WORDS WITH…
Ann Patchett The author and bookseller was ready to start her ninth novel. Then the pandemic hit, and the essays started coming BY MARION WINIK Ryan Muir
When lockdown hit in March 2020, Ann Patchett had been planning to begin work on her ninth novel. But, as she explains in the introduction to These Precious Days (Harper/ HarperCollins, Nov. 23), her new essay collection, the formerly silly fear that she might die before completing the novel—a concern that popped up during the composition of each of her previous books, from The Patron Saint of Liars (1992) to The Dutch House (2019)—suddenly seemed a little too real. So she trained her focus on nonfiction and the now-pressing question of, as she puts it, “what matters most in this precarious and precious life.” She answers this not philosophically or generally but through 22 personal essays that circle that theme. These Precious Days is filled with stories of Patchett’s relationships, family, house, and career, told, according to our reviewer, “with candor, emotion, and knockout storytelling power.” We spoke to her by Zoom to learn more. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity. The title essay of this book is an ode to a great friendship cut short. You’ve written about this topic before— most famously about your friendship with Lucy Grealy in the memoir Truth and Beauty. 178
|
1 december 2021
|
nonfiction
|
People have always said to me, “What do you think would have happened if you had written that book when Lucy was alive?” Well, of course, Lucy would have loved it. That stuck with me—what if you write about the people you love while they’re still around? That inspired the essay about my best friend Tavia, and the title essay is an example of it, too. Though I knew Sooki would die, she was very much alive when the piece was written and published. Sooki was Tom Hanks’ assistant. You met her when you interviewed Tom in D.C., bonded over email, then ended up hosting her in your home as she underwent chemo during quarantine. I started thinking about the essay while Sooki was staying with us—we had been talking for months and months and doing everything together. Then the last night, I sat her down with a list of questions. I wasn’t sure how she would react because she was so private. But she just bloomed. People really do enjoy the genuine, engaged attention of another human being. She went on to read many different drafts of the essay—it was hugely important to her. She corrected me on little factual things—like which city she and Tom were in when making a particular movie—but the biggest correction was about when we did mushrooms. I thought I had offered to be with her while she did it, and she said, “Oh no, we were always going to do it together.” Ah yes, the infamous Ann Patchett–on-mushrooms incident. Your readers may be surprised to hear about this. Well, I don’t think anybody would have wanted to hear a story in which Ann Patchett takes mushrooms and sees God, but a story in which Ann Patchett takes mushrooms and crawls around on her hands and knees vomiting? That’s kind of great. So many memoirs are about dysfunction and tragedy, but this book is largely about good fortune and happi-
kirkus.com
|
