By Katherine Jin
Priya Guns understands what it’s like to come of age in an unequal, turbulent society. Her debut novel Your Driver Is Waiting revolves around Damani, daughter of Tamil immigrants who works as a rideshare driver to pay the bills after her father suddenly passes. All around Damani, people are restless— daily protests on the streets force her to change course as she drives, her friend tries to recruit her for rideshare organizing, and she even begins dating an attractive protester who lives the comfortable lifestyle she seems to crave. Damani’s sardonic humor and fierce self-protection in the face of loss is thoroughly human, and her riveting tale will resonate with young people struggling under the ever-tightening grip of capitalism.
I video called Priya to chat about the inspiration and process behind Your Driver Is Waiting, as well as the role of writers in driving radical change. Our conversation has been edited for clarity.
Katherine Jin: When I read the first pages of Your Driver Is Waiting, I was instantly captivated by our no-nonsense, don’t-fuck-with-me protagonist Damani, and the uncaring society she inhabits. Damani’s anguish is exacerbated by the sudden death of her father, the increased caretaking and financial burdens that result, and a rideshare employer that controls many aspects of her daily life but wouldn’t care if she lives or dies. Tell us how the character Damani came to be.
Priya Guns: The creation of Damani came in three parts. In terms of her voice, as a first-generation immigrant and the first daughter of a conservative home, I’ve had to put on different faces for different groups of people. I was one way with my parents, one way with my siblings, one way at school, and one way with friends. So Damani’s voice is definitely one of those voices within myself, the unfiltered self, but she is her own character.
In terms of her psychology, I tried to unpack the psychology of Travis Bickle, protagonist of the 1976 film Taxi Driver. I thought about his alienation or loneliness, which is both similar to and different from Damani’s. Damani has friends and feels a sense of community at Doo Wop for instance, but she is a gig worker. You’re automatically atomized and it’s difficult for drivers to even organize because it’s just them, and their app, in their car..
And in terms of writing Damani, I’m an actor and was trained in method acting for a bit. So while writing Damani, I dressed like her, wrote emails like her, loved like her, got angry like her, and lifted like her. I had the side of my head shaved years ago and it had since grown out. When I finished my first polished copy for my UK publisher, I wanted to do something drastic to my hair— this will make more sense after reading my novel. I went to the salon and asked for a full undercut. The clippers felt amazing. Looking in the mirror, I was like “okay, I feel like I’m myself again”. In that moment, Damani and I were separate, which I didn’t expect to feel.
KJ: The unnamed city in Your Driver Is Waiting is a character in and of itself. Damani and her mother may only have a basement to their name, but Damani drives around town every day and introduces the reader to different neighborhoods and their rich histories. Two locales worth mentioning include Doo Wop, an abandoned distribution center turned DIY hangout space, and cattle sheds right outside town that have become some sort of urban slum that mysteriously burns down. Having resided in both Toronto and New York, it all felt eerily familiar. Was it important that your book’s setting be realistic, and did you ever feel you needed to stretch the truth to make your point?
PG: It was very important to me that the setting felt real, and that’s one of the reasons I wanted it to be unnamed, so readers could connect to it. I’ve had the privilege of living in many different cities and for me, visually, I was thinking about Beirut. When I was there during the October 17, 2019 protest, you could go downtown and artists had created these installations within twenty-four hours. There was graffiti on the walls; the shattered glass at the front of the banks left shards on the ground. I lived in Istanbul during the Gezi protests. I lived in Ramallah, Palestine for a bit and saw how the IDF uses brutal force every day against civilians just trying to live their lives. And then, while planning the novel in 2020, we were all so angry not just because of the things that were going on, but because it had taken so long for certain groups of people to almost wake up and realize that there are so many injustices happening.
Last year, the mainstream media helped expose people to what was going on in Sri Lanka, with the protests against the economic crisis. And thinking about that, it’s like yeah, that happened and it was big. But at the same time, protests have been going on for years, especially after the genocide of Tamils in 2009, or when the war ended. In particular, women were out in the north and the east protesting for answers for the missing and disappeared people. They want to know where their children are, their siblings, their husbands. But nobody hears about that. In this novel, it’s in your face and it’s there. People have always been fighting for their rights in different pockets around the world.
KJ: Let’s talk about Jolene, a rich white girl who acts as both the love interest and the villain of the story. Damani claims, “I wouldn’t say I have a type, Jolene, but if I did, it wouldn’t be you.” As a queer person, I was personally excited that Damani was having fun with Jolene but I also felt that Jolene couldn’t be entirely trusted. How did you go about creating Jolene?
PG: It was really important to me that Jolene wasn’t merely a caricature of a rich white liberal. My editors Bobby Mostyn-Owen and Margo Shickmanter were excellent with their notes and making sure that wasn’t the case. But something that happened while writing Jolene that surprised me were the moments I drew on my own experiences. It’s ridiculous to think that a racialized person, a working class person, a queer person, or whoever isn’t capable of committing a Jolene. And it’s important to me as a writer that people read Jolene and the only comment they have isn’t “oh my god she’s terrible,” but more like “wait a minute, I did something like that.” That’s perfectly fine, as long as we’re open to learning and having these conversations. Damani is also very flawed. I think we’re all capable of committing micro-fascisms and we all have Jolene tendencies.
KJ: I did like how when Damani was at Jolene’s fundraiser on their first date, Damani decided to talk to another South Asian person, only to realize there was a gulf between them. She could tell that they were part of the elite or at least supported the elite, which illustrated how upholding capitalism isn’t something that white people exclusively do. It’s something anyone can do.
PG: It’s also an issue of class as well. I can’t write about race without dealing with class.
KJ: One thing your novel captures well is the multitude of fights and actions people can get involved in these days. There are the swanky charity-esque groups Jolene’s involved in, the rideshare organizing Shereef leads, and daily protests for every cause imaginable. But quantity isn’t a replacement for quality, and I think Damani is right in being skeptical about some of the solutions she’s being told will save the world. I have my own theory, but I was wondering what factors you think contributed to Damani’s refusal to participate in a larger fight and whether it ultimately worked against her.
PG: She was so heartbroken having lost her dad, she’s had no time to grieve, no time to deal with her own emotions. And she’s so fucking tired from working all the time. When you’re dealing with what’s directly oppressing you every day, it can be very difficult to fight for change. While driving, she saw all these protests and the different people involved and thought “Okay, like come on. What’s actually happening?” And I think that’s true for a lot of people. I’ve had so many conversations with friends where we asked, “Should we go out and protest? What does it actually mean? I’m just one single body.” Demonstrations are very important, especially when they’re disruptive and fucking annoying. But at the same time, what else is being done? Everybody has a different role to play towards change. But finding what it is that we can do as individuals or organizing in our communities is what really sparks change.
KJ: I came to a similar conclusion as you, which is that Damani was too overwhelmed by her daily jobs to have the mental space to be thinking about how she can revolt. On the other hand, others in Damani’s circle did choose to be active in some way. Could you talk about the other characters’ motivations? For instance, Jolene and Shereef.
PG: I love Shereef, he’s super militant. For him, it was about organizational change—people coming together and changing the structure of a system. He was all for a cooperative, so that there wouldn’t be bosses. He’s very much an anarchist. As for Jolene, of course it has to do with ego but more than that I truly believe she felt that she was making a difference. I mean, she’s a fucking liberal. Jolene thinks, “oh yeah, it’s okay we have bosses. They should have diversity training. We should just have a more inclusive workforce.” Again, not realizing that if we have people of color who are part of the elite, we still have an elite.
KJ: A large part of the novel is made up of Damani’s darkly funny observations of people around her, especially her RideShare customers. What’s equally exciting are the moments where Damani lets her guard down and doesn’t resort to humor, like when she remembers things her dad used to say, or the self-reflection she engages in during the aftermath of Jolene’s betrayal. How did you approach writing Damani’s vulnerable side?
PG: This question reminded me of something I did while writing the first draft in Toronto. I was maybe a quarter of the way through, and there was a scene where I wrote “and a tear rolled down her eye.” Then I thought about it and was like “no, she’s not gonna cry, she can’t cry.” I wrote “Damani cannot cry” on a green post-it and put it on my wall. Damani can’t cry because she’s had no time to grieve. And that’s something a lot of folks will relate to, especially first-generation children. I’ve moved away from my family’s home but growing up, having to answer the phone because you know English. I mean you’re like 8, 9 years old, needing to be the point of contact for people coming to test the water or check the pipes or some shit. Since Damani didn’t have the space to cry, her vulnerability came out in the narration. Damani would outpour all these sentimental feelings while thinking of her dad. She thinks about her dad, and I would choke up, or it would be a little smell. But that’s it. Life goes on, she has to move on. She’ll say something silly to Jolene, like “what are you wearing?”
KJ (laughing): I appreciated Damani’s humor because it was entertaining, but also I was like, “are you okay?”
PG (laughing): I love that, are you okay.
KJ: Damani can’t afford a therapist, but she watches videos from Dr. Thelma Hermin Hesse, a therapist-influencer who does product placements with towel companies. The conflict of interest couldn’t be more blatant, but perhaps Damani feels this is her best option. What are some wellness rituals you live by, or have sworn off?
PG: I loved Dr. Hesse! She was a surprise, but I was like “this girl needs a fucking therapist.” I’ve experienced first-hand the way mental health is neglected everywhere. So I’ve also tuned into all kinds of kooks on YouTube.
Writing has always been part of my own wellness. During an interesting part of my life, it was capoeira, which is still important to me. Other activities include working out, any form of art and expression, dancing, cooking. Taking time out to really feel the beat of any activity. Cooking and chopping onions brings memories of being in my parents’ house, when things were okay, and they had some time to just cook. Sitting with my cats, being with loved ones, just the little things in life. Thanks to this book, I was able to afford therapy, and therapy’s great. But yeah, those little tiny things.
KJ: Your novel’s epigraph is a quote from A. Sivanandan, a Sri-Lankan British novelist. “If those who have do not give, those who haven’t must take.” How has Sivanandan influenced you?
PG: Sivanandan was a writer and an activist. He did so much for race and class politics in the UK, including changing up the Institute of Race Relations in terms of how they do their research and work with communities. He was also the founding editor of an excellent journal called Race & Class. He once said, “we write for the people we’re fighting for.” His passion for working with people, and his views on race and class together, inspires me and reminds me of what type of writer I want to be.
It’s easy to sit on the fence, but as writers, we have so much responsibility. Some may disagree, but we’ve consumed so much media where our reaction has been like “hey, why is this person portrayed like this” and I’m not talking about identity or representation politics. As a writer, you’re a witness documenting what it was like to live in 2023. What do I have to say about that? How can I inspire readers to think about something differently? How can I motivate people to come together and work towards radical change?
I’m also interested in writing fiction that deals with politics that is engaging, that doesn’t feel like you’re talking about race, that doesn’t feel like you’re talking about class. That isn’t didactic or polemic; that anyone can read and feel inspired by.
KJ: You wear many hats in addition to being a writer, including being an actor, teacher, and dancer. What creative impulse does each medium satisfy, and what do you love most about the written word?
PG: Acting is a lot of fun because you’re embodying a character. You are the vessel. When I read this question, I wondered, did I act or write first? I wrote my first story when I was six years old, but I was acting much younger. I think we all act and write in different ways. I played pretend a lot but I was acting like the good girl at age three or four or whatever.
For me, writing is an escape like no other. You are with yourself, you are with your paper. The ability to become god in a sense—everything comes from you. Even though I believe art is never made in complete isolation, the writer is pouring parts of themselves whether it’s from their own experiences or completely out of thin air to go somewhere, and then into their work. That place, for me, is madness. I don’t mean to romanticize what people have already romanticized about writing, but it’s like “oh my god, I’m buzzing.” It’s like a fucking drug. Nothing really feels like that, except maybe sketching, or painting. You know, you disappear when you paint or sketch. But writing feels like I’m there but I’m not there.
Your Driver is Waiting is available from Bookshop, Eso Won Books, Green Bean Books, Roscoe Books, Townie Books, and Vroman’s Bookstore.
Katherine Jin is a short fiction writer currently based in New York. She was longlisted for the 2021 CBC Short Story prize, and has work forthcoming in The Margins by the Asian American Writer’s Workshop.