As February was winding down, I realised it had been some time since I picked up a book about writing and, so, I reached for The Writer’s Library (2020), which I found remaindered last autumn.
It’s a set of interviews conducted by Nancy Pearl and Jeff Schwager which sounds a little fancy for the explosions of bookishness therein.
Of the 22 writers, only one is unfamiliar to me (Laurie Frankl, have you read her?) and now I am curious about her too, because she loved the Beverly Cleary books growing up, just as I did.[There actually isn’t much talk of writing, overall, so I picked up Claudia Tate’s Black Women Writers and Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act instead.]
Situationally, Nancy and Jeff have clearly scheduled these meetings, and sometimes there are details about those arrangements included (directions to bring a stack of favourite books, for instance…most of us just do that anyway, right?)
But some segments feel so comfortable that it seems they get together regularly. (That could be my imagination.)
Luis Alberto Urrea’s was especially like this, and it included this segment (which belies my observation that there isn’t a lot about writing in these interviews) about his experience meeting Ursula K. Le Guin, who came to be his mentor:
“She’d give me these insane bits of wisdom, because she was convinced I was actually going to do this thing—I was actually going to write—and she would tell me these things, like ‘I want you to remember something,’ and I said, ‘What?’ And she said, ‘Invariably, when men write about women, their characters in some part of the book will stop before a mirror and say, ‘My god, my breasts are magnificent.’ And I just was dying, you know? And I didn’t know if she was serious or not. And she smacked her hand on the table, and she said, ‘We don’t do that!’ I said, ‘I’ll remember. I will remember.’”

Of course, what I was hoping for was a set of new reading recommendations, and there are plenty. T.C. Boyle and Donna Tartt had the most recommendations in my notes, by the end of the book.
And I also appreciated that some discussions made me determined to actually read a book I’d long meant to read anyhow. Like this, from Andrew Sean Greer:
“Colm Toibin almost never writes about being gay, but there’s something about Brooklyn that feels to me like a gay man telling the story of the struggles of identity, and expectation, and that kind of thing. I don’t know. So I think that’s an abstract way of thinking about it.”
But I didn’t pick up Booklyn yet. Instead, I went straight for Ellen Tebbitts (a Cleary reread, because of Siri Hustvedt’s enthusiasm for it in the third grade—the same author Frankl triumphs).

And for Peter Orner’s Am I Alone Here? because Jennifer Egan had this to say: “There comes a point where saying it’s one of your favorites doesn’t really mean anything if it’s been too long since your last reading.”
Orner’s book is a real favourite and its subtitle Notes on Living to Read and Reading to Live explains it all. His blend of biography (his father has died) and daily life (fatherhood, husbandhood, etc.) with his bookish obsessions is just perfect for my taste. And I have been wanting to return to it since I first read it.
Mostly, however, I found myself flagging insightful phrases from the interviews that weren’t necessarily recommendations, but which brush up against why and how I read.
Like this, from Madeline Miller: “Sometimes you read the next book by an author because what you really want is more of the earlier book.” (This was true for me with A.S. Byatt: I wanted another Possession and had to wait for some time before I could accept Frederica on her own terms.)
This from Dave Eggers: “I never read for plot; even now I don’t really. It doesn’t matter to me that much what happens. I don’t turn the pages to see who did it. I’m reading for the quality of the prose, a way of seeing the world.” (I think of Anne Michaels’ Fugitive Pieces, with its language and structure presenting its own perspective.)
And this from Laila Lalami: “It’s the ultimate white privilege to be able to ignore politics.” (I came to Lalami through fiction—Secret Son, when it was listed for the Orange Prize, now the Women’s Fiction Prize—but it was her Conditional Citizens: On Belonging in America which stands out for me…even though I avoided it originally because I’m not American.)
I’m a rather moody reader. If I don’t feel like biting my nails, Maus goes back into the stack for the moment. If I don’t want to sniffle, The Gathering remains untouched. If I only want a single chuckle, only a page of Kate Beaton gets read. If ‘traversed’ or ‘pettishly’ or ‘edification’ annoys, and nine words where six would do, Tom Sawyer is rebuffed.
But I’m always in the mood for a book about books.
I read This is How It Always Is by Laurie Frankel and gave it four stars! Appreciate the quote from Lalia Lalami too – I gave The Other Americans four stars and am going back and forth on whether to read her new book The Dream Hotel. Totally resonate with being a moody reader and looking forward to reading/seeing what you do decide to read next!
I love books about books, and this one sounds brilliant. But you’re right, they’re a dangerous read for the effect they have on the wishlist…
I like it when authors not only recommend books but say why. Many of these authors’ reasons are great, but, you’ve just read my last post on Other houses, so you will guess that I particularly like Eggers’ “I don’t turn the pages to see who did it. I’m reading for the quality of the prose, a way of seeing the world.”
I’m not really a moody reader, though I wouldn’t say mood never affects my choice. But, like you, I am always in the mood for books about books.
Oh I do love these sorts of books. Eleanor Wachtel’s Writers & Company is a great interview-based one I’m sure you’re familiar with. The combinations of authors and books are always fascinating, and it also turns you back to think about which books have meant the most to you and why. This Is How It Always Is by Laurie Frankel was a popular selection at my book club before I joined, so I caught up with it via the library and enjoyed it.
What an excellent companion-read that one would make. I’ll have a look and see if I can find my copy and just…peek…inside.
And thank you for correcting my spelling on FrankEl’s name; I blame Margaret Renkl for that one! heheh Now I see just how popular LF is. Do you have the sense that The oldest one available to me locally is Goodbye for Now and the newest Family Family. But also the one you mentioned. Just the fact that she grew up reading Cleary makes me think I would enjoy her writing: surely that’s the important part, eh?
I love books about books in spite of how detrimental they are to my TBR. I haven’t read one in awhile though and I am itching to read Elaine Castillo’s How to Read Now and Dionne Brand’s Salvage: Readings from the Wreck. I’m hoping to get to one of those in the next few weeks.
I was just checking recently to see if Castillo’s is in PB yet! But nope (not here, anyway). Brand’s turned out to be as excellent as imagined, and it took me to The Blue Clerk (which was also very enjoyable). I kind of wished I’d read them in the opposite order, actually, if you have easier access to TBC. But maybe you’ve already read that one?
I’ve been eyeing that one over at BMV myself–sounds like I should get a copy!
I wanted another Possession after Possession as well, though I did like the Frederica stories right from the start. The third one lost me a little bit, though.
I mean, there are copies at TPL (along with her Book Lust series), but borrowed today, one might just pick through the interviews with authors who appear pertinent in this moment. Owned, it’s there for another browse down the road, when interests might slant differently.
Frederica was too not-Possession for me but, in the early aughts, a bookclub chose The Whistling Woman, so I went back to the start. Could have made a difference because I hadn’t already gotten attached to the earlier pair when they appeared to be self-sufficient, a decade ahead of the third?
I *should* just get it from the library–I’m trying to buy fewer books. (I’m cutting back. Said the drunk staggering down the street…)
Really all I remember of Babeltower, which I read when it came out, was that Byatt really didn’t like the 60s. I don’t have any real sense of the public 60s–I was too young–but there were things I probably wouldn’t have liked either, but still. It just seemed grumpy I thought at the time. The Whistling Woman I liked again. But the first two (Garden & Still Life) I really loved, even though they were so different from Possession.
What a great read. The quotes you’ve pulled have made me reflect on my own reading, so there must be so much food for thought in the entirety of it.
Exactly! Just a sentence or two had me thinking about so many different reading experiences. And, often the writers with whom I expected to resonate with less were part of the conversations that have lingered.
This sounds right up my alley and I’m delighted to find it’s eaily available in the UK. I’m a fan of Nancy Pearl although I’d not come across Jeff Schwager before.
I’ll be curious to see if you enjoy it as much as I did, given the focus on American writers (meaning authors who are currently based in the U.S.). I especially like the little summary list of books at the end of each interview, a quick refresher.