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Phil Klay Biography

Phil Klay (/ˈklaɪ/; born 1983) is an American writer. He won the National Book Award for fiction in 2014 for his first book-length publication, a collection of short stories, Redeployment. In 2014 the National Book Foundation named him a 5 under 35 honoree. He was a United States Marine officer from 2005 to 2009.

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Phil Klay Quotes

And that was my homecoming. It was fine, I guess. Getting back feels like your first breath after nearly drowning. Even if it hurts, it's good.

Hurt, Firsts, Homecoming, Fine, Feels, Hurts

Fiction offered me tools that allowed me to approach a wider variety of issues than the events of my own life would.

Approach, Events, Fiction, Issues, Offered, Tools

I've worked hard to remember it. . . The problem is I'm not sure what's real memory and what's my brain filling in details, like a guy whose heart stops and he thinks he sees a bright light. Except I'm sure of my bright light.

Details, Heart, Like, Memories, Memory, Real

There are two ways to tell the story. Funny or sad. Guys like it funny, with lots of gore and a grin on your face when you get to the end. Girls like it sad, with a thousand-yard stare out to the distance as you gaze upon the horrors of war they can't quite see. Either way, it's the same story.

Distance, Funny, Gaze, Girl, Horrors, War

Our country regularly uses military force, but only a fraction of Americans serve in the military. This means fewer and fewer people have a direct link to the military, and yet it remains as important as ever that we have a rich understanding of what we are doing as a country.

Country, Military, Mean, Rich, Fraction, People

I wrote some weird magical realism stories that are probably on some hard drive somewhere, and if I ever uncover that hard drive, I'll burn it. I tried to do a little bit of writing while I was in Iraq, but it wasn't the really greatest space for creative production.

Writing, Creative, Really Great, Burn, Stories

Veteran art creates a meeting place between veterans and civilians, or simply between veterans with different experiences.

Art, Different, Different Experiences, Veteran, Veterans

Part of the reason I'm writing it is to try to figure out what that is myself. It's not like I came back from Iraq and said, "We need to have a conversation, I know exactly what it is. " It was just this sort of sense of something missing and then trying to write toward what that was, and to solicit from other people a sense of what that might be.

Iraq, Missing, People, Solicit, Writing

I think in America, especially today, our relationship to war is incredible distant. Yet narratives of war have such a primal power in this culture. They mainline directly into a whole series of emotional reactions and understandings of American patriotism, masculinity, and all of these other things.

America, Culture, Emotional, Thinking, War

War is too strange to be processed alone.

Alone, Processed, Strange, War

The part of the strangeness of coming back from the war is the way we talk about it. We try to have a discussion about the war that doesn't turn into a discussion about one political side or the other. I wanted to reach out and talk to people about it through fiction, the way a narrative can draw someone in and ask them those questions.

Draw, Narrative, People, Political, Questions, War

It's not so much the question that offends me; it's that the people asking it don't seem to respect the moral seriousness of the question.

Asking, Moral, People, Question

Fiction is a place where people can meet, where they take the time to very seriously examine and think about the experiences of other people and about the sorts of moral decisions those characters are making.

Character, Decisions, Fiction, People, Seriously, Thinking

Writing fiction means putting a lot of what you believe about the world at risk, because you have to follow your characters.

Believe, Character, Characters, Follow, Risk, Writing

Sin is a lonely thing, a worm wrapped around the soul, shielding it from love, from joy, from communion with fellow men and with God. The sense that I am alone, that none can hear me, none can understand, that no one answers my cries, it is a sickness over which, to borrow from Bernanos, “the vast tide of divine love, that sea of living, roaring flame which gave birth to all things, passes vainly. ” Your job, it seems, would be to find a crack through which some sort of communication can be made, one soul to another.

Birth, Communication, Flame, Jobs, Lonely, Roaring