In A World Worth Saving, a trans boy named A goes on the run after escaping what turns out to be a literally demonic conversion therapy group, and discovers a golem that can form itself out of trash, anywhere and anytime—just one of the ways it differs from golems typically seen in Jewish mythology.
The golem wonders if it has been sent to A because, “you are in the midst of your own creation, which gives you strength beyond imagining.” As a trans 14-year-old, A embodies the “holiness inherent to every transition.” Can you share what is behind this idea of holiness?
Erin Bow wrote that “the root of holiness, it turns out, is to do things deliberately” (“The Scorpion Rules,” 2015), and I have carried that piece of wisdom with me for the last decade. While it is, of course, not a complete answer, it feels beautiful and true enough to me.
What led you to use Jewish folklore and traditions in telling this story?
At first I thought that I’d have to draw consistently from other folklore and tradition to complete the story, because while I knew that Jews had golems, and a giant bird, I didn’t know much about our stories beyond that. I learned about certain Jewish teachings about ghosts and spiritual possession somewhat by accident, and heard about a podcast about Jewish demonology also unintentionally, and from those two sources discovered more than enough to craft a fantasy narrative around (and possibly even a sequel). So I guess that in addition to Erin’s teaching, holiness can also be the meaning that we, as human beings blessed with imagination, fashion out of the seeming chaos of life.
The golem first speaks to A in archaic language, until A—ever the 21st-century teen—asks it to just talk “normally.”Did you find it challenging to mix together ancient folklore with contemporary life?
Not at all! I have watched and read a LOT of fantasy, and so have spent a lot of time rehearsing for—I mean, imagining—how I will behave if I am ever plunged into a fantastical situation (time travel, here I come). While my characters’ reactions don’t always reflect how I might react in a given situation, I am fairly sure that my first step in A’s shoes would also be to try and establish appropriate channels of communication. And, though ancient folklore is by its nature also about ancient people, I am somewhat convinced that human beings have, at our core, always been the same, so whatever lessons folklore taught our ancestors are also probably lessons that we ourselves could stand to learn.
A seeks refuge in his family’s old synagogue, which inspires plenty of nostalgic memories. Did you find yourself drawing upon your own childhood as you wrote?
In many ways, yes. Any time A talks about what he experiences or feels as the only Jewish kid in an overwhelmingly Christian community is a direct reflection of how othered I felt as a young person. It was an otherness that I embraced, since I am a person who enjoys being difficult, but it also made me feel uncomfortably isolated from my peers—not just around the holidays, but all year round. But I also remember feeling out of place at synagogue (which, in my imagination, is identical to the synagogue I describe in the book), because most of the other kids knew each other from their more urban schools. Part of why it took me so long to write a story with a Jewish protagonist is because I don’t like writing from a place of alienation, but those are the feelings that largely shaped my identity formation as an American Jew, far more so than being queer or trans ever has.
What inspired you to make this story’s golem constructed from trash, not the usual clay?
For reasons both practical and symbolic! For one, I needed the golem to be something that wouldn’t attract undue attention, since it would be a very different story if the golem was an obvious companion for casual passersby to see. I figured that trash was something that would be everywhere, but could dissipate into the background if needed.
And then, metaphorically, what does it mean to find value in what has been thrown away? What can we learn from what we refuse? Can the stone the builders rejected become the cornerstone?
And, also, I lived in an apartment furnished with stuff I picked up from other people’s stoops, and dumpster dived for a lot of my 20s (as do some of the characters), so I really embody that dichotomy of trash/treasure.
Adolescence is a momentous period for learning about yourself. A’s largely took place online due to the COVID-19 pandemic. How did you go about putting yourself in the shoes of teenagers with such unprecedented experiences?
The nice thing about that was that, since all of these experiences were so unprecedented, I could just kinda . . . make things up. Those early days of COVID were so weird, and felt both constrained (in a bad way) and full of endless possibility (also mostly in a bad way). Since there is no one dominant narrative of what it was like to be a young person coming out as trans while also living through a historic lockdown, I wanted to make it seem realistic enough but didn’t have to worry too much about it being drawn directly from a real source.
“What does it mean to find value in what has been thrown away?”
As A finds himself running all over Seattle, we are treated to some memorable locations such as the Transhack, an abandoned basement repurposed as a home by unhoused queer youth, and Burger Queen, a restaurant that hosts drag shows. Do any of the places in the book draw inspiration from real life?
Kind of! Transhack was inspired by two different places I spent time in: a friend’s probably illegal apartment that shared a basement with an Indian restaurant on St. Mark’s Place in Manhattan, and the SS Gay/Handsome Transom, a houseboat on a canal in Brooklyn (which did in fact feature a bucket toilet. I only used it once). Burger Queen is kind of Hamburger Mary’s [a restaurant chain known for its drag shows] a little bit? But also very fictionalized since I think I was only at a Hamburger Mary’s once, for my 21st birthday. But I have spent uncountable hours in diverse queer spaces since I first came out in 2001, and, magpie-like, bits and pieces of everywhere I’ve ever been show up in unexpected or unexplained details throughout my books.