I have seen the future, and it doesn’t work.
—Robert Fulford
Do you think of this as the last book you’ll ever write?
Oh—what’s your next project?
Does each book light the match for the next one, then, almost like chain-smoking?
You’ve written books about stuttering, basketball, “morality,” celebrity “culture,” race, vicariousness, mistranslation, the “new autobiography,” the American industrial sports complex, death and dying, “reality,” loneliness, fake documents, literature, J. D. Salinger, the life-versus-art “dilemma,” suicide, brevity, marriage, masculinity, sexual trauma, war photography, “other people,” Donald Trump, and porn. What if anything connects these rather disparate topics?
When do we get to read your next novel?
Is that really fiction, though?
Could you imagine writing a straightforward novel?
How about a sequel to that growing-up novel of yours? I’d love to know what those “characters” are doing now.
Of all the books ever written, which one do you wish you had written?
Really?
All seven—or just the first?
Is it fair to say that you’ve entered a late or last stage of your career?
Do you have any gas left?
Can you imagine getting to a place where you don’t write anymore?
Would that perhaps be a relief?
How about a place where you don’t even read anymore?
Are you nearing that stage?
What book—that you’ve written—has changed your life the most?
What book—that you’ve read—has changed your life the most?
Where are you headed tonight?
Pretty much now?
May I come with? I’m very careful, as you can see, in all covid-related matters.
For all of us, the plane is going down; what are you doing to slow its descent?
What do you see around the next bend, then?
On the horizon?
When you imagine the future without yourself in it, how does that make you feel?
What is it like being old, or at least older?
Feel super-duper satisfied about the overall journey?
How do you calculate the precise balance between the force for good and the force for ill—not only within yourself but also all of humanity?
It’s all very G. K. Chesterton, isn’t it?
As in, “What’s wrong with the world? I am.”
That appeals to you, does it? Shocker.
When can we look for your next film?
Looking back upon your output, what do you see?
What are the zeniths?
The nadirs?
You keep looking at your watch. I don’t know anyone who wears a watch anymore. Do you have to be somewhere soon?
How do we get through the pandemic?
And then will we survive global warming?
What are you personally doing to combat climate change?
Any thoughts on what the next big cultural wave will be?
Half of your former students work for Amazon. I’d love to see you write an up-close, very insider, gossipy, book-length evisceration—any chance?
What do you definitely not want to write?
Are we done?
Are you done?
Is that what that gesture means?