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photo: Tess Steinkolk |
Jennifer Belle is the author of Going Down; High Maintenance; Little Stalker; and The Seven Year Bitch. Her essays and stories have appeared in the New York Times Magazine, the Wall Street Journal, the Independent (London), Harper's Bazaar, Ms., BlackBook, the New York Observer, Post Road, and many anthologies. She has also published a book for children, Animal Stackers (illustrated by David McPhail). She lives in Greenwich Village with her husband and two sons, and leads a writing workshop, affectionately called Belle's Hell. Swanna in Love (Akashic, January 30) is a coming-of-age novel that explores adolescent desire from the girl's point of view.
Handsell readers your book in 25 words or less:
It's 1982. An inverse Lolita, a 14-year-old girl, has an affair with a 38-year-old married dad, and she is making all the moves.
On your nightstand now:
My current nightstand is an old black milk crate, and on it is a small pile of books topped by Lovely Me: The Life of Jacqueline Susann by Barbara Seaman. Jacqueline Susann wrote Valley of the Dolls, wore a lot of Pucci, and was a master at publicity stunts. I had always wanted to do a publicity stunt and, finally, for my last book, I came up with one. I hired 100 actors to read my book on the NYC subway--and laugh.
Favorite books when you were a child:
Eloise by Kay Thompson (illustrated by Hilary Knight). Her voice is always in my head: "I am Eloise. I am six. I am a city child. I live at the Plaza." The Little House on the Prairie series by Laura Ingalls Wilder formed all of my romantic notions and spiritual core. Judy Blume got me through my parents' divorce. The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles by Julie Andrews Edwards, read to us by our third-grade teacher, was the most exciting book I'd ever heard in my life. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott taught me character development, structure, and plot.
Your top five authors:
Charles Portis, J.D. Salinger, Anton Chekhov, John Kennedy Toole, Vladimir Nabokov. I always ask my students to list their top 10 books, and we make a shared reading list. I quickly noticed that the men always had only men on their lists, and the women had men and women. Now I'm guilty of having all men. I adore these writers more than I can begin to describe, but it's women who have been my guides: Jean Rhys, Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott, Margaret Mitchell, and Judy Blume.
Book you've faked reading:
One summer, when I was 11, I went to French Woods Theater Camp. I brought only one book with me: The Brothers Karamazov. I thought it would make me look cool. I spent a lot of time avoiding learning how to water-ski with that book open on my lap. I could not tell you one thing about that book.
Book you're an evangelist for:
I'm an evangelist for all books that are uncensored by today's new publishing standards of political correctness. I long to read books in which people are saying and thinking what people actually say and think. I've recently started to buy all the books in the "banned" section at the Strand. I just read Kramer vs. Kramer by Avery Corman, which was in that section. I've watched the movie dozens of times, but I'd never read it. It was so refreshing to read the uncensored male voice. I've been begging my writer friends not to let their work get watered down and to write what they want to write.
Book you've bought for the cover:
I buy vintage editions of books sometimes because the cover brings back a certain feeling. The covers of Nancy Drew books, still to this day, bring a chilling terror down my spine. The Hidden Staircase--oh my God. One book I didn't buy for its cover was A Confederacy of Dunces. That terrible illustration of Ignatius Reilly on the cover repelled me for years. And my new cover--well, it's controversial. People either love it or absolutely hate it.
Book you hid from your parents:
I hid The Joy of Sex and The Sensuous Woman by "J" from my parents, but I got them from their own dining-room bookshelf in the first place. I'd read them when I knew they wouldn't be home and then put them back meticulously the way I had found them--and made sure my eyes didn't go to them when we were eating dinner.
Book that changed your life:
True Grit by Charles Portis literally changed my life. Talk about judging a book by its cover: a friend gave it to me during Covid, and I thought, Why would I want to read this? It had a gun on it and was some kind of Wild West book. It was nothing I would ever be interested in. Then, one day, when I was upstate with nothing to do, I opened it. The opening scene was a 14-year-old girl witnessing three hangings. Three hangings. It had been over 11 years since I had published a novel. There was something I had always wanted to write, but I didn't think I could. The character I had in mind was also 14, and an agent had told me adults wouldn't be interested. Now, reading Portis's 14-year-old protagonist, Mattie Ross, go about avenging the murder of her father, I suddenly felt brave enough to write what I had always wanted to write. I believe I owe my new book to True Grit and to the friend who gave it to me.
Favorite line from a book:
"Then it would depend on the ring." --Laura to Almanzo during his proposal in These Happy Golden Years.
"Do you let little girls hooraw you, Cogburn?" --LaBoeuf to Rooster in True Grit. There's not a bad line in that book, which has some of the best dialogue ever written.
Five books you'll never part with:
I'm not sure I understand the question. Why would anyone part with a book?
Book you most want to read again for the first time:
In a way, every book I reread feels like I'm reading it for the first time--even children's books that I can literally recite by heart. And having children gives you the opportunity to experience books as if for the first time through their eyes. What I wish is that I could again be the age at which I read those books, in the place and time where I read them. I'd love to be sitting on the rug in Mr. Pollock's classroom, listening to Whangdoodle; or listening to my record set of Through the Looking Glass, read by Cyril Ritchard, on the couch in our living room at 670 West End Avenue; or sitting in the hammock chair in my tiny bedroom reading Gone with the Wind and hundreds of other books; or cutting school to finish Catcher in Washington Square Park; or next to a boyfriend at Caffe Reggio, gasping in amazement at the passages in Confederacy. Books stay the same, even after we change. That's one of the things that's great about them.