All Interviews

How secrets fray the ties that bind

In Mothers and Sons, Adam Haslett offers a family story, though it’s a fraught one. Peter Fischer, a gay immigration lawyer, is haunted by a secret he carries from his teen years. His mother, Ann, left behind her life as an Episcopal priest to build a women’s retreat center in Vermont. Their struggle to reconnect after years of estrangement unfolds as a closely observed character study. Haslett shares with BookPage how being a lawyer has impacted his writing, and what it was like to write about the long shadow of the AIDS epidemic.

Though the novel is set in 2011, both Peter’s work—the often-hopeless work of trying to help asylum seekers—and his isolation feel very timely. How did you decide to write about that moment in time?

I think I needed, for my own reasons, to describe in fiction the social isolation that is so common now, and which so many of us respond to by burying ourselves in work. Of course, the causality runs in the other direction, too: Capitalism and precarity force people to overwork, which creates isolation. But either way, it’s a defining fact of contemporary life, which was true before the COVID-19 pandemic and has only been exacerbated by it. And then, if you look around the world, you can’t help but see that mass migration caused by war and climate and oppression, and the demagoguery that enshrouds it, is controlling our politics. Rather than trying to chase headlines, it seemed right to set the novel at a time when these forces were beginning to emerge.

You have a law degree and have done legal volunteer work with asylum seekers. Many novelists are former lawyers, turning to fiction later in their careers, but you went to law school after you’d begun writing fiction, and after earning an MFA in fiction from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. How did going to law school affect your outlook as a writer?

I got into law school and then ended up deferring to go to Iowa, so going to law school wasn’t as much a swerve as just me in my 20s trying to figure out how to put together a life where I could write as well as support myself. As for the effect of law school on my writing, for a long time I thought it hadn’t had any, that it was simply learning a foreign language. But over time I realized it did instill a kind of hypervigilance about accuracy. When you write a contract, you’re trying to write impregnable sentences, ones that no one can disagree about the meaning of. There’s value in that for a fiction writer—to be precise—but also a danger: You tighten up when what you really need to do is be open.

Ann, Peter’s mother, is a former Episcopal priest who let her pastoral work take over her life when her kids were younger, and who now runs a spiritual retreat in Vermont with her longtime partner, Clare. When did you know that Ann was going to be a main character?

I knew Ann would be central from the beginning, but for a long while I thought she could be described and encountered through Peter’s point of view. Yet, however hard I tried to make those scenes work, they just didn’t, because there was so much Peter couldn’t see about his mother that I wanted the reader to see. So eventually I just started writing scenes from her point of view, which was a huge relief, and ultimately a pleasure.

“There’s a lot of cargo on the ship of good intentions, and not all of it is aid to the people in need.”

This novel is in part about the stories we tell ourselves, the secrets we keep and how those narratives can keep us apart from others. Can you talk about those stories we tell ourselves, often about ourselves?

My interest in fiction has always been about getting at the interior lives of my characters, and so much of that interiority consists of barely conscious thoughts, judgments, desires, aversions, etc. that together add up, as you say, to the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves—for better, or all too frequently, for ill. No doubt, this “interest” was driven by my own need to make peace with some of the less than charitable stories I told myself about myself. In that, I’ve been immeasurably helped by meditation, something I’ve done a lot of over the last 25 years, which has become integral to my writing practice.

Both Peter and Ann are ministering to the world, in their own ways. But both have failed each other, and they’ve failed others. As a parent, I couldn’t help but think about the ways we fail our children even as we’re trying hard to help them. Can you talk about this paradox?

The more I wrote each of Peter’s and Ann’s scenes, the more I came to realize I was trying to get at what you might call the psychic economy of liberalism—the way helping others can so often involve a kind of condescension and distance, and also be a place for the person helping to avoid themselves. Which is just to say that there’s a lot of cargo on the ship of good intentions, and not all of it is aid to the people in need. That’s the paradox.

While Peter’s sections are written in first-person present tense, which seems suited to his stalled place in his life, Ann’s sections are in a different mode: third-person past tense. How did you arrive at these two styles for these two characters?

I’m usually suspicious of first-person present tense because it’s a straitjacket for the writer in terms of moving the narrative forward, but in this case it was the only tense and point of view that made sense for Peter. Precisely because he is so buried in his work, and in many ways doesn’t even realize that he is, he can’t see into the future, or much into the past either. He spends his days assembling other people’s narratives—his clients’—but is inattentive to his own. His mother, Ann, is in many ways the opposite. She prizes intimacy, fellowship and spiritual discernment, and so has the kind of settled quality that lends itself to the more knowing voice of third-person past tense.

Ann and Peter are the novel’s main mother and son. But there are others, as the title suggests, like the young Albanian immigrant Vasel and his mother. Can you talk about them?

Vasel is the client of Peter’s who features most prominently in the novel, and his mother’s actions and decisions are central to him getting to the U.S. in the first place. Like a lot of asylum seekers, he feels guilt about his mother still being caught in the situation he fled. Peter has another client, Sandra Moya, whose son Felipe is very anxious at the prospect of his mother being deported. Finally, there is Peter’s sister, Liz, whose son Charlie is just a toddler. To be honest, I didn’t realize just how many sets of mothers and sons I was writing about until about halfway through the novel, but once I saw the pattern that was apparently drawing me forward, I got to play with the patterning more consciously.

The novel’s scenes of Peter’s teen years in the late ’80s vividly evoke teenage uncertainty, and Peter’s anxiety and shame about his sexuality. How did you access the young Peter and that time period?

That’s simple! I lived it—not in the details of this particular plot, but in the sense of having been a teenager at that time, when the virulence of homophobia and the specter of AIDS were so deeply ingrained in American culture that it was next to impossible for a young person to experience desire without fear and loathing. In my first two books, You Are Not a Stranger Here and Union Atlantic, I wrote about some of this, but Mothers and Sons is the first time I’ve allowed myself to write about its long term sequela, as it were. Its effects on adult life.

You’ve written both short stories and novels. Are you continuing to write in both forms? What do you like and dislike about each?

I enjoy them both, and admire anyone who does either of them well. Of late—as in a couple of decades—I’ve been mostly drawn to novels because they let me explore characters and the worlds they inhabit at length. But I have missed the lyric concision short stories allow, and in writing Mothers and Sons, part of me was aiming for that tightness of construction, that close holding of the reader’s anticipatory attention, which made it harder to write but in the end more satisfying to complete.

Can you tell us what you’re working on now?

Alas, I’m a very slow writer. Ideas take a long time to germinate and develop. So mostly what I’m doing is allowing that process to unfold by reading widely, taking notes and paying attention to the world. Technology companies have quite deliberately addicted us to speed in nearly every aspect of our lives, so for me the first real task is to disenchant myself from that forced distraction regularly enough to sense my own intuitions.

Read our starred review of Mothers and Sons.

Adam Haslett’s emotionally complex third novel, Mothers and Sons, examines the way past pain hovers over our closest relationships.

Romance Historical Romance

Loretta Chase knows there’s nothing sexier than good banter

Loretta Chase has a lot to celebrate this year. Not only is she wrapping up her Difficult Dukes trilogy with My Inconvenient Duke, but she’s also marking the 30th anniversary of the crowning jewel in her oeuvre—and one of the most beloved romance novels ever written—Lord of Scoundrels. Chase has become somewhat of an expert on inconvenient scoundrels and scandals over her 38-year career, but perhaps her greatest contribution to the Regency romance canon is her ability to craft the perfect conversation.

My Inconvenient Duke is a fun, chatty tale that leans in to the talents of Chase, the Lady of Scoundrels and Queen of Conversation. This best friend’s little sister, coming-of-age, second-chance romance brings the story of the Dis-Graces, the stars of the Difficult Dukes trilogy, to a satisfying conclusion.

The Dis-Graces—three dukes—inherited very young, with no rules and all their freedom. “They could have been nice, sober individuals,” Chase says from her home in Worcester, Massachusetts, “but they chose to be wild. They’re rebellious, you know, like Rebel Without a Cause—and they don’t care about the rules because they’re dukes. They do whatever they want. It was a good way to explore the whole concept of someone being at the top of the tree in terms of class in England, with nothing holding them back.”

“If there isn’t enough banter, I hear about it from my readers.”

In this last act of the Difficult Dukes trilogy, Lady Alice Ancaster and Giles Lyon, Duke of Blackwood, finally realize their happy ending. It’s no small feat: Alice disapproves of Giles’ reckless behavior, and one of his fellow Dis-Graces is her older brother, Hugh. And Hugh made Giles promise years ago to not ruin Alice’s reputation by pursuing her.

“I think it might have been easier [for Alice and Giles] if they had not been tied together by Hugh,” Chase says. Giles, the most responsible of the trio, is told he must choose between his friends and Alice. “And at a young age, he chooses the friends. Had he not chosen them, would he have been with Alice? Yes, I think so, and maybe sooner with less difficulty. But then I wouldn’t have had a great story to write.”

The sibling dynamic between Alice and Hugh, and the practically lifelong relationship both siblings have had with the Dis-Graces, gave Chase a lot of feelings to dig into for My Inconvenient Duke. “One of the things I loved about writing this book was it gave me an opportunity to explore the relationship among the men who were friends when they were kids, and how the heroine has responded to [the friendship],” Chase says. “I never had brothers, so I’m trying to put myself in her shoes. What would it be like for me if I had to deal with this? My brother—I love him, but he’s really acting like a jerk. And I don’t know whether it’s his friends helping him be a jerk or if he’s doing this all on his own . . . and also being attracted to one of the friends and knowing he’s a jerk like the others? How do you pry the guy loose from his friends?”

A lifelong Bay Stater, Chase was born and raised in Worcester. And although she can work from anywhere, like most authors, she prefers working from home. “All my materials are here—my library is here and that’s something that’s hard to transport,” she laughs. She’s got a cheeky sense of humor, which is shared by many of her heroines, including My Inconvenient Duke’s Alice. Filling that home library are biographies and books on social history, architecture and places she’s written about, as well as mementos from her travels. Her favorite biography? We Two by Gillian Gill. “It was so well written. It read like a novel and it had a perspective on Victoria and Albert that I had never had from any other materials I’ve read,” she says. “It was one of the least depressing books about them that I’ve ever read. But just beautifully written, and containing so much interesting information.”

She and her husband, whom she whimsically refers to online as “Mr. Chase,” travel to London and England as often as they can. “There’s nothing like having a sense of place,” she says. “Sometimes it might be 10 years before it becomes the basis of a book. A lot of the book Last Night’s Scandal is set in Scotland in this particular castle from a trip from many years prior. When you’re actually there you’re experiencing the place. The smells, the sights, the sounds, the voices. I think it enhances the writing.”

My Inconvenient Duke is set in 1832, just before Victoria ascends the throne. After nearly four decades of writing about the Regency and Victorian eras, Chase should certainly be considered an expert in British history. Research comes naturally to her as an English major who cut her teeth in the professional realm as a college administrator and freelance video scriptwriter before selling her first manuscript, Isabella, in 1987. “I’ve always written historical romance,” she says. “I was particularly interested in 19th century literature—novels, plays, short stories, that sort of thing. When I started writing romances, this just seemed to be the best fit for me.”

Chase counts among her favorite historical authors Jane Austen and Charles Dickens “because the quality of their writing is just so fabulous,” but she’s had lots of other influences as well. “P.G. Wodehouse is brilliant, and I would love to create plots the way he does and be as funny as he is. I recently read a wonderful biography of Frances Trollope and I’ve read her nonfiction. Again, there’s an inspiration for you because you get the tone of voice from the period, and she was writing in the 1830s, so all those things feed it.”

“You can’t follow trends, because by the time you get on the trend, maybe they’re on to the next thing.”

Those historical details fuel the plot of My Inconvenient Duke. “You have to be pretty drastic these days to make a scandal, don’t you?” Chase says. But for the upper class, in 19th-century Britain, scandal was as simple as leaving the house without a chaperone. “It was easy for scandal to happen in those days. And that’s great for us writers, because we’ve got so much material to work with. It also forces you to be creative if you’re trying to make your hero and heroine get together.”

Another key historical constraint helps shape Chase’s writing, and the genre of historical romance overall. “There was not a lot of entertainment, so people had to entertain themselves,” she says. “You’re sitting with a group of people, and the person who’s witty and interesting is the popular person. That’s the entertainment.”

That’s where banter comes in, where the exchange between the hero and the heroine needs to be witty and clever, with subtext the reader can pick up on. “In the books I write, there’s a lot of buildup in the first part of the book, and there’s sexual tension,” Chase says. “And how do you convey that? Through conversations and banter. So there’s an undercurrent and there’s the conversation. If there isn’t enough banter, I hear about it from my readers.”

Writing heroes and heroines that are equally matched is a perennial goal for Chase. “I want the women to be strong. I want them to stand up to the men and I want the men to prove they’re worthy of this strong woman,” she says. “I want it to feel inevitable that they’re going to be together because it’s the right mix.”

Chase’s readers have appreciated her well-matched couples throughout her career, through nearly five decades of changes in trends, norms and times. Her first published novels were traditional Regencies, which echoed the language and sensibilities of Austen and the subgenre’s modern godmother, Georgette Heyer. “We were not supposed to go in the bedroom; we were supposed to close the bedroom door,” she says. “And you had to be careful about your language. A few years into my writing, Signet started publishing these sort of super-regencies, which were a combination of the traditional short regencies and longer historical romances. So you have a bigger story where you’re going to open the bedroom door so there could be sex scenes—and it sort of took off.”

Read our review of ‘My Inconvenient Duke’ by Loretta Chase.

There was another major trajectory shift in historical romances in the early 2000s, one that Chase attributes to novelist Amanda Quick. “She took her sensibility of writing contemporary romantic suspense and applied that to a historical romance,” says Chase. “And she made this wonderful, compact but funny, interesting and suspenseful form of historical romance. I think it caused a shift in the way many of us were writing, and it opened opportunities for so many people.” Not only did it give readers a new style of historical romance to read, it presented authors a new lens from which to write it.

Though Chase’s work has certainly evolved with the times, she’s always written what she loves and what she knows rather than writing to trends. “You can’t follow trends,” she says, “because by the time you get on the trend, maybe they’re on to the next thing. Basically what I’ve seen in my career is just change. Things change. Things go in and out of fashion.”

Her favorite book of her own is typically the one she just wrote, because it’s finished and she knows she wrote the best possible book she can. But the covers are a different story in terms of favorites: While they’re all lovely, dreamy and romantic, Chase is most fond of her current series. “I think HarperCollins has done a really nice job with my covers, particularly for the dukes. The women feel alive, and the colors are beautiful,” she says. “I particularly like the cover they did for My Inconvenient Duke because they were able to use the actual building that I used in the story.”

When asked which of her characters most closely reflect her, she laughs. “My heroines are often the woman I would like to be because they’re usually fearless. They’ll take risks I would never have taken. They’re brave in ways that I’m not brave. I guess part of it is like my own fantasy—if I could be someone, I would be this woman.”

One of the doyennes of the Regency romance, Chase is witty and smart and, like her characters, she’s adventurous in spirit. And while you’re reading one of her novels, that adventurous spirit beckons to you, too.

Photo of Loretta Chase provided by the author.

The romance legend (author of the iconic Lord of Scoundrels) is back with My Inconvenient Duke.

Science Fiction & Fantasy Fantasy

Like so many of us, Mai Corland can’t resist a new journal

What are your bookstore rituals? For example, where do you go first in a store?
As a coffee addict, I’ll definitely stop by any coffee bar first. Then I like to sip and wander the new releases and sale tables. I’ll wind up seeing books written by my friends and internally (hopefully) I’ll say hello. I’ll always check graphic novels for my kids. But no trip is complete without shopping the journals section.

Tell us about your favorite library from when you were a child.
My father managed the Brooklyn Public Library, so the central branch is my perennial favorite. However, I also loved the Staten Island Public Library and I still remember that old book smell.

While researching your books, has there ever been a librarian or bookseller who was especially helpful, or a surprising discovery among the stacks?
Most of my research has shifted to quick Google questions due to time constraints, but booksellers have been instrumental in getting the word out about Five Broken Blades, and librarians have championed my career from the start.

Do you have a favorite bookstore or library from literature? A favorite fictional bookseller or librarian?
My favorite library from literature is easily the one in The Starless Sea. If you’ve read it, you know why. I designed an amazing bookstore for The Jasmine Project. It was one of those times I spent weeks researching and thinking about it for approximately three sentences to land in the finished book, but I don’t regret it.

“There isn’t a bookstore or library I don’t want to see, honestly.”

Do you have a bucket list of bookstores and libraries you’d love to visit but haven’t yet? What’s on it?
There isn’t a bookstore or library I don’t want to see, honestly. There are libraries and bookstores in France, China and Budapest, Hungary that look amazing. I just saw a bookstore in California with bookstore collies. I am nothing if not easily influenced by the cuteness of bookstore pets or read-to-me dogs in libraries.

What is the most memorable bookstore or library event you’ve participated in?
Saratoga Springs Public Library in New York puts on a book festival each fall with panels all over town, and it’s one of my favorite events of the year. With every bookstore event I’ve done or even stock signings, I’m blown away by how the staff is always helpful, enthusiastic and kind, regardless of whether I’m signing three books or over 500.

What’s the last thing you checked out from your library or bought at your local bookstore?
My last books from my library were graphic novels for my kids. They are voracious and tear through them in a day. For me, my last purchase was Heartless Hunter. I am lucky and was sent arcs of Rebel Witch, The Bane Witch and Meet Me at Blue Hour, and I can’t wait to read all of them.

How is your own personal library organized?
Ugh, it is not. I’ve had rainbow shelves and alphabetical, but my collection is currently in stacks spread in various places around my house. I keep talking about built-in bookcases. This might’ve shamed me into getting that project underway.

Is the book always better than the movie? Why or why not?
Actually, I don’t think it is. I can think of two off the top of my head where the creators of the series took the concept to better places. However, generally, yes, I think the book is better, solely because it’s so difficult to get all the internal thoughts and motivations of a character across in film.

Bookstore cats or bookstore dogs?
Both! Bookstore raccoons and I’ll live there.

What is your ideal post-bookstore-browsing snack?
Hmm. It would have to be something that didn’t dirty my fingers because I’d want to read. Maybe rice cakes (tteokbokki).

Photo of Mai Corland by Leila Evans.

The author of the Broken Blades fantasy series shares her favorite literary libraries and gets real about bookshelf organization—or a lack thereof.

Fiction Speculative Fiction Literary Fiction

Nnedi Okorafor is making robots mainstream

Nnedi Okorafor knows that her latest novel is “a lot.” The way Okorafor delivers this pronouncement with a grin makes it clear that the description is anything but apologetic. “I feel like one of the things about this book that’s going to be interesting is this question of ‘What is it?’ Because it’s so much.”

This wouldn’t be the first time Okorafor’s work has defied easy categorization. Though many of her previous books, such as the Hugo and Nebula Award-winning Binti, were decidedly science fiction, their setting and perspective lacked a place within science fiction’s numerous subgenres, leading her to coin a new term, Africanfuturist, to describe them.

But with Death of the Author, Okorafor eschews the tidy boundaries of genre entirely. At its core, the book is a literary novel about a woman named Zelu, a disabled Nigerian American author from the suburbs of Chicago whose meteoric rise to literary stardom changes her life. Her story, which begins with being unceremoniously fired from her decidedly unglamorous teaching job, is told through a combination of close third person and interviews with family and friends that show her for the complex—and often flawed—person that she is. Interwoven with Zelu’s story are chapters from Zelu’s breakout novel, Rusted Robots, in which humans have been replaced by robots we created to live alongside us.

“I have a general rule that if I’m scared to write it, I have to write it.”

While those familiar with Okorafor’s science fiction may see a literary novel as a departure, Death of the Author is a book whose heritage mirrors that of its author. Although she’s a graduate of the Clarion Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers’ Workshop, Okorafor—like Zelu—also has a more traditional background as both an English PhD and as a professor of writing. “I learned a large part of my writing from professors who were very anti science fiction and fantasy,” she says. She credits both her literary and genre instructors for what Death of the Author became, and hopes that the novel can forge a middle ground between the two camps where everyone can “just love storytelling” regardless of genre.

Early in her career, Okorafor had dreamed of writing a literary book about the Nigerian American experience and all of its “complexity, all of its hypocrisy, its strengths, and its specificity.” After the death of her sister a few years ago, Okorafor felt compelled to return to the idea of writing the great Nigerian American novel. For her, that meant talking about food, something that in most Nigerian families is passed down from mother to child. “You develop this whole mythology around the food,” she says. “You love it so much that you bring it for lunch in grade school.” But other kids weren’t familiar with Nigerian food and would question her jollof rice or egusi soup. “You’re forced to explain what it is and either be insecure, or you start defending it, and that strengthens your cultural identity.”

In the book, Zelu’s relationship with food is complicated by the fact that she is the child not of two cultures, but of three: Yoruba, Igbo and American. “Nigerian men expect the wife to cook and be able to cook. . . . So if Zelu’s mom is marrying an Igbo man, then she’s going to have to know how to cook those foods. And then she’s proud of her own culture, so she’s going to cook Yoruba food, too.” Plus, like all children of Nigerian American immigrants, Zelu initially experiences Nigerian food prepared with American substitutions for all the ingredients that you just can’t get in the suburbs of Chicago. Being raised with these foods, in this context, Okorafor explains, connects Zelu to her Nigerian heritage and makes her who she is. “I’m sure it’s this way with other cultures,” she says, when asked about capturing the specificity of this experience, “but I’m speaking as a Nigerian American.”

She’s also speaking as a writer with a disability. Like Zelu, Okorafor became partially paralyzed after an accident. Although she did eventually learn to walk again, the experience profoundly affected her. She says that it felt like she was a “broken, rusting robot.” Instead of moving through the world with the agility of an athlete, “I had to think about every step that I took. I was programming myself instead of intuitively walking as I did when I was a baby.”

“Wanting to box something comes from wanting to feel comfortable, wanting to feel in control.”

And so when it came time for her to write about Zelu experimenting with exoskeleton-like prosthetics that would allow her to walk again, Okorafor drew from personal experience. She’d seen a similar type of prosthetic in the real world and had wondered: If she had the chance to augment the athleticism she’d lost, “would I do that? How would that change who I am?” It’s a fraught question among people with disabilities, she says, whether to see your disability as “something that’s wrong with you that needs to be corrected” or as a part of your identity that you should embrace. “That’s what I’ve had to do with my situation. There is no cure for it. . . . I’ve built my identity around that.” To use this kind of prosthetic “would just shatter so much about what I’ve built. It wouldn’t be as simple as one would think.”

Through playing out part of that debate in the pages of her novel, Okorafor wants to start a conversation, “not necessarily an argument,” about subjects that we might normally shy away from. Where Okorafor sees nuance, however, her main character often doesn’t. Zelu picks fights, and she is sometimes bullheaded, both traits that can be challenging in a main character. But, as Okorafor points out, “It’s not about right or wrong. This is the world, and this is how some people choose to navigate through the world.”

It wasn’t originally Okorafor’s intent to write Rusted Robots as part of Death of the Author. She was interested in writing a literary novel, after all, not more science fiction. But as she began to write about Zelu writing Rusted Robots, Okorafor knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep going if she didn’t at least write a chapter or two of Zelu’s book to understand it a little better. As someone whose science fiction typically depicts the future of humanity, Okorafor initially balked at the idea of writing something with no humans in it—nothing that would interact with the world in the same way that we do. “I was scared of that. But I have a general rule that if I’m scared to write it, I have to write it.” So she did. And within a few chapters, she was hooked. She began to write the two stories in parallel, noticing how what she wrote in Rusted Robots often reflected Zelu’s story, and vice versa. Where Zelu is paralyzed by an accident, the main character of Rusted Robots, Ankara, loses her legs in a brutal attack from a rival robotic faction. Both regain use of their legs in a way others in their lives see as distasteful or outright unnatural (Zelu with her prosthetics, and Ankara with the help of an AI from the faction responsible for the attack). These connections, Okorafor says, were at first unconscious, but later became an intentional way to show how the experiences of an author affect their subjects.

It’s the interplay between these two stories that gives Death of the Author its strength—and which might make it an intimidating read for some. Literary fiction readers may be tempted to skim the science fiction sections, and science fiction readers might “focus on the robots and totally miss out on the whole Nigerian American thing.” But Okorafor stresses that part of the point of the book is to strain against the need for a label. “Wanting to box something comes from wanting to feel comfortable, wanting to feel in control.”

This was a feeling Okorafor, too, has had to fight against. “I remember when I finished writing Death of the Author, I was like, ‘Oh my god, what have I done? How are people going to comfortably categorize this?’” But then she did as she hopes her readers will do: She let it go and focused on the joy of storytelling instead.

Read our starred review of Death of the Author.

Nnedi Okorafor author photo by Colleen Durkin.

The sci-fi superstar, author of Binti and Who Fears Death, takes a bold metafictional step in her masterful latest.

Fiction Literary Fiction Historical Fiction Classics

Plucked from the ashes

This book was nearly lost to history: It was burned with other papers of Hurston’s after her death, and only rescued, remarkably, by a friend of hers (Patrick Duval), who passed by the fire and was quick enough with a garden hose to save the manuscript. How, from there, did The Life of Herod the Great come to be in your hands? What condition was the manuscript in when you first read it?

From there, Hurston’s friend and neighbor Marjorie Silver deposited the manuscript, along with other items, at the University of Florida in Gainesville in 1961. The “Life of Herod the Great” manuscript was placed in the George A. Smathers Special Collections library. Over the last several years, the Zora Neale Hurston Trust has worked to publish Hurston’s unpublished materials. Once the trust was ready to go forward with the publication of the Herod manuscript, I submitted a proposal to edit it for publication.

Overall, given that the manuscript had been pulled from a fire, I’d say that the manuscript was in surprisingly good condition. Yes, sections of several concluding chapters were lost or missing or, likely, simply burned. And a good many pages were singed or burned around the edges. But a major portion of the manuscript was intact. The several hundred pages that survived were a combination of typescript and longhand drafts.

As an editor, how did you approach what was missing in the manuscript, either because of damage or because it was a work in progress?

In instances where a page was singed or burned around the edges, and a word, a part of a word or a phrase was missing, the remaining letters of a word, the remaining words of a phrase, or the context of a sentence or paragraph indicated how I should complete the word, phrase or sentence. This, I would do only if Hurston’s intention was clear.

When I could not discern Hurston’s intentionality, I used ellipses to indicate missing words. One thing I did not want to do was to insert my thoughts or ideas into her work. I wanted only Hurston’s voice to speak, throughout. Whenever extensive passages or sections of a chapter were missing, asterisks indicate missing text or pages. This was the case mainly with the concluding chapters, which are shorter by comparison.

The last chapter, which would have told of the nature and circumstances of Herod’s death, did not survive. However, Hurston wrote about Herod’s death in various letters to her editor and to friends. So I extracted the events of his death from Hurston’s letters and edited them in the epilogue. This way, the readers would have the satisfaction that comes with a clearly stated ending. And Hurston’s interpretation of the events of Herod’s death would be preserved, in her own voice.

Like his life, the fact of Herod’s death had been buried under centuries-old untruths. Hurston found that historical accounts, which echoed the account documented by Flavius Josephus, were unfounded. As she wanted to set the record straight in relation to the biblical account of Herod’s reign, she also wanted to restore his dignity in death. In the absence of her narrative rendering of Herod’s death, Hurston’s letters give us insight into Hurston’s thoughts about the end of Herod’s life, and we can then imagine what she might have written.

“Reading Hurston’s The Life of Herod the Great can contribute to . . . our capacity to become conscious creators of the world we want.”

You’ve spent a great deal of time with Hurston’s writing, as the editor of Hurston’s posthumously released Barracoon (2018), and the author of several books about her (Zora Neale Hurston: A Biography of the Spirit, Every Tub Must Sit on Its Own Bottom). I’m curious how your relationship with her work began. How did you decide to make such a deep study of her?

My relationship with Hurston’s work began when I browsed the bookshelves in the Shrine of the Black Madonna Bookstore in Atlanta one day and glimpsed a cover that caught my eye. The green leaves and yellow pears of a tree in the foreground and a shack of a house in the background was the cover art that graced Hurston’s novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God. I skimmed a few lines and was compelled to purchase the book.

I had never seen myself, my community, my culture captured so perfectly. I had never read the sounds we make when we talk and joke and pray and fuss rendered so true in written language before. Reading Their Eyes was like looking in a mirror. I was in grad school at Atlanta University, then. I hadn’t known about her, but she seemed to know so much about me. It was uncanny, to me, that she knew me so well. I thought the least I could do was to learn something about her. The Shrine happened to also have a copy of [Hurston’s memoir] Dust Tracks on a Road. I found in her life story so many incidents and events that accorded with my own. My interest in Dr. Hurston and her work would only intensify when I discovered that to study Hurston was to study myself, my culture, American society, the nature of humankind and Creation, Itself.

What would you say to those who might wonder how relevant Herod’s story is to contemporary readers?

Two things:

1. Many contemporary readers still subscribe to the story of Herod as told in the New Testament. As Hurston points out in her preface to the novel, there is much that Herod’s story has to teach about the 1st century B.C.E. which is especially important to understand, given that our culture was influenced by the ideas that were born then, and we’re still embodying and living those ideas now.

2. The sociopolitical dynamics at play in Herod’s day are being played out as we “speak.” Hurston’s work dramatizes the efforts of the West in the domination and control of the peoples of the East. In Herod’s day, we’re talking about Rome’s domination of Persia and Syria and Judea, among others. And today, the conflicts in the Middle East are continuing these ancient wars of domination and resistance to domination. It’s like the names—of the people and the nations—have changed, but the insatiable energy of war has continued throughout the centuries. Hurston bemoaned that history—of war, and death and destruction—continues to repeat itself. But history doesn’t so much repeat itself as it simply continues—until there is a conscious intervention and a commitment to create what we prefer. Reading Hurston’s The Life of Herod the Great can contribute to our knowledge about the world that we inhabit and the worlds that inhabit us, our capacity to become conscious creators of the world we want, and our courage to live in the world authentically.

Where will your work take you next? Will you be working with more of Hurston’s writing, or could we expect another book of your own, like 2024’s Of Greed and Glory?

Well, we’ll see about “more of Hurston’s writing.” I don’t know whether there are more writings, but there is more to say about what we do have. And I know that whatever is next, even a book of my own, it will be inspired by the same ideals that I find compelling in Hurston’s work—a love of freedom, a respect for political and personal sovereignty, the evolution of humanity, and justice.

Read our review of The Life of Herod the Great.

Deborah G. Plant author photo by Gloria Plant-Gilbert.

In a novel never published in her lifetime, Zora Neale Hurston presented a new vision of the biblical King Herod. Scholar Deborah G. Plant reveals how the masterwork was saved after Hurston’s death, and what we can learn from these precious pages.

Nonfiction Self-Help

How to be imperfect

In How to Be Enough: Self-Acceptance for Self-Critics and Perfectionists, clinical psychologist Ellen Hendriksen tackles an issue that many might not consider a problem at all: perfectionism. In fact, Hendriksen concludes, the overly high standards, harsh inner voices, fear of judgment and other factors behind perfectionism interfere with our well-being and happiness, leaving us burned out and lonely. BookPage asked Hendriksen about her research, her understanding of her own perfectionism, and tips for how those of us with harsh inner critics can ease up on ourselves.

You cite the findings of researchers Thomas Curran and Andrew Hill that perfectionism—the tendency to demand of oneself a higher level of performance than a situation actually requires—is on the rise. What are some of the factors leading to that rise?

Perfectionism is hypothesized to be on the rise because the world is becoming more crowded, competitive and demanding. There are three types of perfectionism: self-oriented, where we’re hard on ourselves; other-oriented, where we’re hard on the people we think reflect on us like our partner, kids or direct reports; and socially prescribed, where we think others will be harsh and critical toward us. The research of Dr. Curran and Dr. Hill has shown us that socially prescribed perfectionism is rising the fastest. There’s a quote from Dr. Curran I think is particularly telling: “Perfectionism is the defining psychology of an economic system that’s hell-bent on overshooting human thresholds.” Essentially, the never-enough standards set by capitalism, competition, advertising and social media make us feel we need to achieve and consume ever more, simply to be adequate as a person.

“I like to say perfectionism makes us look like we’re hitting it out of the park, but we feel like we’re striking out.”

You note that you were surprised to discover your own perfectionism through your research. After all, perfectionists get things done, and their lives often look pretty great from the outside. Can you talk about this contrast, and your own experience with perfectionism?

I did a deep dive into perfectionism for my last book, How to Be Yourself, and the light bulb went off above my head—that was the first time the word perfectionism resonated with me. Perfectionism can lie at the heart of social anxiety because we set personally demanding standards for our social behavior—I have to sound smart, I can’t be awkward, I have to be chill and nonproblematic—and then criticize ourselves when we don’t reach those standards because we’re human.

But I think the term didn’t resonate with me before that—just like sometimes it doesn’t resonate with my perfectionistic therapy clients—because “perfectionism” is a bit of a misnomer. Perfectionism isn’t necessarily about striving to be perfect; it’s feeling like things are never good enough. People with perfectionism tend to set higher than necessary, personally demanding standards for themselves, focus on flaws when evaluating their performance, and feel particularly mortified when they find them. All these tendencies set us up for some pretty impressive showings: a spotless house, an enviable workout streak, promotions, being well liked. But internally, we’re focused on all the ways we’re falling short. It’s the equivalent of homing in on the one frowning face in the crowd full of smiles. I like to say perfectionism makes us look like we’re hitting it out of the park, but we feel like we’re striking out.

How can we recognize when perfectionism is getting in the way? And if this is difficult for a psychologist to recognize, is it even more difficult for the rest of us?

Sometimes perfectionism doesn’t get in the way. The adaptive form of perfectionism—where we strive for excellence for the sake of excellence but don’t stake our personal character on our performance—can buy us a lot. The healthy heart of perfectionism is a trait called conscientiousness, a tendency to do things well and thoroughly, which has been shown to be a strong predictor for both objective and subjective success in life. It predicts nothing less than life satisfaction.

But perfectionism does get in the way when it costs us more than it buys us. Clinical perfectionism, according to Roz Shafran, Zafra Cooper and Christopher Fairburn when they were colleagues at Oxford University, has two pillars. The first is a phenomenon called overevaluation, where our self-evaluation is overly dependent on striving to meet personally demanding standards. In other words, our character or worth hinges on our performance. We can overevaluate any kind of personal performance—our academic grades, job reviews, body weight or fitness, parenting or, in the case of social anxiety, social behavior. The second pillar is self-criticism, which is a harsh personal evaluation of ourselves. It saps motivation, drags us down and makes us feel like we’re under attack—because we are.

Read our review ‘How to Be Enough’ by Ellen Hendriksen.

Once we’ve begun to see that perfectionism might not be serving us well, what are some simple first steps to take?

I’m so glad you said “simple first steps” because those of us with perfectionism tend to default to all-or-nothing overhauls. But we can make some small shifts that help a lot. One helpful shift is to take some of the proverbial eggs out of the basket of performance and redistribute them to other parts of our lives that defy performance, like connection and enjoyment. Instead of focusing squarely on our outcomes, we can focus on more qualitative experiences: Rather than striving to be entertaining during dinner out with friends, we can attend to the conversation. Rather than aiming for certain metrics on a run, we can enjoy the motion of our limbs. Rather than striving to follow the recipe exactly, we can notice that the kitchen smells amazing. Rather than focusing on how well we’re doing (or not doing), we can enjoy and connect in the moment.

You explain how perfectionism can arise from both inside (the inner critic) and outside (cultural expectations, anxious parents, etc.). Many, if not most, readers will relate to the concept of a harsh inner critic and negative self-talk. What do you suggest for managing that inner critic?

Yes, sometimes we’ll even get down on ourselves for being self-critical, and end up criticizing our self-criticism! “Why can’t I be kinder to myself—what is wrong with me?” “I have to be nicer to myself.” It’s exhausting. So rather than judging self-criticism as yet another perceived fault we have to fix, we can simply see it as something our brain naturally does. Just like some people are wired to be a little more optimistic or pessimistic, or introverted or extroverted, people with perfectionism are wired to be more self-critical than average. But that doesn’t mean we have to listen closely to our self-criticism or believe everything it says. It can just run in the background, like the conversation two tables over at the coffee shop. If we notice ourselves going down a rabbit hole of self-criticism, inadequacy or dissatisfaction, we can chalk it up to, “Oh, this is that thing my brain does,” and then refocus on what we want to be doing. In short, we don’t have to stop criticizing ourselves to feel better. Instead, we can change our relationship to self-criticism.

Is it possible that perfectionism doesn’t always look the same? For instance, if perfectionism leads to decision paralysis or procrastination on a project, could it actually look like inattentiveness or even slacking off?

Absolutely. Line up 100 people with perfectionism, and I’ll show you 100 different ways to manifest perfectionism, often in ways we least expect. For example, we might expect a stereotypical person with perfectionism to keep their home spotlessly clean. But a friend whose home is a disaster area may actually hold those high standards, too. But because they experience their standards as overwhelming or unattainable, they throw up their hands, say “Why try?” and live in a mess. That doesn’t look like the result of perfectionism, but it is.

In another example, the syndrome colloquially known as “failure to launch” can have perfectionism at its root: Overwhelmed by the demands of adulthood and self-imposed expectations of high achievement, affected young adults may be afraid to set even a low bar for themselves because of the negative personal implications if they can’t clear it. If they can’t achieve “all,” they find themselves stuck at “nothing.” That may look like laziness or slacking, but it’s the result, in part, of perfectionism.

And likewise, what lessons does your book offer to those who don’t consider themselves perfectionists, or who might even wish they were a little more perfectionistic?

One of my favorite techniques from the book is for comparing ourselves to others, which can certainly happen independently of perfectionism. Indeed, comparison is hardwired. It’s inevitable; we can’t even know if we’re tall or short without comparing ourselves to others. But it can become problematic if we use comparison to others to answer the questions, “Am I OK?” or “Am I good enough?” Then we’ve outsourced our self-worth to others.

We’ll usually compare on a variable that we’re insecure about. For example, a client we’ll call Abby compared herself to her boss. She was the same age as him, and the comparison made her feel like she was falling behind. To remedy this, she broadened her comparison points to include many other variables, both known, like education and years at the company, and unknown, like personal history, drives, vices, ambition, setbacks. The goal is not to tear the other person down or reassure yourself that you’re amazing; instead, it’s to include so many comparison points that we simply can’t answer the question, “Am I good enough?” by comparing ourselves to this person. The comparison concludes that you’re both incomparable individuals in all your complexity.

The book mostly draws on the experiences of composite clients. But it also includes the backstories of more well-known people, including two famous innovators, Walt Disney and Fred Rogers. They make a fascinating contrast. How did you come to include their stories?

It was truly fun to learn and write about them. Their stories come from my own organic reading. I had read each of their biographies for fun: The Good Neighbor by Maxwell King and Walt Disney by Neal Gabler, and I thought the two men made excellent foils for each other. Both Rogers and Disney were perfectionistic, but, as you say, they are a fascinating contrast of helpful and unhelpful perfectionism, respectively. I love biography and memoir for the same reasons I love being a therapist—I get to know people on a deeper level, learn their stories and experience aha moments of empathic insight as to what shaped them and their lives.

Line up 100 people with perfectionism, and I’ll show you 100 different ways to manifest perfectionism, often in ways we least expect.

What’s changed in your own life since writing How to Be Enough?

This will sound contradictory: Nothing has changed and, simultaneously, so much has changed. Nothing has changed because on the surface, everything looks the same: I am still conscientious and responsible. I still work hard and plan ahead. I still take care of my family and my clients. But at the same time, so much has changed. I’m driven less by self-imposed rules (“I have to . . . I should . . . ”) and more by what’s important or meaningful to me. I take mistakes and setbacks less personally and therefore am less down on myself when life doesn’t go according to plan (which is pretty much every day!). And socially, I focus more on connecting with people and less on whether I’m doing something wrong.

The titles of your two books are wonderful. We all want to be ourselves, and we all want to feel like we’re enough, just as we are. Is there a through line for these two books?

Yes! Ultimately, both books are about human connection. Social anxiety gets in the way of connecting with others in obvious ways: We think we need to hide our perceived flaws in order to avoid being judged or rejected, and we do that by opting out or hiding in plain sight. Perfectionism is a little more subtle, but also gets in the way of connection. Perfectionism is what researchers describe as “interpersonally motivated.” It convinces us we have to earn connection through performance—by being good at things. But think about why your friends are your friends. Is it because they got a good quarterly review, reached their goal weight or have a lot of social media followers? More likely, you’re friends because of how you make each other feel: understood, supported, known. They get you. You have a good time together. It’s not about performance at all. Each book questions the false promises of anxiety and perfectionism so we can connect with our true selves and the people in our lives.

Ellen Hendriksen author photo by Matthew Guillory.

Ellen Hendriksen offers ways to tune out your inner critic and tune in to your true self in her insightful self-help book, How to Be Enough.

Fiction Literary Fiction Family Drama

Seeking common ground, from Cape Cod to the Catskills

In her third novel, Weike Wang follows married couple Keru and Nate on two vacations: the first on Cape Cod, the second five years later, in the Catskills. Keru, a Chinese American woman, and Nate, a white man who grew up in Appalachia, grapple not only with the usual challenges of marriage and careers, but also with two very different sets of parental expectations and hopes. Wang shares her thoughts on parents and in-laws, bringing humor to the heavy stuff and coming of age in midlife.

Rental House uses Keru and Nate’s vacation time as its lens and structure, featuring a vacation that they take around age 35, during the peak of COVID-19 restrictions, and another they take around 40. During both trips, family members intrude, both invited and uninvited. Can you tell us why vacations, especially with family, make good fodder for fiction? When did you know that the novel was going to be made up almost entirely of these two vacations?

Vacations are prime moments for things to go awry. Travel is generally always stressful. Routines shift, and then there is the added pressure of having to spend “quality” time together and make “good” memories. On vacation you are not always yourself. You try to be a better version of yourself, or at least I do, but when the trip hits a snag (always happens), you and whoever you’re on this vacation with have to problem-solve together and that can be a mess.

I knew immediately the story would be a vacation. I wrote the first part with their parents as a standalone. Then I thought what would happen to this couple a few more years down the line, especially since they wouldn’t have kids. The natural transition for couples is to have kids and then to go camping or to Disneyland or on a cruise with other families with kids. I was interested in exploring the tensions of a couple who didn’t have any of that going on.

Speaking of family, many (maybe all!) married readers will relate to Keru and Nate’s bafflement at their in-laws’ contrasting family cultures. This makes for some funny scenes (like Keru’s dad gravely washing the paws of Keru and Nate’s big dog, Mantou, only minutes after arriving at their rented Cape Cod house). I suspect that you may have had similarly confusing or startling interactions in your own life—could you talk about that?

I live at the junction of two worlds. Culturally, linguistically, I’m still trying to navigate it and I have persistent cognitive dissonance from that friction. I am a realist, though. I can see clearly the gap between my parents and me, my in-laws and me, my parents and my husband, my parents and my in-laws (oh boy). But I can’t change these people—nor should I want to, really. They are a product of their circumstances and upbringing, as am I. Friction and emotional turmoil/ambivalence can make for great material. So, in that way, my families, both given and chosen, are a gift.

“I still feel guilt and grief for the person I was supposed to become. Most of this is a result of how much I love my parents and what we went through together.”

Rental House also focuses on the pressure that grown children feel as they navigate between their parents’ long-held expectations and their own needs and desires. Both Keru and Nate resist their parents’ directives, yet they also feel guilty, like they’re not measuring up. Do you think any grown child is ever free of those expectations?

No. I teach a lot of undergraduates, and they always come to me with questions about how I overcame X, Y, Z. The honest answer is that I didn’t really overcome it . . . the feelings are still there, and I imagine they always will be. Regardless of how good I feel about myself presently, I still feel guilt and grief for the person I was supposed to become. Most of this is a result of how much I love my parents and what we went through together. I often wish I could clone myself and have that clone be the one who fulfills all the expectations while I go off and do my own thing.

The novel moves back and forth between Keru’s perspective and Nate’s perspective. Which character’s voice was more fun to write?

Nate’s. A character like Keru will always be familiar to me and in that way, she is actually harder to write because I have to find ways to make her different. Nate’s perspective was just fun. I could hide a lot of myself in him without a reader later asking me, “How much of Nate is yourself?” as many readers will assume that Keru is just me (She is not!).

Mantou, the dog, is a wonderful character, both a shared project for Keru and Nate and a beloved family member. Tell us about the dog or dogs in your own life!

My current dog is my first and he has been a joy. Every morning, we walk to Central Park to see other dogs. We bond with couples who have dogs and my social media is populated with cute images/videos of dogs. I wouldn’t say he’s my pseudo-child, though. For one, I don’t have to educate him or teach him morals, and if all goes as planned, I will outlive him =(. But my dog has helped me in so many ways. He is my companion and friend, my reason to go outside, to stay inside and have a conversation with myself (hoping he will respond). Sometimes I will read in a chair because I know he will come cuddle with me. He is the best.

“I wouldn’t have survived my childhood without humor.”

As an undergraduate, you studied fiction with Amy Hempel, and there’s an echo of Hempel in your writing, with its mix of humor and bleakness. How do you bring humor into scenes that could otherwise be heavy?

Humor is my coping mechanism. Even in conversation, when I think the topic is heading for a deep dive, I’ll make a joke. I wouldn’t have survived my childhood without humor. Chinese people, or at least the ones I grew up around, are quite sardonic. Wit is so much a part of the language and culture. Trading barbs, zingers, one-upping each other, not getting too sentimental about anything, and being blunt, sometimes to a fault. I hate it and I love it. Maybe I love to hate it. But I have all of that in me.

You were working on two graduate degrees (a doctorate in public health at Harvard and an MFA in fiction at Boston University) when you wrote your first novel, Chemistry. That must have made for an intense writing process. You’ve since published two more novels. How has your process changed since then?

Not much, actually. People always ask me, “Do you write full time?” I don’t know any writer who does. Even if I tried, I couldn’t. Sit at my desk from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. and just write? I couldn’t. I have always needed other avenues to occupy my mind. My brain thrives on intensity. I don’t (can’t) write every day. So when I’m not writing, I teach a lot, at different colleges. I still tutor. I study languages. Recently, I started playing piano.

You now teach writing to undergraduates. How do you balance helping students improve their craft while not discouraging them? Can you still see yourself in these newbie writers?

I don’t discourage any of them. Publishing is such a grind that if any of these kids ever become a writer, there will be plenty of things out in the “real world” to discourage them. In class, I do focus on craft and being a good reader, a good observer, but as a writing instructor, I am a softie. I try to give and spread love, and above all I just want them to show up! I can definitely see myself in new writers, not the confident ones, but the doubtful ones. I am still doubtful of the whole endeavor. You can’t think anything you write is too precious. When I teach science, I am totally different. I am harsher, more exacting, more demanding. This was how I learned science, and there are just certain things you need to know in STEM to be a doctor or to do basic science research. It’s nonnegotiable.

I have a theory that while we’re always evolving throughout our lives, midlife is when we truly come of age. Do you think this is true for Keru and Nate?

Yes. I am loving my 30s and I think I will love my 40s too. I have a clearer sense of who I was, who I am and what I want my future to be. I am also way more open-minded now than I was in my 20s. Gosh, in my 20s, I had this checklist and a timeline and this burning drive to prove myself. The drive is still there but transformed. I am nicer to myself now. I give myself some grace.

Will we see Keru and Nate again in another novel or short story, maybe on another vacation?

I’m not sure. Maybe in a short story? I do like to give characters a rest afterward. Being with me and in my head can be such a drag. Keru and Nate deserve a vacation from their creator.

Read our review of Rental House.

Author photo of Weike Wang by Amanda Petersen.

“Family vacation” takes on a new meaning for grown children without kids of their own—like the couple trying their best to keep both sets of in-laws happy in Weike Wang’s Rental House.

Nonfiction Nature Memoir

When fiction felt out of reach, Amy Tan turned to birds

For renowned author Amy Tan, writing fiction has historically been a refuge, a space where she can step away from her life and let her imagination run wild. But in the months leading up to the 2016 presidential election, the bestselling author of books such as The Joy Luck Club and The Bonesetter’s Daughter found that fiction offered little relief from a divisive campaign that inspired “a great deal of overt racism, of the kind I had not really seen before,” Tan says. “It was as if people had now received permission to say what they thought. And it was so ugly.”

So, at the age of 64, Tan put down her pen and picked up a pencil and sketchpad, enrolling in a nature journaling course with a focus on drawing to try to get some perspective and clear her mind.

What Tan thought would be a “momentary diversion” soon morphed into something much greater: Rather than being consumed by the 24/7 news cycle, Tan found her attention held captive by her new hobby.

“I thought it would be something I would do occasionally. But being in nature, especially among birds, has become a major part of my life. It’s an obsession,” Tan confesses during a video call from her Sausalito, California, home, which features floor-to-ceiling windows. “I discovered that beauty—enormous magical beauty—is an antidote to hideous emotions from others.”

Because Tan does not drive, she decided to turn her own backyard into one that would attract birds by hanging feeders, providing fresh water and researching the best food (even storing live mealworms in her fridge). In 2017, she began drawing and writing about her wildlife visitors in private journal entries that she jokingly referred to as “The Backyard Bird Chronicles.” In these pages, Tan shared colorful musings on the rich avian activity and social dynamics she witnessed, each entry accompanied by lovingly rendered drawings.

“When you have a beginner’s mind, you’re open to everything. You’re open to asking questions.”

This was a project Tan undertook solely for herself, with no thought of sharing it with the public. However, when she showed some sketches to her long-standing editor, Daniel Halpern, he had other ideas. Despite her protestations that The Backyard Bird Chronicles was a mess, Halpern was adamant that it should be published, telling Tan that what she had created was “authentic.”

“I love that word because it’s something that applies to everything in life,” Tan admits. “And that is what the mess of my nature journal is: It’s absolutely authentic. It’s spontaneous. It’s not one of these things I’ve revised a hundred times as I do with my fiction.”

For a self-professed perfectionist, the thought of putting out something so candid and unpolished might have once been unthinkable. But Tan shares that her experience watching birds has taught her things more valuable than simply being able to distinguish an American tree sparrow from a juvenile white-crowned sparrow.

“As I get older, I’m very much more aware of the importance of experiencing as much as I can,” Tan explains. One of her primary takeaways from writing the book is to “remain the beginner,” she continues. “When you have a beginner’s mind, you’re open to everything. You’re open to asking questions. . . . So I can be like a child. . . . I can not feel like my ego is at stake, or like I’m considered an expert in this area. I’m not.

“That’s part of being in nature for everybody. Being in nature is about discovery. . . . You’re in a space that’s oftentimes not the space that you’re used to: You’re used to being indoors on a sofa watching a television. So you’re outside and you’re bound to see something new. You’re set up to discover.”

“There could be one bird the whole day, and I’d be happy.”

Tan may have been initially unsure of how The Backyard Bird Chronicles would be received, but her and Halpern’s gamble has paid off: The book is a number one New York Times bestseller and has topped the independent bookseller charts as well. When asked about the enthusiastic response to the book, Tan can’t conceal her grin. While she admits that she doesn’t normally have intentions for the response to her books and “writes them for [her] own reasons,” this book is different: “When I hear people saying that . . . they’re now looking at birds, and they’re so fascinated by birds, and it’s brought them joy? I’m thinking, ‘We’re going to be united in our talking about issues having to do with saving the birds!’ ”

Tan now serves on the board of American Bird Conservancy, but her aspirations for the book extend beyond expanding environmental awareness and preservation. Although she continues to experience racism directed at herself and people she loves, she hopes increasing appreciation for birds can help to cultivate a more compassionate and tolerant society.

“There are a little over 10,000 species [of birds] in the world—and they’re so amazing, they’re so different, so many of them are unusual in their shapes and plumage,” Tan gushes, the strap of the binoculars she wears as part of her daily uniform jerking in her enthusiasm. “And I love that people appreciate the differences. . . . There are people who are intolerant, and they only want to see the same thing. . . . What a desolate world [that] would be!”

Although Tan has no plans to stop chronicling her backyard birds any time soon, she admits that Halpern is eager for a new novel, and she’s finally back at work on the book that was derailed in 2016. She allows that writing fiction requires a focus that looking at birds does not, so to be heading into another election year is unfortunate timing. But eight years later, Tan knows exactly what to do to handle the stress: “There’s no pressure in the backyard,” she says, her eyes softening as her lips curl into a tender smile. “There could be one bird the whole day, and I’d be happy.”

Read our starred review of The Backyard Bird Chronicles.

Author photo of Amy Tan by Enmei Tan.

At 64, the acclaimed author of The Joy Luck Club discovered a passion for birding, which led to her latest bestseller, The Backyard Bird Chronicles.

Nonfiction Music

In Taylor Swift we trust

When Rolling Stone music critic Rob Sheffield called me from New York City, I didn’t spend any time with softball questions or developing rapport. I jumped right in with my hardest-hitting question about his new book, Heartbreak Is the National Anthem: How Taylor Swift Reinvented Pop Music: Did he write an essay about the 1989 bonus track “New Romantics” to drive listeners to play the song—and sing-scream his book title, a “New Romantics” lyric—on repeat?

I’m serious, though; immediately after reading the chapter, I cranked up my car stereo and belted out “New Romantics” three times in a row. Sheffield laughs; he understands.

“I think it was more that I was shouting out the title of the book while I was writing. That song is absolutely nuts, so perfect in terms of a statement of her worldview, a statement of her entire philosophy of life,” he says.

“Writing this book was going deeper into the Taylor Swift mysteries that have been perplexing us all over the years”

That outlook on Taylor Swift’s music shows up throughout Sheffield’s latest book and repeatedly during our conversation. And it’s clear from the outset of Heartbreak that Sheffield is a Swiftie, and his fellow Swifties will find lots to love here. But it’s not just for us: I could hand this book to a casual music fan who wants to understand the fuss or to a lifelong Swiftie. They would both leave with something new.

It’s hard to discuss the book and Sheffield’s motivation without slipping into fan talk. Heartbreak is relatable in part because of the connection to “all the Taylors you’ve ever been,” as Sheffield writes about the rhapsodic, parasocial reaction to the star’s Eras Tour.

“These songs, because they’re so emotionally intense, they catch you at the moment you are,” he says. “Even if the songs aren’t describing the situations you’re going through on a superficial level, they speak to the emotional truths. She’s got an uncanny knack for that.”

Sheffield leans in to that connection, crafting a book that isn’t exactly a biography, nor precisely a fan memoir or exclusively a cultural analysis. He uses all three of these approaches. It’s the same process he used for two of his most recent titles, 2016’s On Bowie and Dreaming the Beatles the following year. Sheffield’s love of his subject’s music is always part of the story, yet he goes beyond his own perspective.

“No one listens to music more closely and are tougher to con than the teenage girl fans,”

“Like I said in my Beatles book,” Sheffield says, “I wasn’t writing a behind-the-music book, not where the music came from, but where it went—how it created the world we’re living in.” Significantly, he wrote about Bowie after his death and the Beatles long after the band’s dissolution. As an artist still in motion, Taylor Swift presented a new challenge: “As I was writing, she was always a step ahead of me.”

Those unfamiliar with Sheffield’s work might be surprised by a 50-something, male Rolling Stone writer following the avatar of American girlhood. They might even think he’s cashing in on the moment when Swift seems to be the world’s biggest celebrity. Bowie, the Beatles and other classic acts might seem more obvious choices. But Sheffield has been a Swiftie longer than I have—and probably longer than you, too.

“For me, it all comes down to ‘Our Song,’ ” he says of the 2007 single, Swift’s third. “Oh my gosh, I couldn’t believe my ears. . . . The way it’s this teenage girl saying, ‘I’ve heard every song ever made and ever recorded, and they’re not good enough. I’m just going to have to write my own song that is our song.’ Even before I Googled the singer, I Googled the songwriter.”

Sheffield was startled to find that the songwriter was also the singer—and that she was a teenager. He thought at the time, “Wow, I hope she has another song or two that’s this good.” He laughs. “Little did I know. Little did any of us know.”

Swift has written more than a couple of smash singles, and in fact, you can read Rob’s complete song-by-song ranking on Rolling Stone’s website. He updates it with each new release—but he always cheats to keep “Fifteen” at No. 15. Heartbreak is filled with knowing allusions to Taylor’s lyrics and catalog, which continued growing as the book was underway.

Sheffield began writing just before Swift’s record-setting Eras Tour began in March 2023. Why then? “For a while, I was thinking in terms of, wow, when she sort of hits a plateau level, that’ll be the time to take it all in,” he says. “When she stops innovating and inventing on a week-to-week basis, that’s the time to take stock.”

It became clear that Swift wasn’t slowing down anytime soon, so Sheffield took the plunge anyway. “I was trying to do justice to where she was at that point; at that point, Midnights was the new album,” he says. She’s released an album and re-released two others since then (and with Swift, there’s no telling—there could be another before this interview publishes). “By the time this book is out, she’ll have done something that demands another chapter,” Sheffield says. “She’s been on this hot streak for the past 18 years, and it’s rare for anyone to have a hot streak like this for one year.”

“She always wanted those songs to make a mess in your heart and your mind and keep making a mess.”

Sheffield continued to marinate in Swift’s music as he worked on the book, attending three consecutive shows early in the Eras Tour. “After three nights, I was absolutely ready for a wheelchair and a feeding tube,” he recalls. “I said, how is she even possibly functional this week given that all I did was stand in the audience and scream and sing along? And as we now know, she was not only doing this but making The Tortured Poets Department”—her latest album as of this writing—”between shows, which was just absolutely insane.”

Sheffield had plenty of material to draw from. “I’ve been writing about her for so long and pondering this stuff for so long and reading about her for so long—and reading since the early days, when almost everything written about her was condescending and dismissive. You hate to say, but that’s how she was written about for years,” he says. “Writing this book was going deeper into the Taylor Swift mysteries that have been perplexing us all over the years. I wasn’t trying to solve these mysteries, but just understand them a little better. A little deeper. Really, that’s the process for me. I was listening to the music. But I’m always listening to all those records.”

Heartbreak recounts Swift’s career with tremendous respect, and Sheffield’s knowledge of both her discography and the music she admires is clear. He draws connections to many artists whose influence shows up in her music: “She was a teenage prodigy who had studied all the greats,” including Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, the Beatles and more. “It was so fascinating that this was someone who was so early in her career but was determined to be on an all-time great historic album.”

Sheffield also analyzes the world’s reaction to Swift, who has often been dismissed with derision, particularly earlier in her career: “People are always saying, ‘Oh she’s good for her age.’ But who are the people older than her who are supposedly writing better pop records?”

The condescending attitude also loops in teen girls, which doesn’t sit well with Sheffield, who is quick to note that Swift’s career started when she was a teenager. Now in her mid-30s, Swift continues to put teen girls first. Those teens are not only the secret to Swift’s success. They’ve been behind most artists with multigenerational fans.

“The teenage girls are just the most sophisticated listeners,” says SheffieldSheffied. “No one listens to music more closely and are tougher to con than the teenage girl fans,” he says. “In case you didn’t learn this from the Beatles or Bob Dylan or David Bowie or whoever, the teenage girls are getting things that the rest of the audience doesn’t.”

Heartbreak is an ode not only to the artist who sees those listeners as paramount, but also to the industry she’s reshaped in her image. Many of Swift’s fans have grown up with her, Sheffield notes, and that’s a rarity. “Ex-Swiftie is not a category, really. It’s not a phase that people grow out of, which was what was already predicted in the early days.”

Read our review of ‘Heartbreak Is the National Anthem’ by Rob Sheffield.

Today’s pop charts reflect this influence, too, with young women such as Sabrina Carpenter, Billie Eilish and Chappell Roan releasing 2024’s songs of the summer. “That’s what pop music is now,” says Sheffield. “Taylor very much remade pop music in her image. The idea that pop music by women, for women is pop music. It’s not a subgenre or a sidecar to the story. It is the story. That’s an astoundingly huge innovation.”

And Swift’s music has given these musicians and their fans room to revel in the entire emotional experience of a song. “She was never writing songs that ended as songs. [It isn’t] ‘oh, what an elegantly turned verse, what an expertly turned chorus,’ ” Sheffield says. “She always wanted those songs to make a mess in your heart and your mind and keep making a mess.”

Heartbreak is a love letter to the songs that have created that mess in Sheffield’s own heart, and an invitation to bathe in the music. Swifties, in particular, are likely to find themselves queuing up track after track as they read—at least, this one did—and join Sheffield and me in shout-singing his book’s title again and again.

Photo of Rob Sheffield by Marisa-Bettencourt.

In Heartbreak Is the National Anthem, Rob Sheffield pens a love letter to the megastar and the teenage girls who sing-scream her lyrics.

Mystery & Suspense Thriller

Lee and Andrew Child’s approach to bookstores would do Jack Reacher proud

What are your bookstore rituals? For example, where do you go first in a store?
Lee Child: My first concern is how good of a breakfast I ate. How much weight can I carry home? I know there are going to be 20 or 30 titles I want. I usually glance at the front tables but start at the back, for the undiscovered gems. Then I calculate how much strength I have left and pick up what I want from the new titles.

Andrew Child: For me this depends on whether I’m browsing or going in for a specific title. I much prefer to browse! How I approach this depends on the layout of the store. Does it have different rooms? Multiple levels? I take stock of the geography and go from there, usually at random. For example, there’s a store in the town nearest to us in a building that started life as a brothel. There’s a central “parlor” that houses the new releases and popular categories, and a bunch of side rooms that now contain the more specialized genres. I like to pick one of the smaller rooms on a whim, start there and move on as the mood takes me. The only consistent factor in visiting a bookstore is to make sure I take a very large bag.

Tell us about your favorite library from when you were a child.
LC: I started at a tiny local place but quickly read all the books there, so I graduated to a bigger library in the neighboring municipality, which was a long walk and a scary trip on a high footbridge over a canal. I remember it as a huge glass-fronted palace full of books. Ironically, I just got involved in a campaign to secure its funding, and as an adult I realize it’s perfectly normal size. That place both enabled and created my life.

AC: My favorite is my first—the same tiny local place that Lee started in. However, the family moved before I had read everything there and the library in the town we wound up in was just not the same. Not welcoming in the same way. Something to do with the layout or the lighting, maybe? Or the way the librarians sat behind glass screens at a high, impersonal counter? The experience of visiting wasn’t as much fun, but I still went there. I had to. It was the only source of books.

“I have literally never walked past a bookstore without going in and checking it out.”

While researching your books, has there ever been a librarian or bookseller who was especially helpful, or a surprising discovery among the stacks?
LC: Deep stock in a chain bookstore helped me: I found a book about money laundering in the narcotics trade—moving and storing so much cash was an industrial-sized problem for the bad guys. The details within led to the spine of my first book, Killing Floor.

AC: I find that “research”—the profound, story-defining kind rather than fact-checking—works the opposite way around to what people often expect. I never set out to find an interesting topic to write about. I write about a topic I already find interesting, and the reason I find something interesting often stems from a suggestion from a bookseller. For example, a book about white-collar crime that was recommended to me in a store contained a section on malicious ways to short stock, and that became a central theme in Too Close to Home.

Do you have a favorite bookstore or library from literature?
LC: Not really—I’m so thrilled with the real-world examples I didn’t feel the need for more.

AC: Not literature, but TV. I would love to visit the shop in Black Books, an offbeat British comedy in which the curmudgeonly store owner seems intent on not selling books.

Do you have a “bucket list” of bookstores and libraries you’d love to visit but haven’t yet? What’s on it?
LC: All of them. Every single one has a quirk or a choice that makes them fascinating. I have literally never walked past a bookstore without going in and checking it out.

AC: My favorites tend to be the kind of quirky gems you discover by chance, tucked away down a backstreet or in a neighborhood you stray into by mistake. As a result, there’s no real way to foresee what they’ll be and where you’ll find them, so it’s not possible to make a list in advance.

In Too Deep by Lee Child and Andrew Child book jacket

What’s the last thing you checked out from your library or bought at your local bookstore?
LC: Yesterday I bought a book about linguistic choices in framing political arguments. I love insights into how things are done.

AC: My most recent purchase was The Battle of the Beams by Tom Whipple, which is about the way that the development of radar shaped the outcome of World War II.

How is your own personal library organized?
LC: Organized is a big word, and I’m not sure I can lay claim to it. Generally, I keep fiction and nonfiction in separate rooms, or at least separate bookcases. Beyond that, nothing. Any form of organizing means every time you get a book, you have to move every other book. That’s way too much!

AC: Lee may be horrified at this, but Tasha [Alexander, his wife and fellow mystery novelist] and I keep our library organized via an app. Every book we buy is added—mainly because we got fed up with the quantity of duplicate purchases we were making.

Bookstore cats or bookstore dogs?
LC: Dogs for sure, the same as every other walk of life.

AC: Why pick between them? Why not have one (or more) or each?

What is your ideal bookstore-browsing snack?
LC: I’m part of a generation that saw books as expensive, rare and precious, so I wouldn’t dream of eating or drinking in a bookstore or library.

AC: I don’t eat or drink while browsing, either, but I do love it when bookstores have a built-in coffee shop. That way I can dive right into my newest purchase and caffeinate at the same time.

Photo of Lee and Andrew Child by Tasha Alexander.

We asked the brothers behind the iconic suspense series about their favorite libraries and bookshops.

Fiction Literary Fiction

Best friends for life, and after

When one of the two central characters in your debut novel is dead, there are unintended consequences, as Anna Montague reveals at the start of our conversation about How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund? In the book, Magda, a psychiatrist who is turning 70, takes a lengthy, life-changing road trip with the cremated remains of her best friend, Sara, buckled into the passenger seat beside her.

“My apartment is just covered in urns,” Montague says, speaking from the Brooklyn apartment into which she has just moved. “I’m actually really looking forward to exploring other decor options once the book is out. I have maybe 15 in my entryway.”

In fact, Montague’s late grandfather, who was the manuscript’s first reader, suggested she call her book The Urn. People have already been sending them to her, and no doubt she’ll be getting more with the publication of her highly anticipated novel. What’s more, one of these gifted vessels may actually contain remains. “It sounds distinctly like there are some ashes in it,” Montague says, laughing, “but it seems to be locked. I don’t know who sent it, so I’m in a bit of a holding pattern with that one.”

“I remember wondering what it would be like to try and start over . . . when you’re in your 70s, and you think you have everything sorted out.”

While she was working on the book, Montague lost not only her 100-year-old grandfather, but two other dear people: her 94-year-old grandmother and a woman named Dorothy (Dot), one of her father’s elderly neighbors whom she had befriended. One day, as Montague dog-sat for Dot’s husband, who was traveling, she suddenly realized that Dot’s ashes were in an urn in the room where she was writing. She notes that “many of the impulses that Magda has” towards her friend’s urn in the book—like talking to it—“are very true to real life. At least for me. I found that the desire to connect and pay homage to that person still very much existed in ways that I didn’t expect.”

Montague’s initial inspiration for the story came when her therapist dropped her. “It’s not as sad as it sounds,” she interjects, explaining that during the pandemic, her therapist—whom she guesses was in her 70s—decided to downsize her practice to only patients she was seeing regularly. “When I asked her what she was planning to do with all of that newfound free time,” she continues, “there was a pause. And she said, ‘I don’t know, maybe I’ll travel.’ I remember wondering what it would be like to try and start over . . . when you’re in your 70s, and you think you have everything sorted out.”

Thinking about her therapist led Montague to the character of Magda, and Sara’s character appeared soon after. “I thought I was drafting a short story,” Montague recalls. “And within a couple of pages, Sara was already there. I thought, ‘Okay, this is perhaps not a short story, and this is definitely about the relationship, the friendship between these two women.’”

Readers who plunge into this heartfelt, well-told saga may be surprised to discover that Montague is only 31. “It is very easy for me to write from the vantage point of a senior citizen,” she admits with a laugh. “Perhaps too easy.” She describes her friendship with an 80-year-old named Lena, noting, “if you just had a profile of the two of us, you would never know that I was the younger one. [Lena] likes dancing to house music and afternoon boat cruises, and I am often in bed with a cup of tea at an hour that I won’t disclose. But I’ve spent a lot of my life around significantly older people, many of whom were mining the difficult space of recognizing that their lives were more than likely half over, sometimes more than three-quarters over.” The conversations Magda has with herself about what it means to enter her 70s are drawn from ones Montague has had “with many of the older folks in my life.”

“Most women I know become happier and more fulfilled as they get older,” she adds, “and I wanted Magda to very slowly come to terms with that.”

“That’s the absurdity of a road trip, right? You can have it all mapped out perfectly, but you cannot anticipate all of the events that will happen.”

Montague got to know Lena through SAGE, a national organization that advocates for LGBTQ+ elders and fosters intergenerational connections among LGBTQ+ people. Hearing about Lena’s experiences living in New York informed Montague’s writing, including her decision to set How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund? in 2011, just before New York state’s Marriage Equality Act.

“One of the things I was thinking about quite a bit while writing was the inherent queerness of female friendship,” she explains. “The intimacies that are allowed both privately and publicly to female friends that aren’t allowed to men. As an adult, for example, I’ll often have a friend stay over, and my male friends would never have a sleepover. . . . Women are encouraged to support each other in ways both emotional and physical [that] are so different from the ways that men are socialized.” She suggests that the intimacy of female friendships can be confusing for male partners, even a source of envy, “because it’s a degree of closeness that they have not been allowed. And maybe it’s even a degree of closeness . . . they have not been able to achieve with their partners, you know, because those needs are being met elsewhere.”

Montague dedicates her book to her friend Isabel, whom she calls “the platonic great love of my life.” They met at summer camp and have been “a constant” in each other’s lives since they were 13. The two talk every day, and as Isabel is a poet, they often confer about writing projects.

Once Montague decided that Magda would take a road trip, she says, “I had a pretty good sense of where she would go, but I didn’t have as much of a sense of what would happen to her emotional or intellectual self along the way. That’s the absurdity of a road trip, right? You can have it all mapped out perfectly, but you cannot anticipate all of the events that will happen.” She adds, “The first draft had many more flat tires and a number of more absurd characters who didn’t make it through to the final manuscript.”

Montague also turned to psychology textbooks for reference. They were useful for chronicling Magda’s psychiatric practice as well as Magda’s own inner struggles, which are much harder for Magda to face than her patients’ quandaries. Montague confesses, “There were many moments when I just wished I could grab Magda by the shoulders and shake her. And then I had to remember that I was the one creating this person and all of her problems—which meant I was also responsible for solving them.” Never fear, readers. The solutions—and the long and winding roads that Magda takes to reach them—are one of the many delights of this book.

The author still feels connected to Magda and Sara, and anticipates that these characters may reappear in her writing. However, she is now “very much in the weeds with the next one”—something completely different. Montague is an extremely busy literary professional: She also works as an editor for Dey Street Books, focusing on narrative nonfiction, science and wellness books. (She recently worked on NPR music critic Ann Powers’ “kaleidoscopic” biography of Joni Mitchell, Traveling.) Montague says that it helps that she suffers from insomnia, which gives her time at night for her own writing. Writing fiction while editing nonfiction dovetails nicely for her. “It feels like there’s just enough distance between the two, but there’s enough overlap that I can learn and apply those learnings to the other,” she explains.

Montague has always filled her life with books, and juggling between different ones is nothing new. As a preschooler in Irvington, New York, she kept books in multiple rooms so that one was always at the ready. She kept one in her bedroom, another in the kitchen and yet another in the front hallway so she’d have something to look at while putting on her shoes. She began writing short stories at a young age as well. “I was always particularly captivated by people and their motivations for—everything really,” she says with a laugh. “I think at the heart of it, that’s always a principal focus and fascination of mine.”

What about that therapist who dropped her and inspired How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund? Does she plan to send her a copy?

“Yes,” Montague says. “She was very excited to hear about the book, and we’ve exchanged letters here and there. My current therapist is also excited to read it, but I’m a little scared of what they’ll make of it.”

Read our review of How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund?

Anna Montague author photo by Hannah Solomon.

Anna Montague’s empathic debut novel, How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund?, follows a woman entering her 70s and coming to terms with the loss of a friend through the twists and turns of a summer road trip.

Science Fiction & Fantasy Fantasy Romance Fantasy

Carissa Broadbent’s latest fantasy romance goes to hell and back

An acolyte of the sun god, Mische saw her life destroyed when she was forcibly Turned into a vampire. After murdering the vampire who turned her, Mische is spared from execution when she agrees to journey into the afterlife with Asar, a vampire prince, and resurrect the god of death. Tasked by the sun god with betraying Asar and sabotaging their mission, Mische finds herself questioning everything she’s ever believed in when she begins to fall for Asar.

The Songbird & the Heart of Stone takes us straight into an afterlife that’s as intriguing as it is terrifying. How did you conceive of your version of the road to the underworld?
Much of my process adhered to the improv philosophy of “yes, and . . .” I know that many readers love my books for the hot vampires—and make no mistake, I do also love hot vampires!—but I have a streak that just really, really loves weird, gross, dark magic. I always enjoy creating structures to my magical fantasy journeys that have a strong sense of progression, and better yet if they give me the opportunity to try all kinds of different gimmicks. So, I loosely ran with the general idea of “circles of hell” and thought about what those “levels” might look like in the context of the Nyaxia world. Then I mapped each of these levels to the character arcs for Mische and Asar, and tied them into the lore of the gods’ story. This piece was the most fun for me!

So far in the Crowns of Nyaxia series, we’ve been inside the heads of three characters: Raihn, Oraya and Mische. Mische has a very different internal monologue than any of the others. How did you get into her head to really capture that change in narrative voice?
Going from Oraya’s cynical, hard-edged voice to Mische’s optimistic and thoughtful one was a little jarring in the beginning. But, I had a baby in between writing The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King, the previous book in the series, and Songbird, so I had a lot of time to think about the inner workings of Mische’s brain during my maternity leave. I got to know her a lot in borderline-hallucinatory brainstorming sessions at 3 a.m.!

“There’s a lot more to power than physical strength . . .”

Luce, Asar’s beloved necromantic dog, is undoubtedly going to steal some readers’ hearts (just as she stole mine). How did she come into the picture?
It’s only now that I realize I cannot remember when I first conceived of Luce! She came into the picture very early in my brainstorming for Asar’s character. He’s introverted, rigid and definitely a bit scary, but boy does he love his dog! (Rightfully so—she is a very good girl.) I believe that platonic relationships are just as important as romantic ones. It’s important that we see the characters reflected against someone else who is meaningful to them. In this case, Luce really helped me define Asar, and took on an (after)life of her own from there.

Architecture—whether it’s the impressive structures of the underworld or the details of the Citadel—gives a distinct sense of character to the human, vampire and godly locations within The Songbird & the Heart of Stone. Did you have any particular inspirations for the look of each major location?
I’m very flattered by this question, because it’s so important to me that each of the houses feels distinct! My favorite thing about the Nyaxia world is that it’s just so huge, and with every book that ventures into a new corner of the world, I try to make sure that place feels different from everywhere we’ve been before it. Typically, I’ll start with a very general “vibe” for a place, and then I’ll mash together many different influences until I like what I’ve arrived at. I will be the first to admit that the entire creative process on this front is chaotic!

The Songbird & the Heart of Stone by Carissa Broadbent book jacket

You once mentioned that you ended up with the three courts because you couldn’t choose one type of vampire. What were some of your influences in creating the vampire houses, and if you had to join one of the houses, which would it be?
There wasn’t one specific influence for each house so much as each had a general “vibe” I was trying to capture. The Nightborn are the winged, deadly vampires; the Shadowborn are the seductive, scheming vampires; the Bloodborn are the monstrous, bloodthirsty vampires. Of course, these simplistic ideas bloomed into many others as I fleshed everything out!

I would be in the House of Shadow, because I’m definitely not coordinated enough to be in the House of Night nor intimidating enough to be in the House of Blood. I’d likely immediately get myself killed in the House of Shadow, too—but at least I could hide out in the libraries for a while first.

Despite following the same god, Mische and Chandra have little in common when it comes to both their outlook and their goals. If their roles had been reversed, how would Mische have taken to life as a midwife for vampires? What about Chandra as a vampire?
Chandra and Mische both have been indoctrinated by their god most of their lives, and both of them have very real, very legitimate reasons to justify hatred of vampires. Chandra is so similar to Mische in so many ways, and yet has followed all of those commonalities to a completely different end. Even at the height of her status in her previous human life in her cult, Mische couldn’t fully accept the harsh boundaries of her world. Chandra was likely exactly the kind of acolyte Mische wished she could be in those years: pious, devoted and unquestioningly loyal. But Mische was never going to be that person, for better or for worse. Even if her positions were swapped with Chandra, they would always end up in radically different places.

Just as Chandra and Mische are foils, so too are Mische and Asar. We get Mische’s perspective the first time she sees Asar, but what does Asar think of Mische at first sight?
I can’t answer this question in too much detail because it might be something we cover in the next book! In a super general sense: Asar knows right away that Mische is unusual, and he’s intrigued by her right off the bat. Some of that is just because he’s a guy who likes to know things, and Mische is objectively unusual because of her background. But even from the start, when he’s underestimating her, he gets the sense that there’s more to her.

Imbalanced power dynamics and the abuse of power are themes that have cropped up several times in Crowns of Nyaxia so far, from Vincent in The Serpent & the Wings of Night to this novel. This is obviously an issue in our own world as well, but do you think that there’s something about vampire society that makes it particularly interesting to explore?
The exploration of power runs through the entire series. In the world of Nyaxia, there are just so many different layers to those power dynamics: humans versus vampires, gods versus mortals and, of course, the plethora of interpersonal power dynamics that are specific to each character. What makes this particularly interesting to me is that some groups or characters stand in very different places on the power spectrum depending on the lens you’re looking through. Vampires, for instance, are much more powerful than humans physically, but they’re also often brutally hunted if they venture beyond Obitraes. Vincent, Oraya’s father, was obsessed with maintaining power, but the things he had to do to keep it ended up isolating him—and unforgivably harming those he loved most. There’s a lot more to power than physical strength and having so many different layers in this world has made it particularly fun to explore.

Read our starred review of ‘The Songbird & the Heart of Stone’ by Carissa Broadbent.

Even with her own discomfort surrounding her vampirism, Mische holds views on vampires that seem more nuanced than what we see from Oraya in the Nightborn Duet. How much of that is from their backgrounds, and how much is due to the individuals—and the courts—that they’re dealing with?
I love this question! Mische and Oraya are so, so different. They came from opposite backgrounds. Oraya was surrounded by vampires but constantly told how dangerous the world around her was. Meanwhile, as a missionary, Mische learned to help people become better versions of themselves by looking beyond her initial impressions of them. They embody opposite extremes, and we would have seen that even if their positions and Houses had been swapped—but of course, both still isolate themselves in different ways.

We get a deeper view of the pantheon in The Songbird & the Heart of Stone, including the very intimate interactions between the gods and their followers. What inspired you to have the gods be so very present (and fallible)?
I love the sheer amount of possibility that the pantheon introduces into this world, and from the beginning, I wanted the gods to be highly present, creating very tangible impacts on the story. It introduces a whole other layer to the hierarchy of the world and another level of power dynamics. It throws open doors that would otherwise be impossible to explore!

Are there any gods who we haven’t interacted with yet who you’re excited to explore further?
I am fascinated by the gods, and they play a much bigger role from Songbird onwards. So, the short answer is “yes, so many!”—but I think I’ll leave it at that rather than risk saying too much.

Photo of Carissa Broadbent by Victoria Costello.

The Songbird & the Heart of Stone starts a new arc in the author’s bestselling Crowns of Nyaxia series.

Children's & YA Middle Grade Children's

Kevin Henkes on his protagonist’s disastrous first day of first grade

I first interviewed you back in 1996, with the publication of Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse. I began by saying—a statement that certainly still holds true—“Kevin Henkes’ picture books and novels are a celebration of the ordinary, written and illustrated with extraordinary aplomb.” At that time, you had a 14-month-old son. How has life changed in those decades, and how has it stayed the same, especially in terms of your writing and illustrating?
My 14-month-old son is now 29 and on his own. Life is no longer filled with all the things that go along with kids at home. I do remember periods when it seemed difficult to find long stretches of time to really concentrate on book work. But one finds a way to do it. Now, finding time is not an issue, and the actual work is very much the same. When our kids were little, I always wanted to have a book to be working on and thinking about. It was an anchor in my life. That feeling, that need to be writing, has not changed.

Still Sal’s dedication reads: “For Peg, Mel, Abby, and Margaret, with much love and thanks for answering oh-so-many questions about teachers and teaching.” Who are Peg, Mel, Abby and Margaret, and what did you ask them?
They are my sister, my sister-in-law, our kids’ former babysitter and a dear friend—all elementary school teachers. Over the years I’ve asked them so many questions about curriculum, class size and classroom layout. I’ve asked them how they might deal with certain behaviors. I’ve gotten suggestions for names from them, too. I’m reminded when I’ve talked to them how open, generous, thoughtful and patient they are—not a surprise, but traits to be admired. Over the years, I’ve read to their classes and helped decorate some of their classrooms. I’ve sketched in some of their classrooms too (after hours when no students were around). Some rug and floor patterns and wall decorations have shown up in several of my illustrations.

What has been your proudest publishing moment over the years, more than 50 books after starting your career? Has your confidence grown, and do you sometimes face struggles as you create?
I can’t say I have a proudest publishing moment, although I am amazed when I look back and think that I went alone to New York City at age 19 to look for a publisher. I don’t think I’d have the confidence to do that now at age 63. And yes, I always face struggles as I create. I constantly ask myself questions such as: Why is this so difficult? Will I ever have another idea? Why can’t I get onto the page what I so clearly hear or see in my head?

“I am amazed when I look back and think that I went alone to New York City at age 19 to look for a publisher.”

Sal’s dad is a sculptor who works from his studio in the family garage. He’s a wonderfully involved and emotionally attuned parent who loves to make fun shaped pancakes and is nostalgic as he watches his three children change and grow. Did you channel any of your own emotions or experiences into Papa?
Like Papa, I was a stay-at-home artist parent along with my wife, Laura Dronzek. Like Papa, I often made fun shaped pancakes—although it’s harder to do than you’d think, and Papa is much better at it than I was. And now, since my kids are grown and on their own, I’m terribly out of practice. All of my characters probably have a bit of me in them, but Papa more than others.

Which children’s writers and illustrators have been the most influential for you?
Among the picture book creators who have meant the most to me are Crockett Johnson, Ruth Krauss, M.B. Goffstein, Maurice Sendak, James Marshall, Jean Charlot, Garth Williams and Margaret Wise Brown. As far as novels for children are concerned, my favorite writers include Paula Fox, Beverly Cleary, Eleanor Estes and Lynne Rae Perkins.

Sal has lots of very big feelings about what adults might consider to be small, fleeting problems. And yet, as readers, we care deeply about her struggles and feel her pain, as well as her triumphs and joy. How do you make her inner life so authentic, sometimes funny, and always riveting?
I’ve always been drawn to the ordinary, to small domestic stories. And I love exploring the inner lives of my characters. I’m more interested in the ripple than the wave. “Big, bad, things” don’t tend to be my focus. But what qualifies as a “big, bad thing” is subjective. It may be as simple or complicated as worrying that you got the wrong teacher or that you have to share your room or any of the hundreds of concerns and shortcomings that children everywhere work through every day. Precision and clarity bring the characters’ feelings to life.

“I’ve always been drawn to the ordinary, to small domestic stories.”

You write so seamlessly, and yet I imagine that getting the plot and timing exactly right was an intricate process. Could you discuss your writing and editing process?
I still write my manuscripts by hand in a spiral notebook. And I write slowly—sentence by sentence, word by word—in one draft without an outline. Writing this way requires a huge leap of faith. It is an act of trust—trust that somehow I will know my characters long enough and get to know them well enough that things will come together and fall into place beautifully.

E.L. Doctorow once observed that writing was “like driving alone at night: you could only see as far as your headlights. But you could go the whole way like that.”

Eventually, I will get to the point where there really is only one way for the story to go. It is inevitable. So far, anyway, I’ve always found my way home.

Art is such a big part of Sal’s and her father’s lives, and it’s one of the things that “draws” them together. Could you talk about the role that art plays in elementary students’ lives, as well as its role in your novels?
I’ve always thought of myself as an artist so that’s always been an important part of who I am. Because of that, I love writing about characters who are artists. Several of the characters in my novels—both adults and children—are artists.

I think art is important in the life of a child. I wish that there was more support for the arts in school, and that art in general was treated with greater respect in society.

As an illustrator, do you visualize your novels as you write? Would you ever consider trying a graphic novel?
Writing a novel is very different from writing and illustrating a picture book. But because I am an illustrator, I do visualize my novels as I work. I love creating and describing the spaces in which my characters live. It’s one of my favorite things about writing. I have thought about trying a graphic novel. Who knows? I do think of my picture book Egg as a graphic novel for preschoolers.

I love Sal and her friend Griff’s mini golf course creation with spoons and marbles. Have you made your own?
I have not made my own mini golf course, although my kids built many things like that. I remember very elaborate villages constructed from twigs, leaves, stones, shells, etc.

Also, Sal’s Papa makes a memorable macaroni and cheese recipe. Are you a mac and cheese chef?
Laura is the cook in our house and makes great macaroni and cheese. I’m very good at eating it!

Your Miller Family Stories, including Still Sal, remind me of Beverly Cleary’s books. Might Poppy Miller get her own book someday?
I never intended to write a second book about Billy Miller and his family. But I couldn’t get him out of my mind, and so it felt right to reenter that world. Now, after four books about the Miller family, I would have thought I’d be finished, but I’m getting little signals that there might be another. Maybe someday Poppy will get her own book.

Read our starred review of ‘Still Sal’ by Kevin Henkes.

Still Sal once again brings back the memorable characters of the Miller Family Stories.

Sign Up

Stay on top of new releases: Sign up for our newsletter to receive reading recommendations in your favorite genres.

All Interviews

How secrets fray the ties that bind

Loretta Chase knows there’s nothing sexier than good banter

Like so many of us, Mai Corland can’t resist a new journal

Nnedi Okorafor is making robots mainstream

Plucked from the ashes

How to be imperfect

Seeking common ground, from Cape Cod to the Catskills

When fiction felt out of reach, Amy Tan turned to birds

In Taylor Swift we trust

Lee and Andrew Child’s approach to bookstores would do Jack Reacher proud

Best friends for life, and after

Carissa Broadbent’s latest fantasy romance goes to hell and back

Kevin Henkes on his protagonist’s disastrous first day of first grade

Sign Up

Trending Interviews

Loretta Chase knows there’s nothing sexier than good banter

Nnedi Okorafor is making robots mainstream

Like so many of us, Mai Corland can’t resist a new journal

Company

Subscriptions