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| photo: Sammie Martin |
Alice Martin is a fiction writer from North Carolina. She received her Ph.D. in literature from Rutgers University and now teaches fiction writing and American literature at Western Carolina University. She lives near Asheville, N.C., with her husband, son, clingy cat, and too many typewriters. Westward Women (St. Martin's Press, March 10, 2026) is her debut novel, part fever dream and part dystopian road trip.
Handsell readers your book in 25 words or less:
A literary, feminist thriller set in an alternate 1973, Westward Women is Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven meets Emma Cline's The Girls.
On your nightstand now:
I'm in the middle of finding some tuning-fork texts for my next writing project. So, right now I've got a treasure trove of stories about cult mentalities, complicated female friendships, and intimate possession. The pile currently consists of Sara Gran's Come Closer, Tessa Fontaine's The Red Grove, and Dizz Tate's Brutes.
Favorite book when you were a child:
It's probably a cliché given that my name is Alice, but I've always loved Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. In retrospect, these books were definitely gateway horror texts for me, filled with uncanny alternate universes and subtly threatening companions. I delighted--and delight, still!--in the strangeness of these books, in the way they center the surreal nature of girlhood, and the way they invite readers to try to make sense of nonsense.
Your top five authors:
I'm very aware of the fact that this list changes weekly. But, today:
Margaret Atwood for the way she captures the often unsettling experience of being a woman.
Karen Russell for the way she depicts both the disturbing and wondrous nature of our world, making the familiar unfamiliar all over again.
Carmen Maria Machado for her skilled embrace of embodiment.
Emily Dickinson, to feed my little 19th-century-loving heart and for the way she delights in the process of writing.
Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah for making me fall in love with the short story form again and for the intensity with which he renders his speculative (and not so speculative...) worlds.
Book you've faked reading:
I'm ashamed to even be admitting here that I haven't read this book, but I've faked having read Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca more times than I can count. This is a book I know I'd love, and one that feels so central to my writerly DNA that to admit I haven't read it feels like admitting I don't actually know how to write the kinds of books I publish. I'll read it one day... soon... I promise.
Book you're an evangelist for:
I love Rebekah Bergman's The Museum of Human History (and actually wrote a rave review of it for Shelf Awareness!). Bergman has such a talent for creating a wistful, haunting, and yet intimate atmosphere in this book. And I'm a sucker for any kind of retold fairy tale, especially one where the author manages to ground the story's surreality in the emotional depths of complex relationships. Bergman hits all those sweet spots while also including the random things I have a strange, specific affinity for: entomology, cults, and road trips.
Book you've bought for the cover:
Carmen Maria Machado's Her Body and Other Parties still has, I think, one of the best covers of all time. A startling image. A simple design. A fascinating interpretation of the title. I teach it in my college class about book publishing, and I'm always impressed, anew, with how people are drawn in by its promise of fun only to find themselves distressed by the way it threatens to choke.
Book you hid from your parents:
I can't remember which ones, exactly, but there were a number of Tamora Pierce books I hid from my parents. Silly, in retrospect, because those books aren't actually all that racy and because my parents are incredibly open-minded and easygoing people. They never would have been upset at me for reading books that included s-e-x. But, when you're a young reader encountering physical intimacy written down in black-and-white for the first time, there's something fun about hiding it.
Book that changed your life:
Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake. I was already a big Atwood fan, had already fallen in love with the way she played with narrative structure in The Blind Assassin and the way she captured the intensity and brutality of female friendship in Cat's Eye. But Oryx and Crake was the book of hers I read and thought, "Whoa, you can do that in fiction?" After that book, I never tried to temper or manage the "weirdness" in what I wrote. Now I knew I wasn't the only one drawn to that weirdness, and I certainly wasn't the only one who realized that writing about our world required us to acknowledge the weirdness in it.
Favorite line from a book:
I'm a sucker for first lines. I even used to compete in first-lines-of-literature contests (yes, really). I love how first lines are so full of promise and mystery, how they set the tone for everything after, but also how you aren't quite sure what's going to come next. One of my favorites is the opening line to Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow: "A screaming comes across the sky." In context, it's referring to a rocket. But it's a great opening to a book because it works so well without context. It's as if the world itself has ruptured and is letting out the sound we all feel but can't make, like the moment in Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway when everyone freezes and simultaneously looks up at the plane passing overhead. It's what we've decided, collectively, is unspeakable made, for a second, recognizable.
Five books you'll never part with:
I like how this question is different from "what are your five favorite books." Those change all the time. But the books I always want on hand have more to do with nostalgia and with what has made me, me. Those books are Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (for the reasons stated above), Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake (also discussed above), Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (for comfort and laughs), Elena Ferrante's My Brilliant Friend (to remind me why I write about female friendships), and Louisa May Alcott's Work (to remind me why I love studying and teaching 19th-century American literature).
Book you most want to read again for the first time:
"The first time" effect has lessened for me over the years. When I think about that "wow, I'll never feel like this again" moment, I tend to think of reading in my teenage years. I think of how I felt when I read Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty the first time. I was obsessed with that book all through middle and high school. It was a book I stayed up late reading, that enchanted me. Now, I realize it foretold my interest in the 19th century, in stories about the intensity of female friendships, in alternate worlds. Rather than reading a certain book for the first time again, I'd want to recapture that moment, what it felt like to discover the absolute exhilaration and pure pleasure of reading.
A gateway book that made you like a genre you normally don't read:
I'm typically not a big nonfiction reader. But Friday Night Lights by H.G. Bissinger was a gateway narrative nonfiction book for me. I love the portrait Bissinger paints of a crumbling but still pulsatingly alive Americana town via a cast of incredibly complex characters. Devastating and beautiful. Beautiful in its devastation.