The book that changed my life

To read is to have experiences; every book changes my life at least a little bit. The first time I can remember this happening was when I was 10, with a biography of Thomas Edison.

The book I wish I’d written

I aborted a third novel, and it’s interesting (for about five seconds) to imagine what I would have produced had I soldiered on through to the end of it. I might have liked to do groundbreaking work such as Haruki Murakami’s Wind-Up Bird Chronicle or Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, but why would I want Murakami and Ferrante not to have written those books themselves?

The last book that made me cry

I defy anyone to finish Halldór Laxness’s Independent People without wetting the pages with tears.

The book that had the greatest influence on my writing

Maybe CS Lewis’s Narnia books, because I wanted to read them again and again and because writing begins with that kind of reading.

The book I think is most underrated

The Man Who Loved Children, Christina Stead’s masterpiece, remains the most fabulous book that hardly anyone I know has read.

The book I couldn’t finish

Ulysses. I needed a graduate thesis adviser to crack a whip over my head, and didn’t have one.

The book I’m most ashamed not to have read

I can speak very knowledgeably of Proust, as if I’ve read all seven volumes of In Search of Lost Time. But I’m a terribly slow reader, especially of Proust.

The book I am currently reading

I just finished reading the manuscript of Rachel Kushner’s forthcoming novel, The Mars Room. It’s her best book yet, another big step forward. A California novel set in the world of prisons and strip clubs.

The book I most often give as a gift

Lately it has been Michael Frank’s brilliant and recently published memoir, The Mighty Franks. I’m responsible for more than 50% of its sales at our local bookstore.

The book I’d most like to be remembered for

I’d rather be alive than remembered.