy, and incredibly rewarding, given the openness of the people I’ve met. At the same time, I was surprised by how long and challenging the task of interweaving all those stories in the book ultimately was. That was the hard part, but rewarding in its own ways.
5. What were your models in writing this book—not only nonfiction, but also fiction? What examples of narrative did you study or turn to?
There are No Children Here, Fast Food Nation, and Factory Girls are journalistic accounts of important economic, social, and policy questions, but beautifully and poignantly embedded in the lives of ordinary people. We sociologists sometimes write leaden, dull, and jargon-filled prose. I think, if we are to be relevant, we ought to aspire to Kotlowitz, Schlosser, Chang, and other investigative journalists who tackle important and timely topics in an engaging way. Unbroken, The Perfect Storm, and The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks were also inspirations. I mostly read thrillers in fiction and books like Harry Potter with my kids. They aren’t much help in what I do—except perhaps with questions of style—but they sure are fun!
6. BOOM, BUST, EXODUS covers a grim subject, surely, but do you consider it a grim book?
Honestly, I am drawn to grim topics. I think it’s important that we face up to the causes and consequences of growing inequality and the erosion of the middle class in America, what is driving the immigration crisis, and so on. That said, the experience for me has been anything but grim. I was absolutely inspired by some of the people with whom I spoke, people who are carving big lives out of diminished offerings in Galesburg. I was inspired by the sacrifices that parents made for their children in Reynosa. Even when the circumstances are grim, there is grit, resilience, and growth—especially when the circumstances are grim, perhaps.
I would describe it as a book about ordinary people caught up in a time of extraordinary economic change—the dilemmas they face, how they adapt, where they fall down, how they pick themselves up. I tried to write an engaging a book about people, and the places where they live, with brief explorations of the historical, sociological, and economic contexts in which they find themselves.
2. Do you think you're writing for an academic audience or a more “general” audience—and if so, how do you define that general audience?
I have been driven for the past decade or so by the desire to craft a book that would be well received by my colleagues in sociology, but also a book that my family and friends would enjoy. It’s a fine balance, and one runs the risk of pleasing neither audience. I hope the final product works on both levels, but I’m especially hoping book lovers of all sorts will like it. I think a general audience—all of us who are curious and love to read, really—relate to storytelling about people and places, and that’s what I’ve tried to do.
3. How did you decide which personal stories to include or exclude? What responsibility do you feel for your subjects after you write about them?
That’s a great question. You’re right; I didn’t include everyone I interviewed. Instead I focused deeply on stories that I found to be suggestive of common experiences in both Galesburg and Reynosa—and, more generally, of the Rust Belt and the U.S.-Mexico border.
I love your question about responsibility because I feel it’s so important. I’ve known many of the subjects of the book for over 12 years now, and they’ve been incredibly generous to me. So it’s essential to represent faithfully the facts and lives of the people with whom I spoke, and to do so with empathy and compassion. When people invite you into their lives for that long and agree to share their life stories—especially in this case, in times of hardship and turmoil for many—one has to get it right, down to every detail.
4. What surprised you most in the writing of this book?
That everyone has an interesting story if you’re willing to listen. Whether it was in Galesburg, Reynosa, or Veracruz, I found people who not only had something to say, but something they wanted to say—and these are people who are not typically listened to by journalists, politicians, or corporate leaders. I love to listen and to try to draw out insights, to have conversations with people from all types of backgrounds. That has been surprisingly easy, and incredibly rewarding, given the openness of the people I’ve met. At the same time, I was surprised by how long and challenging the task of interweaving all those stories in the book ultimately was. That was the hard part, but rewarding in its own ways.
5. What were your models in writing this book—not only nonfiction, but also fiction? What examples of narrative did you study or turn to?
There are No Children Here, Fast Food Nation, and Factory Girls are journalistic accounts of important economic, social, and policy questions, but beautifully and poignantly embedded in the lives of ordinary people. We sociologists sometimes write leaden, dull, and jargon-filled prose. I think, if we are to be relevant, we ought to aspire to Kotlowitz, Schlosser, Chang, and other investigative journalists who tackle important and timely topics in an engaging way. Unbroken, The Perfect Storm, and The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks were also inspirations. I mostly read thrillers in fiction and books like Harry Potter with my kids. They aren’t much help in what I do—except perhaps with questions of style—but they sure are fun!
6. BOOM, BUST, EXODUS covers a grim subject, surely, but do you consider it a grim book?
Honestly, I am drawn to grim topics. I think it’s important that we face up to the causes and consequences of growing inequality and the erosion of the middle class in America, what is driving the immigration crisis, and so on. That said, the experience for me has been anything but grim. I was absolutely inspired by some of the people with whom I spoke, people who are carving big lives out of diminished offerings in Galesburg. I was inspired by the sacrifices that parents made for their children in Reynosa. Even when the circumstances are grim, there is grit, resilience, and growth—especially when the circumstances are grim, perhaps.
