I was lucky enough recently to fly to San Francisco to meet up with hero and Southwest Review patron saint, Barry Gifford. I attended a screening of Lost Highway at the Roxie as part of a David Lynch retrospective with Barry and then, the next day, posted up in a suite at the Fairmont—which I’d seen in films but never been to in person—and interviewed him. In the wake of Lynch’s passing earlier this year, I wanted to talk to Barry about their friendship and various collaborations. My conversation with Barry unspooled as conversations with Barry often do—he’s not only a great writer but a great talker. He spins, ducks, weaves, paints with words, makes life make sense. There are beautiful detours aplenty. In his essay about working with Lynch, “Fuzzy Sandwiches, or There Is No Speed Limit on the Lost Highway,” Barry writes that going on a journey with Lynch is a “trip you’ve never been on before—and may never want to take again—but it’s unforgettable.” In much the same way, talking to Barry feels like traveling. He grew up on the road, staying in hotels, traveling from Chicago to Miami and Key West with his mother, traversing the American South, even spending time in Havana, Cuba, and it’s an energy you can feel in his storytelling. With Barry, there are no dead ends, only destinations you didn’t know you were headed for.
—William Boyle
Illustration: Tom Ralston
