When 17-year-old Doris Steele finds herself in need of an abortion, she makes a short trip to Atlanta to stay with a wealthy friend of her teacher’s named Sylvia Broussard. Doris doesn’t expect the trajectory of her life to be altered by one brief weekend. But as this small-town girl discovers, in 1960, America is on the precipice of change, and this will include unexpected possibilities for her. We spoke to Mia McKenzie about the research process and inspiration for These Heathens.
The diction and vocabulary that Doris uses throughout These Heathens strongly place the reader in the story’s era. What was your process for achieving such a characteristically ’60s voice?
Well, it’s very Southern. Very Georgia, specifically. Doris talks like my grandmother talked. Growing up, I was really good at doing Southern accents in plays because I listened so much to my grandparents and other relatives who still lived down South. I was fascinated by their accents and by their diction and phrasing. So, that way of speaking has always been so easy for me to call up in my mind.
The novel frequently alludes to cultural artifacts like popular songs, books and TV shows. How did you choose what to include? Do you have a favorite reference?
I did a lot of research and then chose things that were on the radio or TV in October 1960 specifically. There were times when I wanted to include something but it didn’t come out until November or December that year, so I had to begrudgingly let it go. A lot of the references are of things I’m familiar with, but some things, like Dinah Washington and Brook Benton’s “Kiddio,” I’d never heard of—I just listened to it and liked it and felt like it was a good fit for the mood of Sylvia’s party. I actually ended up finding that record in my grandmother’s record collection after the book was done, so that felt very right! My favorite reference is Ray Charles’ version of “Come Rain or Come Shine,” which is a song I’ve loved for decades.
These Heathens also covers a breadth of ’60s activism. What was your research process like, and was it a challenge to efficiently cover so many historical figures and events?
The story takes place basically over a single weekend, so that helped. I used the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) conference that happened in October. Once I had that as a framework, it was easier to decide who would show up in the story because they either had been known to be there in Atlanta on that weekend or I could make up a reasonable story about why they were “secretly” there, as in the case of Malcolm X, who participated in a crazy meeting with the Ku Klux Klan around that time that was shrouded in secrecy. For the conference itself, I found the actual agenda online, so I knew, for example, the name of Diane Nash’s workshop. I knew I wanted Coretta Scott King in the story most of all because I love Coretta Scott King and find her fascinating, and it was an awesome coincidence that she happened to be pregnant herself at that time. It was all very fun to write.
Doris is telling us her story in hindsight, decades after the events took place. Can you speak to why you made that choice, and whom Doris is addressing?
I wanted a narrator who would have a lot of wisdom about the events, who would be able to connect the dots for us as an old woman looking back on both the Civil Rights Movement and Roe. I wanted her to have insight into how that all turned out. And because the character is based on my grandmother, I wanted the voice I knew, the voice I grew up hearing, to be the voice the reader hears. She’s addressing her young loved ones. That could be grandchildren or great-grandchildren or great-nieces or even mentees. Younger people who love her and want to hear her story.
Like in your debut novel, The Summer We Got Free, religion and the Bible are heavy presences in These Heathens. Would you tell us about your own experience with the Black church? What inspired these recurring themes?
I grew up in the Black church and spent a lot of time around religious people, though I never personally bought into much of it myself. My grandparents and great-grandparents were quite religious. When I was about 13, I refused to continue going to church, because I decided it was mostly a sham, especially in terms of a lot of the teachings about women and homosexuality. But as an adult, I look back on it with a lot of fondness. I appreciate the community aspect, the way people really showed up for each other, the sense of family, the fellowship that carries on for decades. And I love the music and the aesthetic, the choir robes and the Sunday hats. I never really found anything to replace church. Nothing has ever been as constant—like you can leave church and go back 10 years later and it’s the same, in bad ways but in good ways, too, in comforting ways. So, my feelings about the Black church are complicated, which is why I return to it time and again in my writing.
As a Black woman from a rural town, I found many of Doris’ musings on seeking larger possibilities—and her attendant fear—deeply resonant. What would your advice be for readers like Doris, in rural environments with big dreams?
I’m from Philly, so I’m not sure I have any great advice. I will say that as a person whose grandparents were part of the Great Migration, their decision to leave Georgia is something that lives within me and feels like an important part of me. I’ve always felt capable of getting up and going, in many ways—leaving home to go to college, leaving a job I didn’t like even though I had no other job lined up, leaving a relationship that wasn’t working even though I had no other girlfriend lined up! I’m very unafraid of leaving when it’s time to go and I like to think I got that from my grandparents and great-grandparents. It’s not always a good thing to be able to leave easily, but it’s served me for the most part.
Many people compare the 2020s to the 1960s in terms of social upheaval and rapid change. Would you agree with this sentiment? Why or why not?
I’m not sure about rapid change, at least for the better, but social upheaval, yes, absolutely. It’s actually startling to see the parallels between the themes in this book and what’s happening in the country right now in terms of civil rights and reproductive freedom, especially. Doris is on the other side of Roe, before abortion became legal, and she’s also on the other side of the Civil Rights Movement, wondering aloud what, for example, might be the unexpected repercussions of integration. As a writer living on this side of Roe and the CRM, it was both tricky and incredibly exciting to walk the line of what Doris and the other characters would think/feel/believe looking ahead and what I know looking back.
Doris never mentions the father of her child or the events that led to her pregnancy. I enjoyed how that choice centered Doris’s personal desires rather than her sex life or relationships. Can you talk about why you made that choice, and what effect you intended it to have?
I think the idea that it’s not your business, or anybody’s business, is pretty thrilling. A woman’s sexuality—especially a young Black woman—is often assumed to be everybody’s business. But it’s not. Doris is obviously interested in sex, she’s pretty horny throughout the book, which I love for her. She shares what she wants to about her thoughts, feelings and experiences around sex and that’s all you’re going to get. The rest is just for her. This book is all about choices and that’s another choice Doris gets to make.
You created BGD, a blog with the mission of amplifying “the voices, experiences and expressions of LGBTQ+ Black, Indigenous and POC.” The character of BGD as an online space reminds me of Sylvia Broussard’s home and the parties she throws. What do you think Sylvia and her friends would say about a safe space that anybody in the world could access remotely?
It would blow their minds. They’d be so happy for us. And Sylvia would, of course, make a generous donation!
Read our review of These Heathens.
Photo of Mia McKenzie by Cara Brostrom.