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I’ve learned that it almost always pays to check out every potential interview subject. Often, after
conducting a whole bunch of long, exhausting interviews (most of which, inevitably, will not have
been very useful) I’ve thought, “What is this next gal on my list really going to know? Why should I
waste my time calling her?” But I make myself call her anyway, and the interview will turn out to be
amazing. Remember, I almost didn’t respond to Dan Lafferty’s letter. What a mistake that would have
been!
Do you prefer to approach interview subjects directly or via an introduction?
I’ve found that phoning from out of the blue can freak people out, so I like to approach a potential
subject by letter, and maybe even send them copies of my books as a way of introducing myself. On
several occasions the books have persuaded otherwise reluctant subjects to talk. They’ll think, “Oh,
this guy’s no threat. He’s just a mountain climber.” A few people who have actually taken the time to
read, say, Into the Wild, have been convinced by that book, in particular, to talk to me. The family of
Dan Lafferty’s victims decided to talk to me after reading it. They told me, “We thought you were very
fair to that young man, Chris McCandless, so we decided we could trust you.”
Where do you most and least like conducting interviews?
I hate interviewing people in restaurants. The background clatter makes it hard to transcribe the
tapes, and the public setting can inhibit the subject. Too often he or she is worried about who might be
eavesdropping at the next table. I prefer to interview subjects in their homes, or at a place with a
strong connection to the story, or while driving. Driving is especially good if the trip is long and the
road is relatively empty. On a long drive the subject is captive and maybe bored, and unexpected stuff
is likely to pop out of his mouth. If the car is old and noisy, background noise can render a tape
unusable, so you have to clip a lapel microphone to your subject’s shirt, or let the subject hold the
recorder in his or her lap while you drive. The latter can be good because it gives the subject a sense
of power—he can turn the damn recorder off whenever he wants— which may embolden him to
speak more candidly.
How do you get people to confide in you?
One of my gifts as a journalist is that, for some reason, people see me as innocuous and harmless.
So people tell me all kinds of stuff that isn’t in their best interest. A lot of people I write about have
been marginalized in one way or another, like the Mormon fundamentalists, who live outside the
norms of middle-class society. I was a carpenter and a fisherman in places like rural Colorado and
the Alaska bush. I’ve pumped gas, worked in a psychiatric hospital, a tar-paper factory, a cannery.
When I’m on a construction site I can talk about glue lams and sidewinder saws. I’ve spent a lot of my
working life hanging out with people like that. I’m generally comfortable with them, and they in turn
are comfortable with me.
Do you use any particular persona to encourage them to talk to you?
I’m a listener by nature. I grew up in a big family—three sisters, one brother—that was very