Heaps: I think it depends on the cult, but a lot of these men were sexy, you know? They were charismatic, a more feminine power. Not just brute force and extreme manipulation. Pair that with the power that comes with some grandiose theory, some knowledge of your being you’re not allowed to be privy to, and then this charming charisma. A nice hybrid of feminine and masculine? Someone worth sexually revering as deity? I think.
Rail: Yeah, if you know how to leverage it, you can take it far. Now I want to talk about the concept of “the living god.” I actually learned that there was a living prophet in Mormonism through this book. I know almost nothing about the faith—I was raised Catholic, which is its own weird thing.
Heaps: That’s a mess, too.
Rail: Yeah, it is. [Laughs] The idea of the living god comes up in Catholicism and Christianity though. Some Hindus and Buddhists believe in the Kumari, who is always a prepubescent girl. I actually had a friend who was in a cult that believed that god was a living Korean woman, and she referred to South Korea as Zion.
Heaps: Mormons have a Zion. It’s one of those Middle American states. I haven’t been practicing for a while, but I think it’s in Missouri.
Rail: [Laughs] In this book the living god is a child. What attracted you to the idea of creating a living god, and why Immanuel? Why a child?
Heaps: I think I’m drawing from a lot of mythology, from the Christ reborn to my own background with the living prophet, because Mormons do believe that there’s always someone on Earth speaking directly to god. So I think that’s partly where this is coming from for sure—a very literal critique of or response to various organized religions.
Immanuel as this figure of reverence is very much a relational one and an interpersonal one. This book also came out of my grief after the loss of my relationship with my stepson, so I was thinking about how with Immanuel—or children in particular—there’s a very specific caretaking relationship that you’re very lucky to be a part of, and you’re very conscious of that gift as you’re in it. So I was thinking of Immanuel as just any child that one might love in this godlike way.
Rail: That really comes through in the way that baby and Jesse take on this parenting role with Immanuel throughout the book, and also how Immanuel is the person who managed to humble Elaina: he made her weak, and he wasn’t afraid of her. There’s something really powerful about him beyond cult worship—in just bringing a child into this dynamic.
Heaps: And baby biologically does not have that power in her relationship with Elaina. It’s a huge part of Jesse’s draw.
Rail: On that note, much of the book is incredibly direct—it’s even graphic at times. You don’t shy away from much. But there is this mystery at the center of the story: we know Jesse and baby are on this path to living independently, and by the end we get a pretty clear idea of why, but we’re never told directly what happens. I was curious about your decision to leave that part of the story more open-ended. In a way, the past is as important as what was happening to baby in the present, and what I would imagine would be the climax of that plotline almost goes unsaid. What was it like writing around that, and what informed that decision?
Heaps: When I write anything, but especially when I was writing Proximity, when I was writing this, there are certain scenes that I don’t want to write because they make me just so sad. So I think the climactic moment with Immanuel and Elaina I was also writing around because I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to look at it. But now, also, I don’t think for baby, there is anything after that event. She’s struggling to even care about her own miscarriage. She’s struggling to care about her own child, her own body, her own current circumstances. She’s all but gone after the loss. I think everything leading up to that moment is what matters to her—every memory of their time together. I wanted to make that present as well.
Rail: She wakes up in a motel room and the in-between is missing, but she’s trying to push forward while struggling with all this grief. Similarly, we’re introduced to the spirits early on and really directly. In the beginning they were described as a gift, though the more we see them, the more we know that’s not necessarily true. They’re mean, and they’re always laughing at baby. I think it’s easy to perceive them as a symptom of mental illness, but they’re real to her, and I chose to take them at face value—this was something that was totally happening. How did you arrive at the idea of the spirits and making baby literally a haunted character?