A seemingly unremarkable old woman unspools a life story that had her hobnobbing with New York bohemians in Norton’s fifth novel. Despite coming up in comedy, in an email interview he admitted that “very little makes me laugh.” SCOTT HELLER
What books are on your night stand?
I rarely read in bed, but waiting right now are “Gabriel’s Moon,” by William Boyd, “Cher: The Memoir” and “Parade,” by Rachel Cusk.
What’s the last great book you read?
Rather than tormenting myself over what that word might mean, I’ll give you the two books I would happily recommend to anyone: “Kindred,” by Octavia Butler, and “Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow,” by Gabrielle Zevin.
What books are you embarrassed not to have read yet?
My list is long and shameful. In my defense, I never pretend to have read something just to save face. Top of my head, I have never read anything by Patricia Highsmith. Embarrassing enough for you?
Is there an author you’ve interviewed who was especially surprising?
The late Hilary Mantel. I was really struck by the glint in her eye when there was any hint of innuendo or smut.
Can a great book be badly written?
I feel like this is a trick question and no matter what I say, it’ll be followed by a loud “Gotcha!” I would say that it could have bad bits, or elements I didn’t love but overall, I’m going with no, it can’t be badly written. Did I win the car?
What’s your favorite book no one else has heard of?
I’m sure people have heard of this, but not enough. “A Gentle Murderer,” by Dorothy Salisbury Davis. She was a very successful American crime writer from the late ’50s right up to the ’70s but most of her work is now out of print. It is odd and unsettling and unlike anything being written today.
A few years back a Guardian critic called your novels “undemanding.” What do you say to that?
I’m not deluded, I do understand that the word was being used in a dismissive way, but it didn’t bother me. The way I look at it is that the only demand I make of my reader is that they be able to read, and if they opt for the audiobook, not even that. Then it is my job to do the heavy lifting. I need to ensure the plot is sufficiently interesting and the characters are engaging, but then that is because I see my books as pure entertainment. Now if all books were purely that, the world would be a much poorer place, but I’m very comfortable with the level of ambition I have for my books.
On a British talk show, you described “Frankie” as “the first happy romance I’ve ever written.” Why do you think that is?
The most obvious reason would seem to be that I’m now a happily married man, but I was already with Jono when I was writing novels with miserable relationships in them. Maybe this story demanded a happy thread to hang everything together or it could be just a reaction to all the despair that seems to surround us.
What’s the most interesting thing you learned about 1960s New York in researching the novel?
I hadn’t previously been aware of Robert and Ethel Scull and their role in the Pop Art movement. I love that this rarefied, effete world of contemporary art was transformed by a taxicab impresario.
What book would you most like to see turned into a movie or TV show that hasn’t already been adapted?
“Misfortune,” by Wesley Stace. I actually tried to buy the rights. It is an epic Dickensian story, full of fabulous characters, wild plot twists and a healthy dose of gender fluidity.
What’s the last book you read that made you laugh?
Very little makes me laugh. I would say the one exception is anything by David Sedaris. It’s more of an involuntary snort than a laugh, but it’s something.
The last book you read that made you cry?
Crying, on the other hand, I do all the time. Probably the most recent boohooing was while reading “Our Evenings,” by Alan Hollinghurst. The title alone is enough to bring a tear to my eye.
What’s the most insightful book you’ve ever read on aging?
I’m not sure it is strictly about aging, but there is a section near the end of “A Tale of Two Cities,” by Charles Dickens, where Carton looks back at his life and considers his death. I find it enormously moving and strangely modern. There is something in how we all think of a story as it nears its end which is reflected in my character Frankie, and how she talks about her life. Lost loves, heartbreaks and triumph all seem to take on a similar weight.
You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?
Charles Dickens and Daphne du Maurier for the stories and Enid Blyton so we can talk about her after she leaves.
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