Ben C. Davies’s debut collection, And So I Took Their Eye, is a gripping collection of interlinked stories that explore the complex relationship between revenge and justice and how it plays across different cultures and societies. It examines the abuses of power and fractures of inequality, and how humans learn to confront these brutalities and find their means of survival and a sense of belonging. While each story stands out on its own, they form a larger, interconnected narrative, making it seem closer to a novel. Swetha Amit has a discussion with Davies about his writing process, research, use of digression structures, and the inspiration behind his book, as well as how it changed him as a writer and person.
Swetha Amit: Your author’s note revealed how this collection was inspired by something awful that happened to someone you knew in Guatemala. Could you share more about how these stories evolved and how long it took to write the collection?
Ben C. Davis: I had been working on a novel for several years, but eventually I had to admit it wasn’t coming together. It just didn’t feel right, so I tucked it under the bed and stopped writing for a while. After investing so much time into that project, it was hard to imagine starting something new.
Then, in early 2023, my son Elio was born. Each morning, I’d put on some music and take him for long walks while he slept on my chest. During those quiet moments, something started to open up again. I found myself thinking about stories, about ideas, and wanting to write again.
I didn’t have the mental bandwidth for another novel, but I missed the act of writing. Life with a newborn is intense and all-consuming, and I needed to reconnect with a part of myself beyond feedings and nap schedules.
So I started small. One short story turned into another, and before long, a whole collection began to take shape. It all came together surprisingly quickly, within about two months. I think having limited time helped me write with more clarity and instinct, rather than overthinking.
Your book is blurred between a linked collection and a novel. When did you realize this would be a story collection, not a novel?
I was reading The Candy House by Jennifer Egan at the time, and that influenced how the book took shape. I knew I couldn’t commit to a full novel, but I’ve always been drawn to longer-form narratives and the idea of connected worlds.
I didn’t write the stories in the order they appear, but as I went on, I started noticing connections. It eventually made sense to bookend the collection with the same character and draw lines between the others in ways that felt organic.
Some of your stories are written in the second person, while others are in the first or third. How did you decide which point of view to use for each story?
If I could write everything in second person, I would. That’s where the writing flows best for me. There’s a rhythm I fall into that I can’t quite find in first or third.
Third person, in particular, feels detached. Most of the stories in this collection started in second person, and I later changed some to first or third, depending on what the story needed. Some of those shifts tie into questions of identity, while others serve a specific purpose I’d rather leave for the reader to discover.
These days, I start everything in second person. It’s how I find the voice and momentum. It opens a door I can’t otherwise access.
There’s a lyrical language in many of your stories, particularly those written in the second person. Was this a deliberate attempt to soften the impact of disturbing and violent incidents?
Second person is where I feel most lyrical.
The contrast between the violence and the style was very intentional. That lyrical tone was meant to highlight how routine and everyday some of these violent or disturbing moments have become. The language does a kind of quiet resistance, refusing to sensationalize what is already horrifying.
In “Dear Babbo” and “Therapy for Therapists,” I was intrigued by the unique structure. How did you decide to use the hermit crab form?
With this collection, I really wanted to experiment with different forms. Part of why I started it was to push myself as a writer—to try things I wouldn’t normally attempt within the constraints of a novel.
Both of those stories needed to unfold over a longer stretch of time. They’re quite similar in a way: Both are about men wrestling with identity, masculinity, and the slow erosion of self. The use of letters and therapy notes helped me show that decline gradually, which wouldn’t have been possible with a more traditional structure
You discuss the sport of cricket and how a player cannot be distracted even for a moment. Do you notice any similarities between writing and cricket?
Cricket is a true love of mine. I have such admiration for test match batsmen and their ability to concentrate for hours on end. I used to love watching Rahul Dravid and the way he would grind down teams with unwavering focus, facing hundreds of balls without losing his composure.
Writing is similar in some ways. I often struggle to get started, but once I find my flow, I fall into this kind of trance. Words come in a stream and I just go with it. But if that flow gets broken, it’s incredibly hard to get back in (and my wicket falls). I once wrote 8,000 words in a single day, completely locked in.
In “Therapy for Therapists,” therapists are often reminded of their clients’ issues while going about their lives. As a writer, how do you prevent the topics you write about from impacting you personally?
To be honest, I don’t want to keep that distance. Some of these stories are deeply personal, and I want to live through them as I write.
I also think we’re at a crucial point where fiction matters more than ever. It gives people access to worlds and perspectives they might never otherwise understand. It builds empathy. That was the goal with these stories, to engage with the political moment, but I couldn’t expect a reader to feel that if I wasn’t also feeling it while writing.
And honestly, a lot of the book isn’t just a critique of the world but a critique of myself. I had to sit with that. Writing it down helped me confront it.
Your book takes readers to Guatemala, Greece, and San Francisco. What kind of research was involved?
Most of the stories are grounded in personal experience or inspired by things I’ve lived through, or by stories from people close to me. I often started with a real situation—like an experience I had with a priest in Bolivia, or the boat on the shores of Greece during my honeymoon—then imagined how someone else might respond to it.
The linked nature of the collection helped with that. Once I had a character shaped in one story, I could drop them into another and see how they might react in a different scenario. There wasn’t much formal research involved, because most of these moments were things I had witnessed, lived, or been told firsthand.
I’m curious about how writing this book has personally impacted you. Your book explores themes of capitalism and change. What transformations have you personally undergone?
I moved to the Bay Area just as I started writing these stories, and I was honestly shocked by the level of inequality. I’ve lived in many countries, but something about this so-called “progressive” region felt especially jarring. Writing it down helped me process that, and if anything, reinforced those feelings.
Revisiting those ideas again and again during editing only made them more deeply held. It made it impossible to ignore what I believe to be true.
At the same time, a lot of the book is self-critical. It made me more aware. I hope it does the same for others.
What should readers expect to take away from this book?
I hope readers come away from it caring. The way refugees, immigrants, and the unhoused are being treated around the world right now is appalling.
If this book ends up in the usual echo chamber, so be it. But if it finds its way beyond that, I hope it encourages people to think more deeply about the world we live in, the systems they’re part of, and their own role in all of it. Just by living in this moment, we all enable it.
Which books or authors inspire you?
Fernanda Melchor is the writer I admire most. She’s fearless, and her work is a masterclass in lyrical, politically charged fiction. I recently really loved If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English by Noor Naga and Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar. Both are wonderfully creative yet moving in the same moment. They write in a way most writers could only dream of.
I’m also a huge fan of Shehan Karunatilaka. His novel Chinaman got me writing again.
Your book has been a captivating journey. Are there more stories brewing in your mind?
I’m currently finishing another novel. It picks up many of the same themes as this collection and is also set on the beaches of Guatemala, where I lived for four years and now run a writing residency, Studio Luce.
It tells the story of a small village undergoing rapid change. On the surface, it’s a very human story about people trying to hold on to what matters. But it’s also a commentary on US capitalism and the way the US has treated Guatemala and its people since the 1954 coup. It’s told through the perspectives of both local residents and Westerners and explores the high cost of resistance and the consequences of change in an increasingly globalized world. You can find out more at my website.
Swetha is an MFA graduate from the University of San Francisco. The author of a memoir, A Turbulent Mind, and three chapbooks, her words appear in Had, Bending Genres, Ghost Parachute, Gone Lawn, Cream City Review, and others. A member of the Writers Grotto, her stories have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best Small Fiction.
Ben C. Davies is a Californian-based author whose debut short story collection, And So I Took Their Eye, will be published by Bridge House Publishing on July 17, 2025. Originally from the UK, his short fiction has appeared in journals such as The Fiery Scribe Review, Left Brain Media, and Downtime Review, while his articles have been featured in Electric Literature, Work, Huck, and Lost.
He serves as an editor for the Ginosko Literary Journal, is a member of the San Francisco Writers Grotto, and is currently finishing his debut novel, Black Sand. In addition to his writing, Davies is the co-founder and director of Studio Luce, a Guatemalan writing retreat and artist residency, and helps authors with marketing and publicity through Studio Luce Books.