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Before you can shape a story, you have to pay attention to the world as it really is—even when it’s messy, even when it stings. That lesson from Louise Fitzhugh’s classic Harriet the Spy has guided the career of reporter and biographer Laurie Gwen Shapiro. Her new book, The Aviator and the Showman, is the first major biography of Amelia Earhart in two decades, praised by The Washington Post and The Los Angeles Times for peeling back the myths around “Lady Lindy” to reveal the woman beneath the legend.

Shapiro has long gravitated to improbable, irresistible tales. In The Stowaway (2018), she unearthed the story of Billy Gawronski, the teenager who swam the Hudson to join an Antarctic expedition—a book born of her own dogged persistence in tracking down his widow. Before turning to biography, she was an award-winning filmmaker, co-directing the unforgettable documentary Keep the River on Your Right.

In this episode, Shapiro traces the arc of her storytelling life back to the notebooks of Harriet the Spy, and to the questions raised in a favorite Grace Paley short story, “A Conversation with My Father,” which wrestles with how to tell the truth about life without reducing it to cliché.

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“Anything Ada Calhoun wants to write is well worth reading,” declared Kirkus in its review of her new novel, Crush, a sharp and seductive exploration of midlife desire and the unruly force of infatuation. Calhoun is the author of the acclaimed history St. Marks Is Dead; the memoir Also a Poet, which chronicles her attempt to finish an abandoned biography of Frank O’Hara begun by her father, the critic Peter Schjeldahl; the essay collection Wedding Toasts I’ll Never Give; and the cultural study Why We Can’t Sleep: Women’s New Midlife Crisis. Alongside her own books, she has ghostwritten more than thirty titles, an apprenticeship that sharpened her instinct for voice, candor, and structure. “There are a lot of ways to tell a true story,” she has said. “I like looking for the most generous and interesting ones.”

In this episode, Calhoun discusses her journey from ghostwriter to memoirist to novelist, and the writers who guide her: Thornton Wilder, whose The Bridge of San Luis Rey remains a touchstone nearly a century after its publication, and Audre Lorde, whose essay The Use of the Erotic reframes desire as a source of knowledge and power.

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Few writers dance across genres with as much wit, irreverence, and intellectual curiosity as Geoff Dyer. From Out of Sheer Rage, about his struggles to write a book on DH Lawrence, to the award-winning jazz meditations of But Beautiful, he's made a career of bending forms to his will. In Homework, his first memoir, Dyer turns that restless mind to his own post-war English childhood and proves that even the most straightforward narrative can't escape his signature style. Homework is quintessential Dyer: wry, digressive and unexpectedly poignant. He reconstructs his working class, childhood—the air fix models, the hand-me-down football kits, his parents quiet sacrifices—with a novelist's eye and a standup's timing.  We also explore some of Dyer's inspirations, including Ernie Pyle's Brave Men, the stark Second World War dispatches that imprinted themselves on his millions of readers, and Ada Collins poem "The News," with its knack for finding unease in the ordinary. 

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What can we learn from Weimar Germany and its rapid unraveling in the 1930s? Lately that question has gained more urgency as the US turns away from the trans-Atlantic alliance that has underpinned European security for the past 80 years. For Katherine Bucknell, no writer was better placed than Christopher Isherwood for understanding the speed with which a country can slide into autocracy. It was his book Goodbye to Berlin that became the basis for the musical, Cabaret. Without Isherwood, no Sally Bowles. But the author’s legacy stretches far beyond Berlin, encompassing gay liberation, spiritual enlightenment, and what may be the 20th century’s most enduring May-December relationship–with his long-time partner Don Bachardy. Now Bucknell,  editor of Isherwood’s voluminous journals and letters, has taken her epic knowledge of the writer and written Christopher Isherwood, Inside Out, an 800-page biography befitting such a lion of literature. In this episode of Shelf Life we discuss the biographer’s craft, and why Isherwood’s slim novel, Prater Violet, resonates down the years.

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Nobel Laureate Rudyard Kipling is among the most derided of 20th century novelists, but in this episode of Shelf Life, the publishing legend Edwin Frank urges us to take a second look. As it happens, taking a second look was the impetus behind Frank's trailblazing publishing imprint, New York Review Books, built on the principle that too many great books had fallen out of print and deserved a second life. At my bookstore, One Grand Books, where titles are selected by celebrated bibliophiles there is hardly a shelf that does not contain an NYRB title, whether it’s CV Wedgwood’s The Thirty Years War, chosen by writer and thinker Ta-Nehisi Coates, In the Freud Archives by Janet Malcom, chosen by director and writer Mike White, or Balzac’s The Lilly in the Valley, chosen for us by director Francois Ozon. “I grew up between the pages of novels, and the better part of my adult life has been spent there, too,” Edwin Frank writes in the introduction to Stranger Than Fiction, his newly-published history of the 20th-century novel in which he explores, contextualizes, and interweaves the works of over 30 authors. We talk about Frank’s adventures in publishing, and what the 20th century novel can  teach us.

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It's been 40 years since Jeanette Winterson's debut novel, Oranges are Not the Only Fruit, launched a confident and daring new voice in English fiction, one that wasn’t afraid to take risks in the service of craft. Many books have followed,  including The Passion, Sexing the Cherry, Written on the Body, and more recently Frankissstein: A Love Story. “I am an ambitious writer,” she has written. “I don’t see the point of being anything; no, not anything at all, if you don’t have ambition for it.”  Winterson's new collection, Night Side of the River, showcases her fascination with AI and technology within the classic form of the ghost story. As she says in this episode, "What's really fascinated me  with the rise of AI and Big Tech is that for the first time since the Enlightenment, science and religion are asking the same question: Is consciousness obliged to materiality, or could we go beyond the body?”. We also talk about one of Winterson’s literary touchstones, Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities.

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Memoir meets history meets politics in Jennifer Kabat’s book, The Eighth Moon, a fascinating account of moving to the Catskills in 2005, and stumbling on a history of America’s forgotten populist uprising, the Anti-Rent War, that culminated in 1845 with the murder of a police officer, Osman Steele. Drawing on archives, conversations, and her many hikes through the countryside, Kabat favors a writing style that feels akin to an overflowing mind, moving back and forth between eras and observations, daring the reader to keep pace. You could say something similar of Lisa Robertson’s The Baudelaire Fractal, the 2020 novel that Kabat has chosen to discuss for this episode. Her other pick is “Culture and Anarchy,” by the poet Adrienne Rich. 

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A teenage prodigy who worshiped Joni Mitchell, Ricky Ian Gordon has made a career turning novels and poems into operas and song. “I was that kid who was invited to the party because I could play anything, no matter how hard, and incite everyone into singing all night,” he writes in his  memoir, Seeing Through: A Chronicle of Sex, Drugs and Opera. But that exuberant talent has an undercurrent of pain and sadness that has shaped and colored his life and career. It’s there in his opera of John Steinbeck’s depression-era novel, The Grapes Wrath, as well as his musical interpretations of poems by Langston Hughes, ee cummings, Emily Dickinson and the contemporary poet, Marie Howe, whose poem “What the Living Do,” has become a deeply personal touchstone for his life and work.

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Rex Ogle’s series of YA memoirs, beginning with Free Lunch, about life as a poor kid in a wealthy school district, and culminating this year in Road Home, which chronicles his experience as a homeless teen have won acclaim for their frank ability to illuminate the shame and isolation that comes with poverty. In the words of Ogle’s mother, "being poor in America is like staring at an all-you-can-eat buffet. You can see all of this food piled high but you can’t have any of it.” Ogle’s mother turns out to be a hugely complicated figure who towers over Free Lunch, the polar opposite of Maia Kobabe’s mother in the graphic novel, Gender Queer, one of two books that Ogle has chosen to talk about for this episode. The other is Jacqueline Woodson’s Brown Girl Dreaming, a memoir of growing up as an African American in the 1960s and 70s. 

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Is there a more primal terror than a mother’s fear of losing a child. Helen Phillips, one of our greatest speculative writers, explored that terrain in her acclaimed 2020 novel, The Need, in which a mother fears her children are being abducted by her own doppelganger. She returns to that theme ih Hum, a novel set in a near-future when artificial intelligence and surveillance pose urgent questions of what it means to be human, and how a family is capable of finding intimacy in a world mediated by technology. The maternal instinct is at the heart, too, of Fever Dream, a claustrophobic, propulsive horror story by the acclaimed Argentinian writer, Samanta Schweblin, in which a mother realizes that control is an illusion. Phillips other choice for this episode is ed Chiang’s  short story, Exhalation, from the collection of the same name, in which a robot-scientist discovers that the world is running out of energy.