Four years ago, at an event at the incredibly wonderful Reading Public Library (in Reading Massachusetts) one of the librarians bought my second novel book, The Comfort of Lies, for her mother. For Mother’s Day. Using a large amount of not-usually-available-to-me control, I didn’t say any of the following: “Nothing says Happy Mother’s Day like a … Read more
Roman à clef is a form of fiction I’ve always enjoyed reading, from Primary Colors to The Devil Wears Prada). Encyclopaedia Britannica defines roman à clef like this: (French: “novel with a key”) novel that has the extraliterary interest of portraying well-known real people more or less thinly disguised as fictional characters. In The Widow of … Read more
What’s the word for impotent worry activated by reading the morning paper? When your mind swirls with horror at people’s pain and you think of how you can effect, perhaps, if you work very hard, a fingernail’s length of change. Perhaps the word should be horror-fever. Symptoms: choking on overseas flood worry, aching with news … Read more
Between pretending to be perfect mothers (and fathers) the reality of flawed (real) moms lay murky truth: We always love our children; we don’t always love being mothers. We’re M&M’s, our shells of goodness covering malleable centers of insecurity, always seeking evidence we’re not alone. Great books of being raised by evil parents abound; … Read more
Could it be possible that our lust for the bad boys—a hunger which begets dreams that bear nightmares—begins the night we aim our reading flashlights on Rhett Butler and his ilk? Face it—who took away our breath? Who were we trained to want? Namby-pamby Ashley or the dashing Rhett? How about the other side? The … Read more