William Pei Shih’s story, “Necessary Evils,” appears in the spring 2022 issue of The Southern Review. Here he discusses his story’s guiding philosophies, the lure of characters who subvert expectations, and the potential for pettiness in academia.
Jake Zawlacki, Editorial Assistant: Your story opens with Schopenhauer’s “hedgehog dilemma” and has a bit of Sartre in the “hell is other people.” (312) Did you know these were going to be the guiding philosophies of the story when you began?
William Pei Shih: I didn’t at first, but I wanted to imagine a way of having a professor like Preston describe a simple covalent bond—that basic unit of molecular orbital theory—which at the same time, might also give a sense of him as a person: his interests, his convictions, moral stance. Schopenhauer’s “hedgehog dilemma” appeared like a convenient avenue in for someone like Preston. I kind of enjoyed the image of a professor going out on a limb and extending a bit of himself to an unenthused crowd of students. It’s not so unlike a comedian telling a joke that doesn’t quite land. I know that many professors and teachers must go through some version of this moment throughout their teaching careers. I certainly have. I also wanted to give a nod to some of the philosophers and thinkers who might resonate with a person like Preston, especially throughout the story.
JZ: This story has some facets that could be unfamiliar if taken out of the context of the story in terms of philosophy, science, the prestigious university, etc. When you’re writing about these sorts of topics, how do you make sure these ideas are accessible for your audience?
WPS: I first try not to put too many constraints on the character—to allow them free reign to find their footing, whatever is comfortable and convincing for them to make their case, in order to convey the experience of their own narrative-making. The unfamiliar is always a great place to be.
I find that I am drawn to reading about characters who subvert expectations—those who find that familiarity is an interaction that is not enough, that all too often falls short. Characters whose storytelling gets away from them as they are telling it. I dive in with the hope that some readers will extend me the grace of following along, to see what I’m trying to concoct for them—meet me part way like a good friend. When I turn to art, I try to turn to the unfamiliar, and to resist the confirmation of my illusions (I turn to Twitter for confirmation). At the same time, one also has to take care of the reader to the best of their ability—to make the information relatable. But I am definitely drawn to art that revitalizes the unfamiliar and tests the imagination. I am very charmed by surprises. I recently saw a show of surprising paintings featuring the retrospective work of artist Paul Waters from the 1960s and 70s, who paints entirely with his fingers. Music is one of the most abstract of art forms for me, but it does as much work in its beauty and form as Yiyun Li or James Baldwin or Elena Ferrante in bringing me to tears.
JZ: That said, I love to see science topics like organic chemistry crop up in fiction. For me, it always makes a piece stand out and gives me the feeling that I’ve learned something I should already know more about. Do you find yourself drawn to scientific topics in your writing?
WPS: I do find myself drawn to the language of science. There is something truly astounding about the symmetries and recapitulations in science—and the promises that are made and even delivered so swiftly and with such elegance. All this in contrast to the asymmetry of human experience, of heartbreaks and the surprises that arise from the messiness of living and consciousness in the attempt to make meaning of things. There can be a sense of comfort in science. It’s actually amazing that science exists as a tool for our further understanding, and it’s almost equally amazing how many people will shun science because it doesn’t resonate with their own experiences or beliefs. Sometimes it isn’t enough to do the work of diluting the alchemy of one’s imaginings. And there’s something really moving about that too, which lends itself to fiction.
JZ: Nietzsche’s Übermensch and Darwin’s Natural Selection are set up as opposing theories to describe Spencer and his quest to build rapport with Flatman. They also seem to be pointing at Flatman and Preston’s positions within the university. However, it seems to me that natural selection could be argued to lead to Nietzsche’s Übermensch. Are these ideas oppositions? And how else are they playing out in the story?
WPS: I imagine that for someone like Preston, he might interpret these ideas to be oppositional for the shaping of his own convictions. The quest to overcome and transcend the pack is a virtue for someone like Preston. Not to give in to complacency—or rather, the pack that prevails in terms of mere survivability, or say those who simply “pass the test” so they can get to the next level of things: to make the most out of the least. Instead, Preston seeks out those students that possess that special combination of genetic variation of reaching the near impossible. Could one aspire to be—by some stroke of luck—something entirely unique and of one’s own, something that sets one apart from the rest? This meteor of a person is who I imagine Preston might imagine the truest of organic chemistry students to be.
JZ: There’s also a critique of privilege going on beneath the piece. Preston is a child of professors, had early access to a Princeton internship, etc. How does the story complicate the imagined professor of the prestigious university?
WPS: For me, academia has always been a place where I’ve had high hopes for, and still have high hopes. I wanted to imagine a professor who tried to interrogate their privilege, especially as someone who is in a position of influence and gatekeeping. I’ve always imagined a professor who might see meritocracy for what it is: a myth. Someone who would do that work of extracting themselves from that idea of themselves, and to resist the temptation of rewarding those who remind them of themselves too, in order to imagine an avenue towards other kinds of success stories. In the end, it often comes down to who gets to be prepared and who doesn’t—who gets to have the support. Academia has to stop its tradition of icing out and ignoring those who haven’t had the chance nor access to be prepared in the same way. Otherwise only the same type of people will get to move ahead and the inequality will continue to persist. This happens all too often in spaces that are meant to do the opposite. And academia should be an example of diversity and social inclusion.
JZ: Along a similar line, I’m interested in the pettiness of these two old men in academia. They’re both tenured, successful, and have already put in their dues. I’ve seen a bit of this from the outside looking in as a graduate student, but do you think professors can really be this petty and vindictive? And here I thought professors were the bastions of intellectual enlightenment . . .
WPS: I love this question. And to be frank, yes I do. I think the arena of academia is a place where pettiness has the opportunity to proliferate and thrive. There will always be the kind of temptation for some to try to make the most of what little power is bestowed upon them. I find that this can be especially true at the administrative levels of academia. At the same time, pettiness is a part of what makes us human. No doubt, it isn’t the best version of us at work, but it is a version that sometimes comes out and takes over, that one must strive to be better than. As an undergraduate, I worked as a TA in the chemistry department, and the pettiness was rampant. My classmates often positioned themselves for advancement, some who would stop at nothing to get a bit ahead, which in the end, were merely mirages in a desert. It was heartbreaking to see. As a premed student, I hated the lack of generosity. As a writer, I have found it to be a rich area of insight into the intricacies of human experience and how people treat one another. In many ways, I’ve turned to writing in order to find my own people—writers are the most well-meaning people I have ever met, and I love them for it. One would hope that professors are bastions of intellectual enlightenment. Of course, they’re out there. This is a theme that I also explore in my story “Enlightenment,” published in VQR. If you’re curious, you can find the story here: https://www.vqronline.org/fiction/2019/05/enlightenment
JZ: Well, I really enjoyed this piece and look forward to reading more. What else are you working on at the moment?
WPS: Thank you so much, Jake! And my heartfelt thanks to editor, Sacha Idell, and to The Southern Review team for working so deeply on this story with me and for giving this story a home. I am currently at work on a story collection and a novel. I am also excited to have published several stories recently, among them with The Michigan Quarterly Review, the final issue of Crazyhorse (now swamp pink), The Boston Review, and also a story from an exciting new literary podcast and audio production called Ursa Short Fiction, started by award-winning authors, Dawnie Walton (author of The Final Revival of Opal & Nev) and Deesha Philyaw (author of The Secret Lives of Church Ladies), and Mark Armstrong (founder of Longreads), which you can find here: https://ursastory.com/happy/. The podcast is a favorite of mine. I’m a subscriber too!
William Pei Shih’s stories have appeared in The Best American Short Stories 2020, Virginia Quarterly Review, and McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern. He has received scholarships and support from the Sun Valley Writers’, the Sewanee Writers’, and the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conferences, and has won the John Steinbeck Award in Fiction, the Alice Munro short story award, and the UK’s Bridport Prize.