I am a member of a lovely, well-established book group of very thoughtful, well-read women. Recently I’ve become aware that one woman, whom I see socially outside the group, often doesn’t read the books, but instead relies on reading online reviews for a perspective about them. She then speaks with great authority at the meetings, as though those are her personal opinions, without crediting the source and without admitting that she didn’t read the book. In the days before a meeting, she will casually share with me that she “couldn’t get into it,” but she never says so to the other members. I sit there steaming but don’t reveal her duplicity. What would you do? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
I get why you’re peeved. These gatherings thrive on authentic engagement, and when a person parachutes in with secondhand wisdom, it’s like bringing a paint-by-numbers kit to a life-drawing class. Still, the first rule of book clubs is that someone will always show up having read only the first chapter and the last page, armed with three profound observations from Goodreads. Your job, in any case, isn’t to police her page turns. Cast yourself as the enforcer, and you betray the spirit of a group dedicated to forging connections through stories.
Instead, consider pulling her aside after the next meeting. Let her know that her own reactions to the text will mean more than the stuff anyone can find online — that she’s depriving the group of her own authentic response. Critics can’t replicate what happens when a particular reader, someone you know, meets particular words at a particular moment in her life.
Yes, if she insists on dominating the discussion with borrowed insights, you could offer a gentle redirect — asking about a moment the reviewers may not have touched on. (“What did you make of Patrice’s experience as a waterjack?”) But the goal isn’t to humiliate her; it’s to steer the energy toward what matters: the strange, messy business of human beings encountering a book and trying to make sense of what it has done to them. Keep the focus there, and maintain your small, imperfect community. One thing you’ll have learned from your books, after all, is that the flawed characters are always the most human.
A Bonus Question
I’m part of a group of four college friends who, though living in different parts of the country, still see one another once or twice a year and have frequently traveled together. We are now in our mid-70s. While sorting through old papers, one of the group recently discovered a $1,000 check written from me to him in October 2014 with the words ‘‘trip deposit’’ written on the memo line. The check is uncashed, and neither of us can remember what the check was for. We took a European trip together as a group in July 2015, and our best guess is that the check was connected to that trip.
We’re both scrupulous about debts and balancing our checkbooks, so it seems odd that such a large uncashed check would go unnoticed. Our old checking-account records have long since been shredded. We are fortunate enough to be more amused than distressed by this little mystery, but the other members of the group are (facetiously, I hope) suggesting that I: a) write him a new check for $1,000, b) write him a check for $1,000, plus 10 years’ interest or c) write him a check for $1,000 plus credit-card interest. I am more inclined to offer my friend the key to my wine cellar on his next visit, but what do you think my obligation is here, if any? — Henry
From the Ethicist:
Congratulations on keeping the gang together after all these years. But I doubt anybody’s “out” anything, especially given your financial fastidiousness. It seems more likely that you sorted things out at the time than you just lost track of this sum. Either way, your solution is the one I favor: Open something wonderful, toast adventures past and future and let this memento from the Obama era keep its secrets.
Readers Respond
The previous question was about a woman who wants her husband to go on Ozempic. She wrote: “My husband’s lifestyle is very sedentary, with minimal exercise (20 to 60 minutes a week), though he does eat a largely healthy diet. I’ve watched him struggle with his weight over the 15 years we’ve been together, cycling through various approaches to diet and exercise. Even when he succeeds in losing weight, it always comes back, and now he seems to have given up.
“Is it wrong for me to try to get him to take Ozempic? … I know it’s not my body, and I’m not his doctor, but as his wife I also know it will fall to me to care for him if health issues arise.”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “GLP-1 drugs, such as Ozempic, have helped many people break that cycle. Still, even sound advice can land wrong if it touches a nerve. If your husband is sensitive about his weight, the real challenge isn’t knowing what’s best; it’s finding a way to talk about it that feels loving, not critical. Try to keep the focus on the prospect of his feeling fitter and on your hope for more good years ahead. Maybe suggest he talk to his doctor — not as a directive but as a way to explore options. You’re not pushing him to ‘fix’ himself; you’re looking out for him. If it turns out to be a difficult conversation all the same? Loving someone can mean risking that discomfort — for the sake of all the days you haven’t yet lived together.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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This sounds more like your issue than your husband’s. He is an intelligent person, aware of the tools available to him. You made your point. If and when he is ready to address his weight, trust that he will. He is the captain of his ship. Focus on the wonderful things about him. None of us are promised tomorrow, no matter how low our body roundness index is. — Victoria
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Many of us who carry extra weight are acutely aware of the risks. Most troubling is the moral precedent this advice sets: that it’s acceptable for one adult to police another’s body under the guise of care. This isn’t support — it’s control, cloaked in concern. Just as we wouldn’t accept a spouse dictating how one dresses or chooses to spend his or her private time, we should not normalize interference in how one manages his or her own body. True support respects boundaries, listens before acting and recognizes that meaningful change must come from within, not from external pressure, even from those closest to us. — Teresa
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As a retired physician who has battled weight problems since childhood, this (and similar) drugs have really helped to make my life and my approach to food completely different. I am so thankful that my physician worked with me to find the right drug and dose — it was the first time a doctor approached me without judgment about my weight. Please encourage your husband to speak with his doctor or find a doctor who can connect with him as mine did. It’s really worth it. — Nancy
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I think, at most, the letter writer could gently make the suggestion that her husband might ask his doctor if something like Ozempic could help him. But then she should let it go. I firmly believe that it’s a matter of respect not to manage the decisions of competent adults who have not asked you to do so, and that you can’t want more for someone than they want for themselves. — Mary
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People who are over their ideal weight know it. People who have lost weight and regained it, or gained even more than they lost, are aware of how difficult lifelong change can be. It is unlikely that the writer’s husband is unaware of the new weight-loss drugs that have come on the market. As a person who has suffered from negative attitudes, words and actions my whole life because of my weight, if my spouse pushed me to take weight-loss drugs, I would feel unloved and depressed. — Les
Kwame Anthony Appiah is The New York Times Magazine’s Ethicist columnist and teaches philosophy at N.Y.U. To submit a query, send an email to [email protected].
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