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| photo: James Emmerman |
Emily Nemens is the author of two novels: The Cactus League (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2020), which was a New York Times Book Review Editors' Choice and named one of NPR's and Lit Hub's favorite books of 2020, and Clutch (Tin House/Zando, February 3, 2026), which centers on five close friends who converge on Palm Springs for a reunion. Her stories have appeared in BOMB, Story, n+1, and elsewhere; her illustrations have appeared in the New Yorker and in collaboration with Harvey Pekar. Nemens spent more than a decade editing literary quarterlies, including leading the Paris Review and serving as co-editor and prose editor of the Southern Review. She teaches in the MFA program at Bennington College and lives in central New Jersey with her husband and dog.
Handsell readers your book in 25 words or less:
Clutch follows a group of longtime friends as they're facing big challenges in midlife. What will ride-or-die pals do when the rubber hits the road?
On your nightstand now:
I'm reading new books by interlocutors on my upcoming book tour. This includes Joshua Wheeler's The High Heaven and Andrew Martin's Down Time. The wildcard on the stack is Caoilinn Hughes's The Alternatives. My first book was about a baseball team; Clutch is about a girl gang. It turns out I love an ensemble novel, and I'm always seeking out exemplars of the form.
Favorite book when you were a child:
I grew up in Seattle, and my second-grade teacher was friends with the children's book author Walt Morey. As I recall it (and my best friend confirms), he showed up in class one day to talk about Gentle Ben and Scrub Dog of Alaska. Now, were his my favorite books of childhood? Perhaps not, but here was an elderly man (he was over 80 at the time) who had lived a whole dang life writing books about the Pacific Northwest, about animals and nature and how we might live together. It was the first time I'd met a Real Live Author, and it was thrilling.
Your top five authors:
This list feels forever in formation, but right now I'd say Deborah Eisenberg for her elliptical, spiky, and spellbinding storytelling. At the other end of things, I love Rachel Kushner's big, plotty projects, how there are so many moving parts even as they stay exactingly cerebral. I am grateful for George Saunders's tightrope walk of social critique and bigheartedness; I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I, too, try to contain some sharp-elbowed commentary and plenty of warm embraces in my prose. Sigrid Nunez writes about loneliness and friendship so beautifully that I find myself often returning to her books... and she's good at describing the souls of dogs, too.
Book you've faked reading:
I have been pressing The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg into my students' hands for several semesters, but I'll confess that I've not made it all the way through that 980-page tome! I feel strangely precious about meting them out--I want to savor them, to continue being surprised by her. Now that the cat's out of the bag, maybe finishing the collection will be my New Year's resolution.
Book you're an evangelist for:
I'm friends with a lot of visual artists--some of whom have an active reading practice, and some of whom want one but don't know where to start--and I have been pressing Emma Copley Eisenberg's Housemates on them. The novel is doing a lot--romance and a road trip, critique of urban elites and rural communities both--but what I love most about it is how the photography is rendered on the page. One of the characters works with an oversize, complicated camera, but it never feels complicated--the way Emma writes about making pictures, it's like we're under the hood with Bernie, framing up the world.
Book you've bought for the cover:
It's not quite the cover, but I am forever in awe of the production design and the downright inventiveness of McSweeney's Quarterly. I mean, come on: McSweeney's 80, the current issue, comes in the form of a Trapper Keeper!
Book you hid from your parents:
My parents never policed my reading, but I remember hiding books (and myself) from my sister, who had more kinetic energy and physical aptitude in her pinkie finger than I had in my whole body. She was forever asking me to go outside and play, when I wanted to stay inside and read. I had the most delicious pillow fort in the rear of my closet, and when I was behind rows of shirts and dresses, I was sure I was invisible to the universe.
Book that changed your life:
Vivian Gornick's The Situation and the Story. If there was ever an "ah ha!" moment in my writing life, encountering this slim volume was it. Gornick does such a good job of describing the difference between the superficial plot and foundational change of a story--it sounds basic, but believe me, you can really write yourself into a corner trying to decide if a character is going to change the world or change herself over the course of a piece. Since then, I feel like I've never been stuck in that frustrating corner again.
Favorite line from a book:
This is another answer that shifts with the season, but lately I've been thinking a lot about Nikolai Gogol (I have an essay forthcoming about running and chronic pain and how encounters with the medical establishment made me feel like Collegiate Assessor Kovalyov without his nose). You might recall, "The Nose" ends with this zinger: "Whatever anyone says, such things happen in this world; rarely, but they do."
Five books you'll never part with:
Brad Watson was a brilliant writer who died too young, with too slim an output, but I'll keep his Miss Jane with me. I love Ballpark by Paul Goldberger: the architectural history of baseball stadiums lands at the exact center of a particular-to-me Venn diagram. Now that I've spent so much time thinking about Mary McCarthy (The Group was a touchstone while writing Clutch), I will keep that novel--and the three volumes of her memoirs (Memories of a Catholic Girlhood, How I Grew, and Intellectual Memoirs) close. Songlines in Michaeltree by Michael S. Harper is another I'll carry with me always--Harper was an early mentor of mine, and while we first bonded over jazz, what he ultimately taught me was how to write in conversation with the artists I admired. Until I met him, I didn't realize you could do that (and without that knowledge, I'd never have written Clutch). On a practical level, a girl's gotta eat, and I'd be lost without Alice Waters and The Art of Simple Food.
Book you most want to read again for the first time:
I remember being entirely enraptured by the strangeness of Iris Murdoch's The Sea, the Sea, so much so that almost immediately I wanted to go back and read it again... but I hesitated: Would I fall under its spell once more, and so thoroughly? I got distracted by a thousand other books, so the question remains unanswered.