Richard Munson’s splendid biography of Benjamin Franklin provides an insightful view of the statesman’s lesser known accomplishments in science.
Richard Munson’s splendid biography of Benjamin Franklin provides an insightful view of the statesman’s lesser known accomplishments in science.
Lili Anolik’s Didion and Babitz is a freewheeling and engaging narrative about two iconic literary rivals and their world in 1970s Los Angeles.
Lili Anolik’s Didion and Babitz is a freewheeling and engaging narrative about two iconic literary rivals and their world in 1970s Los Angeles.
With its seamless integration of gardening principles with advanced design ideas, Garden Wonderland is the perfect gift for new gardeners—or anyone in need of a little inspiration.
With its seamless integration of gardening principles with advanced design ideas, Garden Wonderland is the perfect gift for new gardeners—or anyone in need of a little inspiration.
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Tom Ambrose considers himself “a newcomer to cycling.” True, as a youngster in Ireland in the 1950s and 1960s, he owned and rode a number of bicycles. And now, as a grandfather, he pedals around the countryside near his home in rural Suffolk on a Dawes, which he calls “a sporting amateur’s bike.” But until recently, Ambrose had never written a word about cycling.

That changed with the publication of his well-designed, richly illustrated and informative new book, The History of Cycling in Fifty Bikes. It’s a volume that racers, hipsters on fixies, families with cargo bikes and occasional cyclists in their seemingly endless contemporary varieties will want to add to their collection.

In brisk, short chapters, Ambrose covers the technological advances of the bicycle, from the first foot-powered bikes like the so-called Hobby Horse through the development of gears and derailleurs, carbon fiber, bike lights and such advances as John B. Dunlop’s inflatable tire and James Starley’s wire spoke, innovations that were necessary to the later development of automobiles and aircraft. He relates captivating anecdotes from bike racing’s early days to the present, including cheating scandals from the earliest Tour de France competitions. And he introduces readers to the wide array of inventive, competitive and sometimes cantankerous personalities who have shaped and been shaped by bicycles.

But Ambrose’s chief interest, one that mostly murmurs quietly just beneath the surface of his narrative, is what he calls the “social aspects” of bicycling, its social history. The topic of the bicycle’s relationship to women’s emancipation, for example, is one that percolates through several chapters in the book.

“The bicycle became a viable means of transport at the time when—in the 19th century— you’ve got a developing women’s consciousness about equality and women’s rights,” Ambrose explains. “A woman never had anything of her own in terms of wealth, and she depended on men for everything, including transport. As women got ideas that they wanted more social liberty, this became irksome. So the coming of the bicycle gave them this great freedom. In a sense you could say that the lady’s bicycle is probably the emblem of female emancipation.”

Likewise, Ambrose observes the impact of the bicycle on the ebb and flow of working-class life. “The bicycle really did offer reasonably low-cost commuting. Of course that enables your workforce to come in from farther afield. You have all these factories of the Industrial Revolution sucking people into the cities, and the bicycle was very useful for that. Later, as prosperity spread, you have the interesting thing of people being borne into the city for work purposes then using the bicycle as a means of escape.”

Ambrose adds, with a sort of virtual wink, “And the bicycle was probably a good sexual vehicle as well. Cycling clubs sprang up and encouraged young men and women to go off bird watching in the countryside and things like that, but the real purpose, of course, was to get to know one another.”

“The invention of the bicycle was the greatest contribution to human health because it enlarged the gene pool,” the author says. “Young men from villages in France or Britain or the USA could then court girls from more distant villages. They would ride two or three miles instead of being confined to a breeding pattern within their own community.”

Ambrose’s text on the history of biking is accompanied by extensive photos and other depictions of bikes. These include photographs or period illustrations of each bicycle, as well as many of the inventors and bike racers.

There are also close-up views of technological innovations like the Lucas bike lamp, an early oil lamp that made nighttime cycling safer and more convenient. And there are completely unexpected images, such as one showing overloaded, camouflaged bicycles used by the North Vietnamese army to transport supplies without detection during the Vietnam war. “That was a major demonstration of using a Third World technology to defeat a First World power,” Ambrose says, returning to his interest in the bicycle’s impact on history.

Ambrose, who became a full-time writer after a career in filmmaking and advertising, thinks we are now witnessing “a third kind of revolution or effect of the bicycle as it has become an urban vehicle. Yes, it’s still a major sporting vehicle. But bicycling allows you to smartly maneuver in crowded and congested cities. So it’s the city dweller who has taken over the bicycle in many ways.”

To which this citified cyclist says: Ride on!

Tom Ambrose considers himself “a newcomer to cycling.” True, as a youngster in Ireland in the 1950s and 1960s, he owned and rode a number of bicycles. And now, as a grandfather, he pedals around the countryside near his home in rural Suffolk on a…

Arthur Schlesinger Jr. played a unique role in American life. The author of many acclaimed works of American history and biography (his accolades included two Pulitzer Prizes, two National Book Awards, the Francis Parkman Prize and the Frederic Bancroft Prize), he also enthusiastically embraced the role of friend and confidant to significant movers and shakers on the national political scene. He was a speechwriter and adviser to presidential candidate Adlai Stevenson, and is probably best known for his position as a special assistant to President John F. Kennedy.

Interview by

Though he’s a highly regarded journalist, Scott Stossel has long endured an affliction that was hidden from many of his closest associates: near-crippling anxiety. In My Age of Anxiety, a narrative that’s both deeply personal and wide-ranging, he examines the history and treatment of this common disorder.

It took much courage for you to write this personal account of your inner life: What do you hope your book will accomplish?

I hope this book will provide readers with a deeper understanding of the condition, and of both the scientific and cultural contexts in which it exists. Especially for people struggling with anxiety, I hope the book can provide a modicum of solace—the recognition that they are not alone. I also hope people find it entertaining and possibly somewhat hopeful, despite my trawling through some dark places.

By all outside appearances, you’re the capable and confident editor of The Atlantic. Do you think many of your colleagues will be surprised to read about your struggles with anxiety?

Some of them already definitely have been. (As advance copies of the book circulate around the office, I’ve had a parade of colleagues in my office telling me they’d like to give me a hug. Which is nice and also a little uncomfortable.) And I suspect I will continue to be greeted with surprised reactions from professional acquaintances.

The book’s section on drugs is sure to be controversial. What are your thoughts about Big Pharma’s response?

I don’t yet have any sense of how Big Pharma will respond. But I’m definitely not anti-drug. (How could I be when I take medications myself!) In fact, I’d say I’m guardedly pro-pharma—drugs are the best or only solution for many people. I just think we need to be cognizant of the medical risks and societal risks. We should view drugs with both skepticism and hope.

You make many references to the caring and support of your spouse, Susanna. How are you able to maintain relationships with family and friends given your admittedly narcissistic focus on yourself and your condition?

In some ways, my inward focus on my anxiety makes me a worse husband/father/son/friend than I otherwise would be. Susanna has sometimes had to carry an unfairly heavy load. But I would like to think my anxiety has also enlarged my capacity for empathy and made me more conscientious and effective in some areas of my life (even as it has clearly made me less effective in others).

How would you describe the fiscal impact of anxiety—on families, workers and businesses, as well as the healthcare system?

By some measures the impact is huge. Missed days of work due to anxiety disorders (and depression) cost the U.S. economy upward of $50 billion annually. And anxiety is a leading cause of visits to doctors’ offices (which may actually help the economy, but is still not a good thing). Clinical anxiety can place a large fiscal burden on families—it can contribute to unemployment, alcoholism and drug addiction, as well as general distress.

You state that your lifelong struggle with anxiety might be a “source of strength” and a “bestower of certain blessings.” Can you explain how so?

Anxiety, when it’s not debilitating, can bring with it certain gifts: a heightened awareness of your environment; more sensitive social antennae; a general prudence about risk-taking; a spur toward achievement. The philosopher Søren Kierkegaard believed that the greater the anxiety, the greater the opportunity for growth. I think there’s definitely something to that—though when my anxiety is at its worst I’d trade away the opportunity for growth in exchange for the anxiety dissipating.

Though he’s a highly regarded journalist, Scott Stossel has long endured an affliction that was hidden from many of his closest associates: near-crippling anxiety. In My Age of Anxiety, a narrative that’s both deeply personal and wide-ranging, he examines the history and treatment of…

After writing three critically acclaimed novels, Gary Steyngart turned to memoir. Little Failure, published this month, is an unsparing, often funny, account of Steyngart’s anxiety-ridden life from his early childhood in Russia, through his family’s immigration to Queens, New York, and ending with the publication of his first novel. Our reading of the memoir raised some additional questions, which Shteyngart answered via email.

Interview by

As a veteran editor of Harlequin romance novels, Patience Bloom has had the enviable job of facilitating fairy-tale love stories between heroric hunks and whip-smart heroines for 16 years. When it came to her own affairs of the heart, though, Bloom's dating life was far from picture-perfect. In her 40s and after many short-term relationships that ended in disappointment, she nearly gave up on love—until reconnecting with a high school acquaintance offered a shot at her very own happily-ever-after. Romance Is My Day Job is Bloom's charming, utterly relatable account of navigating the ups and downs of dating and finding love when and where you least expect it. We asked Bloom a few questions about the book. 

How did the idea for the book come about?
I started writing Romance Is My Day Job as a stress-reliever six weeks before my wedding. Two years went by, and an agent—who became my agent—convinced me to polish the book and try to sell it. Why not? Sam and I have an extraordinary story. A reclusive 40-something romance editor unexpectedly reunites with the wild class clown of her high school years. That’s a pretty good romance. 

What was the first romance novel that you ever read? How old were you and what did you think of it?
My first official romance novel was Phantom Marriage by Penny Jordan, followed immediately by Desire’s Captive. I didn’t realize there were books like this—just for me! I was 14 and reading romances when I should have been studying for exams. I remember Desire’s Captive more because the hero’s name was Nico, and after being such a grumpus through the entire book, he finally admits his love to the heroine. I gasped and then melted.

How did you become a romance book editor? Was it something you always wanted to do?  
I liked to read romance novels, but I read a lot of other books, too: nonfiction, thrillers, literary fiction and commercial women’s fiction. Publishing was my calling, and by some happy accident, my first job was at Harlequin. So I turned my guilty-pleasure reading into a full-time job.

What was the weirdest reaction a guy ever had when you first told him about your job?
The weirdest reaction came on a fourth date with a guy, who’d just told me he’d gotten back with his ex. I didn’t know why he wanted to keep seeing me until he handed me his unpublished book. He knew all along that I was an editor, and this was the only reason why he wanted to date me. Most guys were enlightened, asked a lot of questions and thought it sounded like a fun job.

Is there a romance hero archetype that you didn’t encounter in real life? Which archetype do you feel would be the worst kind of guy to date in real life, why?
I never dated the law enforcement guy, though I appreciated their rescuing my cats during an apartment fire, giving me directions, and reassuring me during some crises in the city. Dating a NYC cop would have been too scary for me since I worry too much, but I’d have made an exception for Elliott Stabler [from the TV show “Law & Order: SVU”]. In my experience, the worst guy to date is the alpha male. He’s just a jerk. Alphas are loveable in romance novels because you know that some goodness lies behind the intensity. In real life, the alphas I’ve encountered have been sadistic as boyfriends, but fun as just friends (as long as we do what he wants to do).

What’s your favorite genre of romance?
I like moody historical romances, romantic suspense and sexy, glitzy romances (I’m not sure that’s a genre). A nice, cozy small-town romance can also be deeply satisfying. Paranormal or Western-themed romances are not as much of a draw for me, but I have read some great ones.

How did your “uninspired” dating life affect how you felt about your job?
No matter how awful my date was, the romances I read the next day were mood-boosters. If love couldn’t happen to me, these heroines felt like my sisters, also in search of someone. I rooted for the characters to find love instead. It didn’t depress me to come to work after a lame night with Mr. Not Right at All.

Why do you think romance novels are so popular with readers?
These are happy stories about love. They leave the reader with hope of some kind, not necessarily that Mr. Perfect will land in their laps, but that love exists. Romance novels are fun decadence, fantasy and dream-food for romantics.

What was it about your husband that signaled to you that he was “the one”?
I knew he was “the one” when we first spoke on the phone—within a week of our connecting on Facebook. He has this reassuring voice, and I wanted to keep listening to him. Something clicked. This felt different, so we just kept talking on the phone. Because I had two feet on the ground, I also understood that he might not recognize me as “the one” for him. I was ready for anything—even nothing.

What’s next for you?
Promoting this book is next. While I do that, I’ve started writing Cassie McBride’s Dating Adventures: How to Love Like a Romance Heroine, with a little more dating memoir thrown in. I also am generating more romance writing tips on my blog (www.romanceismydayjob.com). If that weren’t enough, I’m writing a steamy office romance (might as well).

(Author photo by Patrick Smith)

As a veteran editor of Harlequin romance novels, Patience Bloom has had the enviable job of facilitating fairy-tale love stories between heroric hunks and whip-smart heroines for 16 years. When it came to her own affairs of the heart, though, Bloom's dating life was far from picture-perfect. In her 40s and after many short-term relationships that ended in disappointment, she nearly gave up on love—until reconnecting with a high school acquaintance offered a shot at her very own happily-ever-after.

When Carol Wall hired a neighbor’s gardener to improve her long-neglected yard, she never imagined that the Kenyan immigrant would transform her outlook on life as well. In Mister Owita’s Guide to Gardening, Wall reflects on what she learned from their special friendship.

Interview by

Madhulika Sikka, executive editor of NPR News, was working with her team on an interview with President Obama when she received her breast cancer diagnosis in 2010. Today, Sikka is cancer-free, and her new book, A Breast Cancer Alphabet, is here "for anyone who has been diagnosed with breast cancer and needs a companion."

The slim, beautifully designed volume is divided into 26 short sections and is aimed at helping both those dealing with a personal diagnosis, or the diagnosis of a loved one, make sense of their journey through "Cancerland."

From "A" is for Anxiety (over test results, treatments and everything in between), to "F" is for Fashion Accessories (scarves, hats and bold earrings can make you feel a whole lot better) and "W" is for Warrior (it's OK to be a woman with a disease instead of a warrior), Sikka's approach is unabashedly honest and wholly supportive.

We asked Sikka to tell us more about the little things—and the big things—that can make a difference for cancer patients.

What inspired you to write this book?
I actually started writing for myself, to vent and to sort out my thoughts and reactions to going through breast cancer treatment. As I talked to friends about it,they thought that there was something worth sharing and encouraged me to write more. My feelings about the disease and treatment were complex.

During your initial search for answers and information about breast cancer, were there any topics that seemed particularly taboo?
Not taboo necessarily, more like glossed over. For example, in my book I use the word amputation to describe the removal of my breast. We all seem comfortable with using the medical term mastectomy but if you use the word amputation people are shocked. Yet to me, that is exactly what it felt like. It’s funny that in this case the medical term is the less challenging one for folks to deal with.

You recently spoke out against the “cause marketing” that has become popular, especially during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, or “Pinktober” as some now call it. Can you tell us more about your thoughts on this issue?
I think that the breast cancer awareness movement was one of the most significant acts in women’s health advocacy in decades and I thank goodness for it. However, I believe we have reached saturation awareness. EVERYONE is aware of breast cancer. For me the question now is what are we doing to find a cure and while we don’t have a cure, how do we help people who are going through it? The commercialization of the awareness campaign has become off-putting. As someone who has gone through breast cancer I find it hard to make a direct connection between the disease I am going through and the entire NFL being clad in pink. If you want to use the language of the awareness movement, the battle to raise awareness has been won, now it’s time to amp up the battle to find a cure.

In the book, you point out that, unlike many other diagnoses, women with breast cancer are “expected to be upbeat,” during their treatment. Why do you think this is so?
I think it goes back to the socialization of the breast cancer awareness movement, and one of its tropes is that women can “fight” this disease and “kick it” almost as if it is a were a life passage one must pass through. I find this attitude troubling because it implies that if you do not survive that somehow you didn’t fight hard enough as if it were your fault. The writer Peggy Orenstein has described “Our Feel Good War on Breast Cancer.” and I think that is a perfect description of what it has become.

You note that little things, like pillows, can make a big impact during the toughest days of treatment and recovery. What other small comforts do you recommend?
Yes, pillows were really important for me in helping me achieve some comfort during my treatment. There were other things that worked for me and it will be different for others. A friend, and fellow breast cancer patient, gave me a beautiful soft shawl to take with me to my chemotherapy treatments: I could keep myself warm and feel loved and protected by using it. We were also due a new mattress, so we went and bought one that got a tremendous amount of use while I was going through chemotherapy treatment.

Aside from reading this book, what advice do you have for people who want to be supportive of relatives or friends going through breast cancer treatment?
I think the most important thing to do is to ask the patient what they need help with, and then I think it is important for the patient to articulate what they need and to not be ashamed to ask for help. The greatest thing my friends did for me was to arrange food delivery. For close to five months, my family was fed by a rather large cast of folks who brought over nourishing meals on a regular schedule that they organized on a calendar. For my husband and two daughters this was one of the most important things that happened for us and probably the most helpful.

In your opinion, what’s the biggest myth about breast cancer treatment—and the most surprising truth?
The biggest myth about breast cancer treatment to me is that it is a fluffy pink “journey.” My breast was removed and my body was pumped with poison to chase away errant cells—that’s a pretty terrible thing to go through. I’m a pretty skeptical person, so I don’t think I had bought in to any truths beforehand so I think I’ll pass on the second part of this question!

Tell us about some of the unused contenders for certain letters that you wish you could have included. Was it difficult to limit yourself to 26 topics?
You know, it was actually hard to come up with all 26. When I first had the idea of an alphabet I wrote some sample essays and they made perfect sense. It was when I was faced with the prospect of going through the whole alphabet I realized how hard that was going to be. A few of my rejects were I is for Implant, A is for Angel and L is for Luck, not because I didn’t have things to say, but I found I was able to incorporate these ideas in other essays and find different things to focus on for these letters.

Were there any letters that you had difficulty coming up with a topic for?
The letters I, U and X for example were hard to come up with. And I will admit that what I did come up with were rather unorthodox responses, but I think I have managed to convey something useful in my final choices for these letters. The same with Z, which is almost as impossible to come up with as X!

This is your first book—was it difficult or easy for you to transition from journalist to author? Do you have any other books planned?
I had never thought that I had a book in me, more like a two page memo. If I had told myself I was going to sit down and write a book, I might not have done it. With the structure of the alphabet what I find I have written is 26 memos that turned into a book! I want to get this book published and in the hands of people I think could really benefit from it. I’ll see how this experience goes before I start thinking about anything else.

Author photo by Kainaz Amara
Illustrations by Roberto de Vicq de Cumptich

Madhulika Sikka's new book, A Breast Cancer Alphabet, is here "for anyone who has been diagnosed with breast cancer and needs a companion."

Ape, chicken, cow, dog, pig, rat, sheep, snake, beast. Each of these words has a distinct connotation, none of them positive. The fact is, though, that no animal behavior can compete with the aggressive and destructive violence exhibited by humans on a regular basis. Animal advocate Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson has published numerous bestsellers about the rich emotional lives of animals. In his latest thought-provoking book, Beasts, Masson turns his attention to humans, posing the questions: who are the real beasts, why, and what can we do about it?

Interview by

Barbara Ehrenreich and her younger sister are very close. But her sister really, really does not like the title of Ehrenreich’s new memoir, Living with a Wild God.

“She thinks I’m being too soft on theism in this book. She’s like, how can you write a book with God in the title! It was hardcore, the atheism we came from,” Ehrenreich says with a bemused laugh during a call to her home in Alexandria, Virginia, where she moved some years ago to be near her daughter and grandchildren.

Readers of Ehrenreich’s earlier books—Nickel and Dimed, Bait and Switch or Bright-Sided, for example—know her to be a smart, funny, opinionated progressive voice. Her fascinating new book—her most personally revealing work so far—almost inadvertently points to the sources of both her rigor and her passion.

Ehrenreich accepts a challenge from her younger self to explore the “uncanny” mystical experiences of her youth.

Ehrenreich, who has described herself as a fourth-generation atheist, was the child of parents raised in radicalized mining families of Butte, Montana. Her parents, we learn, eloped in their teens and eventually became successful and admired community members. “They were smart,” Ehrenreich says. “They were unusual in their upward mobility. They encouraged reading, inquiry, curiosity. But they had problems. My father had the drinking problem first. And my mother didn’t like me. This would make no sense in today’s child-raising discourse, because we now have these artisanal project children, where we constantly think about their feelings and challenges. My mother’s belief was do something useful or get out of the way. My parents imbued me with a firm, dogmatic atheism and rationalism.”

This is the crux of the story Ehrenreich explores in Living with a Wild God. Sometime around the age of 13, she began to have strange experiences of the ineffable. “In these episodes of disassociation as a teenager, I could not look at a chair and see a chair. I saw something else, unnamed, unaccounted for, something beyond language,” Ehrenreich says. At the same time, as a rationalist, she pondered the meaning of a life that ended in death in a cooly “solipsistic” manner.

For a decade or so, starting when she was 14, she kept an episodic—and remarkably articulate—journal of her thoughts and observations about this dilemma, which she called “The Situation.” Her seemingly mystical experiences culminated in a vividly described, ecstatic, hallucinatory morning in Lone Pine, California, after a ski trip with her brother and a friend.

For years, as she battled with her parents, went off to Reed College, earned a Ph.D. in cellular immunology from Rockefeller University, and then made a U-turn into social activism and a career as a writer, Ehrenreich explained these teenage episodes to herself as a kind of temporary insanity.

But about five years ago she decided to write “a massive, sweeping history of religion, the rise of monotheism, which I do not applaud.” Ultimately that big idea didn’t work, but Ehrenreich did have the journal of her younger self wrestling with big thoughts. And, it so happens, in that journal her younger self threw down a challenge in July 1958 to her future self, writing: “What have you learned since you wrote this?”

“I think there was a little bit of a secret polemic here,” Ehrenreich says of her interest in writing about the struggles of her younger self. “Which is that I think that there is a narrative trend, certainly in mainstream American fiction, of maturing, of growing beyond whatever you were in your youth and coming to a more reflective and socially responsible state. I find that kind of repellant. I have respect for the child and the teenage persons of myself. I undertook this with the feeling that I had to return to them, that I could learn from them, that their experiences were not something to be put away. Some of it is very embarrassing, which is to say I was pretty self-involved. But I see the logical rigor that got me there.”

In the intervening years, it turns out that Ehrenreich has learned quite a bit. Researching this book, which as it develops becomes a compelling mix of memoir and metaphysical rumination, she read widely in philosophy, science and the writing of mystics and others who seemed to have had experiences similar to hers. One of her most personally satisfying scientific discoveries was that the seemingly botched results of her experiments on silicon electrodes for her college senior thesis could now “be explained by a complete paradigm shift in science. There were just phenomena that could not have been imagined in 1963.” She writes that “the reductionist core of the old science has been breached. We have had to abandon the model of the universe in which tiny hard particles interact and collide to produce, through a series of ineluctable, irreversible steps, the macroscopic world as we know it.”

"I have respect for the child and the teenage persons of myself. I undertook this with the feeling that I had to return to them, that I could learn from them, that their experiences were not something to be put away."

These previously undiscovered phenomena and the conceptual shifts in science in recent decades lead Ehrenreich to an astonishing speculation in her final chapter. She wonders if hers and similar experiences could be an attempt at contact from another kind of being—not God; Ehrenreich remains an atheist—but something like what scientists call “an emergent quality, something greater than the sum of all its parts.”

Asked about this idea, Ehrenreich says, “We don’t have the data. Let me say that scientifically. We don’t know enough about the experiences other people have. I suspect many people have uncanny, unaccountable experiences that they attribute to something conventional—God or what they’ve been told God is. Or they put it aside completely. What I’m saying in this book is, let’s not bury this anymore. Something happens often enough to enough of us that we ought to know what it is. The urgency for me is sharpened by my critique of science and its unwillingness in so many ways to acknowledge that there are other conscious agencies or could be in the universe than just ourselves.”

And does Ehrenreich now believe that she’s risen to the challenge made by her earlier self? “I do feel I’ve done my best to discharge my responsibility to her.”

Barbara Ehrenreich and her younger sister are very close. But her sister really, really does not like the title of Ehrenreich’s new memoir, Living with a Wild God.

“She thinks I’m being too soft on theism in this book. She’s like, how can you write a book with God in the title! It was hardcore, the atheism we came from,” Ehrenreich says with a bemused laugh during a call to her home in Alexandria, Virginia, where she moved some years ago to be near her daughter and grandchildren.

In a frank and richly evocative memoir, the author of Under the Tuscan Sun recalls growing up in the Deep South.

Why did you feel now was the right time to write a memoir of your coming-of-age?

Moving from California (where I lived and worked for decades) back to the South reconnected me on many levels with the land I came from originally. Some of the connections were simple and primitive—the fecund and flowery smells, the cheerful sounds of the tree frogs, the grating drama of cicadas, the grand sunsets and the intense humidity.

Interview by

Fans of Roz Chast’s cartoons in The New Yorker will not be surprised to learn that her parents were an unlikely couple: Her mother, Elizabeth, was a bossy perfectionist. Her father, George, was a sensitive man often gripped by anxiety.

In her first memoir, Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?, Chast captures her parents’ long, painful decline and her struggle to deal with their descent—from their cluttered Brooklyn apartment to assisted living and eventually to hospice care. Telling the story with cartoons, text and photos, Chast leaves no aging stone unturned, revealing all the agonizing, humiliating and haunting details of growing old. If you’ve been a caregiver for an aging relative, you’re likely to find every frustrated, ridiculous or desperate thought you ever had reflected in Chast’s heart-rending and often hilarious volume.

The author/cartoonist responded to our questions about the book from her home in Connecticut.

As the book’s title makes clear, aging is not a “pleasant” topic. Why did you decide to write this book?
It wasn’t pleasant, but it was definitely interesting to me. And of course, it’s not just one’s parents who are aging. We’re all heading in that direction. Also, there were some funny, cartoon-worthy events along the way.

What personal qualities do you think you inherited from your mother? From your father?
My mother valued intelligence over looks. She didn’t care about clothes, hair or makeup. I try to care about fashion, but I have the opposite of what Frenchwomen are supposed to have: I make the least of wh­at I’ve got. I deeply wish this were not so and I try to fight it, but it seems to be in my DNA. My father was the most anxious person I’ve ever met. He was the Mozart of anxieties. He makes me look like an amateur.

Roz Chast

What moment as a caregiver made you want to throw up your hands and run for cover?
It was pretty much one long moment of that feeling. The question should be what moment didn’t make me want to run for cover. But one of the worst was when I was bringing my mother and father back to their apartment after visiting the terrible Place in Brooklyn and my mother collapsed in the stairwell while my father was having a panic attack because he couldn’t get the key to open the door to the apartment. That was an out-of-body experience for me.

Your parents were extremely close and did almost everything together. Did that make aging easier or harder for them?
It made it easier. They gave each other moral support.

What surprised you the most during the whole saga of caring for your parents?
I was surprised that there were no guidelines. There were no books like “What To Expect When Your Parents Are Dying.” I felt like I was making it up as I was going along.

Did you ever wish you had a sibling to help you get through this?
YES.

This book covers some deeply personal territory. Did you ever waver about holding back parts of the story?
I did think about holding back some parts. But I felt that holding back would perpetuate the problem of not talking about what it’s like to get really, really old. I don’t mean “spry”-old. I mean OLD-old.

Do you talk about “the future” with your own kids?
Not yet!!! But it’s coming . . . down . . . the . . . pike.

What did you learn about your own end-of-life preferences after observing your parents’ decline?
I don’t want to live the last couple of years of my life in bed, drinking Ensure and having somebody change my diaper. No, no, no. On the other hand, who knows what it’s like once you get there?

What one piece of advice would you give to a child-caretaker just starting on this path?
Get their papers in order: their will, all their financial information, who has power of attorney, what their “advance health care directives” are, health care proxy forms, your parents’ social security numbers, what medications they take, and so forth. And, if your kids are writer- or artist-types, it’s all material, so take notes.

I know, that’s two pieces of advice.

 

Cartoon © 2014 Roz Chast. Reprinted by permission of Bloomsbury.

This article was originally published in the May 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Fans of Roz Chast’s cartoons in The New Yorker will not be surprised to learn that her parents were an unlikely couple: Her mother, Elizabeth, was a bossy perfectionist. Her father, George, was a sensitive man often gripped by anxiety.

In her first memoir, Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?, Chast captures her parents’ long, painful decline and her struggle to deal with their descent—from their cluttered Brooklyn apartment to assisted living and eventually to hospice care.

Tom Robbins had no intention of writing a memoir. “I was conned into it by the women in my life,” he says with a laugh during a call to his home in the small town of La Conner, Washington.

“They had been pestering me to write down the stories that I’d been telling them—bidden and unbidden—over the years. I wrote 20 pages and showed it to them, thinking that would shut them up. But it had the opposite effect.”

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