I spoke to Alan Moore in November 2022, and I accidentally deleted the file from my computer. Here’s a story I wrote instead, which didn’t end up being published anywhere.
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Alan Moore is notoriously private — some call him reclusive. The 69-year-old author, whose works include comic classics such as Watchmen and V for Vendetta, has not left his hometown of Northampton since 1989. He does not have a passport or an internet connection. Moore rarely gives interviews, and when he does, his assistant cycles the request to his home, then cycles back to give his answer. It can take weeks to receive a response.
When finally, I get the go-ahead to talk to Moore, I am told that it will be midday his time, so I should be prepared for the possibility that he might not pick up, because he may still be asleep. I anticipate that he might be grumpy — Moore famously hates talking about comics, having distanced himself from the form, and hates adaptations of his work even more.
But he answers the phone before it has even rung once and is kind, generous and funny, speaking with a charming, gruff drawl. Within five minutes of the call starting, he tells me, tone casual, that quitting comics was painful but necessary, “like cutting off a gangrenous leg”. And — confirmed — he’s sleepy. It’s 11pm in Melbourne, so I’m feeling it, too. But for an hour, our conversation drifts across the timelines — he’s surprisingly animated, and often follows his trains of thought down unexpected pathways, then loses them.
So of course, having secured this rare interview with one of the literary world’s most original and audacious minds — my computer deletes the recording. Gone. Poof. Here, instead, is my recollection of one of the strangest, most memorable interviews I’ve done, ostensibly centring around Moore’s new short story collection, Illuminations, but taking in much else. It’s not a conventional way to write a story like this, but it’s fitting, maybe, because Moore is not a conventional writer, either.
Case in point: the sprawling central story in Illuminations is 241 pages long — yes, you did read that correctly. Anyone else would consider that a novel, but not Moore. What We Can Know About Thunderman is a searing, satirical critique of the comics world, with characters corresponding directly to real-life figureheads. It’s funny and sad and shocking and angry, and for Moore it’s something of an exorcism — a final word after being asked time and time again, after being let down by an industry he had so much excitement and hope for.
When I ask why Thunderman was not released on its own as a novel, Moore says that it started its life as a short story and spun out of control — but that he wants it to be read alongside the other stories, as it was intended. I feel a lot of admiration for this, the thought of being guided by a story rather than guiding it. There’s a lot of rage in Thunderman, but there’s just as much passion.
The other stories in Illuminations range from classic Moorian sci-fi to the nostalgic title story, in which an older man visits a beachside location from his youth and is confronted by old memories. It’s a mix of old and new — the opening story, Hypothetical Lizard, was first published in 1988, while more recent tales reference Covid. The older stories are left intact, with no major edits — it’s a career retrospective, showing the evolution of a writer. Moore says he stands by his old work, particularly the ways in which he showed an early understanding of gender fluidity.
One of the most interesting things about Moore — and there are many — is that he’s a practising magician, which is something that came to him, drunkenly, on his 40th birthday. It was driven, too, by a quote that he himself wrote — in other interviews, he’s said that the quote “hijacked” his life. A character from his 90s serial From Hell says, “The one place gods inarguably exist is in the human mind” — and that quote drove Moore to pursue magic. Not the abracadabra, rabbit-out-of-hat type, but rather embracing creativity and imagination as a form of magic. He tells me it is the central philosophy in his life, and I find myself — despite being, to put it lightly, a skeptic — moved.
It’s creeping close to midnight now, and still the conversation twists and turns. Moore tells me about a recent incident, in which a Brazilian journalist asked him to write a letter to his fans, encouraging them to vote in the country’s hotly contested election. “Dearest Brazil, We are fast running out of last chances to save the planet and its peoples,” the letter begins. It’s an impassioned plea for empathy, to vote with the heart. Sure enough, right-wing candidate Jair Bolsonaro was voted out. “I saved Brazil,” Moore chuckles drily over the phone, sounding every bit the eccentric uncle.
I may have lost the recording, but there’s a hell of a lot to remember from my hour with Alan Moore. A few lessons: let the writing guide you. Embrace magic in your life. Don’t be afraid to speak up. And, for the love of god, back up your files.