Tuesday, July 14, 2026

Man Overboard!, by Kathleen Rooney: "Men really will do literally anything instead of going to therapy"

Let's start here: Kathleen Rooney is the author of one of my favorite pieces of writing this year: Her essay, "Why Criticism Continues to Matter: Book Reviews and Our Literary Community" at Chicago Review of Books (which she originally delivered as her opening remarks at an AWP panel) is astoundingly inspiring. I can't recommend reading it enough. Always remember, "Art is the transmission of the human spirit."

Now, Rooney is also the author of one of my favorite novels of the year, too! Man Overboard! is a funny, inventive fiction about a fellow examining his life whilst treading water in the Gulf of Mexico. 

You might be thinking, okay, is the sole plot of this novel really a guy who drunkenly fell (or jumped?) off a cruise ship and is forced to have a good long think? Is this really going to play for 200 pages? 

Yes. Yes it does. It plays magnificently. Man Overboard! is a voice-y, mischievous novel. And if brevity is the soul of wit, it's a very soulful one, as well. But as much as we're amused on a line-by-line basis, what's really going on here? 

Our man overboard is a dude named Kick Kilpatrick, a bro-tastic 33-year-old personal trainer, flirt, and former swimmer who also has a penchant for clowning. Literally. His great dream in life (you know, should he survive his current predicament) is to continue his education at clown college, but he's kept this as a secret from his family and friends, worried about their opinions. Kick has layers, multitudes. But his big thing is that he and older sister are still coming to terms with their mother leaving the family with no reason and no contact since Kick was 10. 

So as Kick floats, he ruminates about his life, sometimes stopping to have a chat with various senteinent sea creatures (or maybe that's just in his head) -- a dolphin, a sea horse, an octopus, etc. "No more distractions to be had," he thinks. "I have no choice but to be really present." 

But why this novel works so well and why I REALLY loved it is that we begin to see Kick as a stand-in for all men these days. The book's kind of a long and elaborate joke (because the best jokes are social commentary at their core) that all men need is 20 hours in the ocean by themselves to figure their shit out. But it's funny because it's true! Wouldn't we be better off in society as a whole if men were forced to do a little more self-examination? To interrogate themselves? To try to figure out why they are the way they are? To come to terms with past trauma? To get some clarity on why they do what they do?

Will Kick get that clarity? And even if does, will it be all for naught if he sinks quietly into the sea? Or will he be rescued, now armed with a whole new insight about his life and marching orders from himself to himself about changes he needs to make?

I read this so quickly, and you probably will too. Rooney is just so fun to read! Cannot recommend more highly. A perfect summer read. 

Thursday, July 9, 2026

In Defense of Reading: A Few Thoughts on The Atlantic's Hit Piece

Apparently, the age of reading is over, or so screams The Atlantic's rage-baity August cover. The cover story itself is headlined thusly: "The End of Reading Is Here." Both of these headlines are, of course, purposefully provocative. The Atlantic knows what it's doing. They want to stir us up. They want to create a commotion. And a commotion they have created. 


Honestly, the piece is solid and I would encourage you to read it. The author, Rose Horowitch, cites all the statistics and studies we've seen before -- yes, fewer adults read for pleasure now than even 20 years ago. Yes, many kids these days have trouble extracting information from and summarizing complex texts. Yes, we're in age where it's easier to ask ChatGPT and get wildly inaccurate information than it is to read an article. So yes, there are definite cracks in the foundation of our literate society.

I went into the story with my hackles up because of the rage-baity headlines. And then about two-thirds of the way through reading the piece, I fired off this Note on Substack. I didn't want to still be mad at it, but I was. If the story is meant as a warning, good on you The Atlantic. But the tenor of the story actually does match the headlines: Reading IS over now and forever, it argues. And there's nothing we can do to stop the descent into dumbassery. 

Of course, that's absurd. Reading is not over. We are not at the end of reading. And in addition to rejecting the general premise, there are also several parts of the piece that hit my brain sideways. So below, I included some excerpts of the article that sore-thumbed me. As in stuck out. 

Sideshow Bob from The Simpsons famously recognized the irony of going on TV to decry it. I also think it's funny to give you short snippets of a nearly 10,000-word article purporting to herald the end of reading. But let's agree to move on and enjoy each other's company. What do you say?


The books that people do read are simpler than they used to be. New York Times best sellers today have sentences that are about one-third shorter than they were a century ago. Longer sentences aren’t inherently better. But their former ubiquity suggests an age when Americans had the inclination and ability to read serious works of literature.

This is kind of snooty paragraph, isn't it? Horowitch argues that in 1958, Doctor Zhivago, with its complex sentences and even more complex plot, was the bestselling book of the year. Last year, it was Sunrise on the Reaping, by Suzanne Collins, a book already part of an established series with simple sentences and a straightforward plot. Lots of teens and GenZers are reading not just this book, but tons of YA books. And apparently that's a harbinger for the end of reading? Wait, what? I thought the problem was teens AREN'T reading. Maybe it's just that tastes have shifted, as they naturally do. What if reading is just changing, not going away? 


Trump is our first postliterate president. It is difficult to imagine him being elected leader of a country where information is primarily spread through text.

Literally nothing about these sentences is true. Trump himself may be postliterate (or never was in the first place) but that doesn't mean the rest of us are. And this so-called postliteracy is only one of about 23,328 reasons Trump won (the second time). Were we also postliterate in 2016? 


Reading books is a workout for the attention span. The more you read, the easier it is to read, and the more you’re rewarded with new understanding. Eventually the process is more pleasurable than it is challenging.

Agreed on all counts here. But this is true for just about anything -- running, writing, developing any virtuous habit. Maybe the issue, then, isn't isolated to reading. Maybe the larger issue is teaching young people to find things they love and to convincing them of the value of continuing to do them. 


Writing is the way people figure out what they think, and how to convey those thoughts to someone who doesn’t already share them. Writing is hard because the writer is learning. If AI eliminates the challenge, it also eliminates the learning. Early studies have suggested that this is exactly what happens when people use AI to write. The process is easier. The product is often better than what someone could compose on their own.

BARF. The product of AI writing is often better? Maybe my head is firmly buried in the sand here, but let me just say definitively: No it's not. AI writing is not better. What AI does ISN'T actually writing, to be clear. Also, this paragraph makes it seem like AI is inevitable. AI is not inevitable. I liked this paragraph a lot, until those last two sentences. 


By some measures at least, books continue to thrive. Last year, print-book sales were higher than they were a decade ago. Barnes & Noble opened more than 60 new stores. Almost 400 independent bookstores sprung up in 2025. Substack has seen an explosion of subscriptions for long-form writing. Celebrities such as Dua Lipa and Reese Witherspoon have used their fame and influence to launch wildly successful book clubs. Audiobooks have become a billion-dollar industry.

"By some measures at least..." LOL! This whole paragraph, which is near the bottom of the story, is just the tip of the iceberg of evidence we could offer for reading and reading culture's popularity. But it feels like just a tossed-off way of "both sidesing" the argument she's so carefully crafted until this point. Also, independent bookstores don't "spring up" as if someone just waved a magic wand. Minor detail, I know, but word choice here is very important. 


The notion of a popular literary figure appearing on the cover of a print newsweekly read by millions of Americans is impossible to imagine today.

Taylor Jenkins Reid was on the cover of Time last May. πŸ™„


In the years since—I’m not quite sure when—the habit slipped. The change was subtle. I became busier. I started scrolling on my phone before bed instead of reading. My attention began to wander every few pages. What did it matter if I read less? No one was checking on my progress. And the books would always be there. I could pick them up later.”

Horowitch says she used to love reading, but now doesn't...or just doesn't do it as much. If I were Horowitch's editor, I would've deleted this paragraph with such extreme prejudice that the paragraphs around it would've quivered in fear. This paragraph, which appears near the end of the piece, makes it seem like the whole article is one long justification for why Horowitch herself has stopped reading. Anecdotal evidence is evidence, but not convincing evidence. 


So, in conclusion, are we squarely now in a "postliterate society," as the article claims? No. No we are not. Do we have some work to do? Yes. Yes we do. So let's do it. Let's read books!


Tuesday, June 30, 2026

5 Best Books of 2026...So Far

I've spent much of 2026 so far on backlist -- an unusual reading practice for me. But I have a milestone birthday coming up this year, and it's honestly messing me up a little -- it's made more acutely aware than ever that time isn't infinite. So I've tried to mix in books I've had on my shelves for a while -- The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver), A Visit From the Goon Squad (Jennifer Egan -- a reread), Telegraph Avenue (Michael Chabon), Office Girl (Joe Meno -- a reread), and many more. I highly recommend a good backlist binge. It's good for the soul.

And but so, here are my six favorite 2026 novels so far. 

Vigil, by George Saunders -- I mean, duh. Not coincidentally, this novel about coming to terms with mortality (among MANY other things) which I read in January was part of the inspiration for catching up on old books I'd missed before. 

How We See The Gray, by Rachel LeΓ³n -- There should be more novels about social workers. Social workers are superheroes! This fantastic novel set in Rockford, Illinois, interrogates the foster care system through the perspectives of several characters -- foster parents, social workers, parents, and children. A devastating novel also shouldn't be this funny and cool -- but it is. 

The Left and the Lucky, by Willy Vlautin -- A heartbreaking, beautiful story about everyday people just trying to make it in a world that doesn't want them to succeed. In just a matter of a few years and a few titles, Willy Vlautin has become one of my favorite writers. 

Brawler, by Lauren Groff -- I mean, duh (again). Of course, Groff's new story collection would be here. Groff's grocery list would be here. But Brawler is very, very good. 

So Old, So Young, by Grant Ginder -- Such a relatable look at friendship through the years. These characters fall in and out of touch, fight and reconcile, harbor grudges against each other, and develop rivalries with their friends’ new friends. Basically, life. 

Bonus Best Book:

Tenderness, by Rowan Beaird (out July 21) -- I have to include this wonderful cult/wedding weekend novel out in late July. I got to interview Rowan for a piece for the Chicago Review of Books that'll be out on the book's pub date, so stay tuned. In the meantime, hit that preorder now! You're definitely going to want to read this. 

Thursday, June 25, 2026

Angel Down Won the Pulitzer: Let's Discuss

On May 4, when Marjorie Miller, Administrator of the Pulitzer Prizes, announced, first, that Angel Down was one of the three finalist for Fiction, I got really excited and typed out a quick Slack message to my friend Michael. But I'd spoken too soon. Then, Miller announced: "And the Pulitzer Prize goes to...Angel Down." WHOAAA! Incredible. Did not see that one coming.

Admittedly, at that point, I hadn't read the novel yet, but it had long been on my list. Michael had read it and had been adamant that I should. He was blown away. So then I did read it, and I was also blown away.

At the Chicago Review of Books today, in a new feature we've titled "Critics in Conversation", Michael and I discuss this unlikeliest of unlikely Pulitzer wins, our experiences reading the novel, and what it could mean FOR THE VERY FUTURE OF LITERATURE. 😁

We had lots to say, so please head over to CHIRB to read the full post. I don't think you'll be disappointed.





Friday, June 12, 2026

Whistler, by Ann Patchett: Are All Happy Families Happy In the Same Way?

One thing I've learned over the years from reading a lot novels is that if I ever lose touch with someone who I used to be close to and want to reconnect, I'll just go hang out in New York City for a while, ride the subway, go to a museum, maybe catch a ballgame at Yankee Stadium, and eventually I'll just randomly bump into that person again. 😁

This is of course tongue in cheek, but Ann Patchett's sweet new novel Whistler is the second novel I've read this year (The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny is the other...and there are a TON more, Martyr! also comes to mind) in which a random reconnection in a city of 8.5 million people is the plot catalyst. Generally speaking, this bugs me. 

It bugged me a little bit here, but I'm not going to let my own silly hang ups prevent me from enjoying an Ann Patchett novel, for goodness sake. Ann Patchett has earned the right to do whatever she pleases. And the good news here is that even if you're not totally vibing with a Patchett plot, her prose is engaging and endearing enough to keep you reading. Some writers you just connect with. Ann Patchett is one of those writers for me, and I know this is a common refrain among readers. 

Anyway, so here's what happens: Daphne and her husband Jonathan are at the Met, when Jonathan notices a seemingly creepy old guy following them. He confronts the guy and learns he's Daphne's stepfather! Eddie and Daphne's mother were briefly married when Daphne was 9, and Daphne has all but forgotten about him -- it's been 44 years, after all. But the two did share a traumatic event -- a car accident, in which they were trapped overnight -- the accident being the on-the-surface reason Daphne's mother divorced Eddie. She couldn't trust him anymore. But of course there is much more to it. And so the novel chronicles the story of their reconnection while delving into the past.  

Another thing I've learned reading a lot of fiction: Happy characters usually make for boring novels. But dammit if Ann Patchett isn't a rule-breaker. This novel is full of jolly, well-adjusted characters without much friction between them. There is one big family secret, but it's revealed reasonably quickly and the fallout isn't huge. Indeed, throughout this novel, there's hardly any of the conflict or big blowouts you'd normally see in family dramas. 

What is Patchett up to here, then? At its core, this is a novel about the nature of memory and how perspective changes over time. It's about a second chance at family, when a second chance isn't something you even knew you needed. Also, there's a story about a horse named Whistler. It's related, trust me.

If you've read this far, you've probably gotten the sense that this isn't my favorite Patchett novel. I'm in the minority, I think -- so many other readers seem to have loved this book. But what do we say in situations like this? A mid-tier Patchett is still better than a top-tier novel from 90 percent of other writers. And that's a hill I'll die on.