On October 13th, readers from all over New England descended upon Brattleboro, Vermont, for the 22nd annual Brattleboro Literary Festival. Nestled between the West and Connecticut Rivers, Brattleboro was the perfect setting, boasting not just the festival itself but many delicious restaurants, plentiful shopping and tons of recreational activities.

McMahon explained that she grew up the daughter of an alcoholic mother and never knew what she would find when she came home. She now emulates that fear of the unknown in her work. Ruhlman added that readers “love to be scared in the same way we love tragedy”: we don’t love to be scared or tragic, but we love the cathartic release that comes when the story ends and the world goes back to normal. Douaihy won the “word of the day” competition with her use of the word “electrifying,” which she uses to describe the transformation a reader undergoes when reaching the bottom of the rollercoaster of survival. She noted that the transformation from fear to catharsis is something both cultural and individual, and that mysteries unify these elements because everyone can relate to the “catastrophe of the unknown.”
All writers agreed that fear in a book is only possible when an author has crafted characters a reader can care about, and when there is a sublime mixture of beauty and terror in the book. But perhaps the best line of the night came when McMahon quipped, “If you want a happy ending, don’t read my books.” As a huge fan of her works (she generously signed four of her books for me after the panel!), I can confirm that happy endings are few and far between. But like her fellow panelists, McMahon always satisfies, intrigues and delights.

Because so many of us have experienced similar family dysfunction or tragedy, the authors focused much more on craft in their talk, explaining that they both write first, then go back and edit for humor. Newman said that she often writes down her “zany” daughter’s quotes and uses them later. Zigman also noted a real-life connection to her work, sharing a touching story about how her latest book brought her and her sister back together after a long estrangement following their parents’ deaths to cancer. Once again, the theme of “catharsis” was championed, with the authors both agreeing that though they’ve written perhaps the most depressing subject matters of all, there’s something freeing about facing tragedy head-on and laughing anyway.

Their serious debate on art and meaning was equaled by Bringley’s laugh-out-loud stories of visitors to the Met (including one man who attempted to sit on the lap of a statue because he didn’t know he couldn’t) and Bialosky’s stories of her early days in New York and the home she found in the Met when she was a young editorial assistant. Perhaps the best-attended and most engaging talk of the day, this panel was an urgent reminder to other festival organizers to think outside the box and pair authors whose themes are similar, even if their chosen vehicles for writing them are not. Brava!

Speaking of fairy tales, Black retold the tale “White Cat” in a way that only she could: with humor, exclamation and perfect dialogue. The crowd was practically rolling on the floor laughing when she finished, and we were nearly all begging her to write the story on paper so that we could enjoy it again. (The panel was recorded, so I encourage readers to search Brattleboro’s website for it as soon as possible!) Once again, craft became a major part of the discussion as Black and Link generously detailed the ways that they draft, workshop and revise their books, often together. They agreed that as a writer, you love to either draft or revise, and Black put it perfectly, succinctly and, well, vividly when she explained her favorite and said, “Revision is like cleaning the toilet…you’re not gonna make it worse!”

Early on, the two realized that there is one major element tying their books together: cocktails! While Hood served them thousands of feet in the air, Ruhlman recently wrote a book of perfect cocktail ratios that encouraged him and his bride to test them all…particularly while locked at home during COVID. Hood shared laugh-out-loud and jaw-dropping stories of the world of flight attending, including the misogynistic, downright draconian rules for stewardesses’ weight. She also detailed the challenges of making drinks for strange and unusual characters up high, and Ruhlman explained that cocktails, when made well, are a real art, but one that anyone can master if they simply understand the ratios. As he explains, “A Gimlet, a Daiquiri, and a Bee’s Knees are the same cocktail. As are a Cosmopolitan, a Margarita, and a Sidecar.” In Ruhlman’s world, it’s all about ratios, and in the final panel of the day one ratio became clear: Hood and Ruhlman are 100 percent meant for one another.
Sunday, October 15th began a bit later, but no less impressively: Idra Novey (TAKE WHAT YOU NEED) and Asale Angel-Ajani (A COUNTRY YOU CAN LEAVE) joined forces to discuss motherhood, art and ambition. After evocative readings from each of their books, they discussed the nearly meta nature of fiction, which they described as a “devouring art,” both for the author (who feeds on and from their own experiences) and the reader, who gets to devour the work. This theme is represented in each of their works, focusing heavily on motherhood, which Novey calls “cannibalistic” in desire and practice. Both authors agreed that the representation of motherhood in fiction is often fraught, but especially when paired with ambition. Novey noted that she began to find art herself only when she became a mother, with Angel-Ajani adding that one of her characters becomes a better mother when she realizes that mothering is an art itself.
The theme of the panel was “dirt poor,” and while neither author would limit descriptions of their books to that theme, they thoughtfully and respectfully broke down the nature of “class” and what it means to come from and write in a particular socioeconomic class. Both agreed that art in particular can become fraught when discussing its economic class: often formally educated and wealthy authors find charm in “found” art that is usually not aesthetic but resourceful. In the same way, both noted that their characters found the beauty in their surroundings not in spite of their “dirt poor” conditions, but because of them.

Kwok noted that her book would have been “easy” if one mother was the villain and readers only had to root for the “hero.” But as a writer, she had to “solve the dilemma” one way or another, and it took a lot of massaging for the book to arrive at a satisfying ending. Kim, meanwhile, explained how arriving in the United States at the age of 11 unable to speak English taught her some painful lessons about oral fluency vs. intelligence or intellectual competency. In her book, one character is diagnosed with a rare disorder that prevents him from being able to communicate. Although she herself does not have this disability, Kim explained that she works closely with similar communities and that her own experiences of being unable to communicate made the cause very personal to her.
Because the authors were so well-acquainted with one another’s work and background, this panel went by extremely fast. It was one of the best of the weekend!

Dubus, meanwhile, found his inspiration in growing up “not horrible, but in first-world poverty.” Although he has now found laudable success, he explained that he has never stopped identifying with the poor and has never quite felt comfortable as a member of any other class — indeed, even when he is not writing, Dubus does his own contractor work and cleans toilets. SUCH KINDNESS arose, he explained, from wondering what his life might look like if he had only done these things and had never written.
Talented writers both, the panelists were perfectly matched in sharing literary quotes, perspectives on craft and what it means to be a writer who reads (everything, according to them).
All in all, it was a fantastic weekend with some of the best-matched panelists this reader and festivalgoer has ever seen. Hats off to the Brattleboro community — not just the festival organizers, but the restaurants who served literary-themed drinks all weekend; the stores who front-windowed books and festival posters; and the welcoming, friendly citizens who made all attendees feel like they had been whisked away on a magical weekend and never left the comfort of their own armchairs.

















