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| photo: Beowolf Sheehan | |
Elisabeth Egan is the books editor at Glamour. Her essays and book reviews have appeared in numerous publications, including Glamour, O, the Oprah Magazine, People, Huffington Post, the New York Times Book Review, the Los Angeles Times Book Review and the Washington Post. A Window Opens is her debut novel. Egan lives in New Jersey with her family.
What's it like being Glamour's books editor?
I'm definitely the least glamorous person on the 30th floor of the World Trade Center. My shoes are more sensible than most of my colleagues' and sometimes in meetings I pretend I'm familiar with young celebrities I've actually never heard of--I'll jot their names in the margin of my notebook for Googling later.
But seriously, Glamour is a warm and wonderful place to work. I've worked for women's magazines for most of my career, and many of my longest, deepest friendships trace back to cubicles at 350 Madison Avenue or 4 Times Square, both former headquarters for Conde Nast.
As for the work itself: I get paid to read. What more can I say? If you'd asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up, this is the job I would have described. A few years ago, my younger daughter told us she wants to be a bunny holder when she grows up. When we inquired about what one does in this line of work, she was very matter of fact: a dog walker walks dogs; a bunny holder holds bunnies. I almost told her there's no such profession but... you never know. Reading galleys, meeting authors, editing book excerpts and essays, working with smart, creative people--this is my bunny-holder job.
How much of Windows Opens is based on your life?
The scaffolding of the story was definitely inspired by my own life. I live in New Jersey; I have three kids; and my anxious dog really does take Prozac. But, unlike his fictional counterpart, my husband has never thrown a laptop across a room, and he rarely drinks more than one beer in an evening--much to my chagrin. I located this story in several worlds I know well, but I fictionalized liberally within those worlds and also took some liberties with the timeline. In real life, my dad died of throat cancer 11 years ago, before my kids were old enough to get to know him. It was fun to imagine the character who is based on him playing whiffle ball with the character who's based on my son. As the dad of two sports-averse daughters, my dad would have loved that.
How does it feel to make the transition from writing essays and reviews to novel-length fiction?
"Humbling" is the first word that comes to mind; and then "humiliating," but not in an entirely bad way. I shudder to think of the way I used to judge a book: not just by its cover, but also by the paper it was printed on, the Jiffy envelope it arrived in, by the acknowledgements page and the blurbs and author photo. When a publicist called to check in, I'd shrug and say "Meh. Not for me," as if I was declining a free sample of salami at the grocery store. I'd like to think I was at least polite about it, but I definitely had no appreciation for the lonely, sweaty operation of writing more than 2000 words. I hadn't even written fiction since college! But I was about to turn 40 and I was tired of rationalizing about why I'd never tried to write anything longer than a book review. I was like a runner who dropped to the curb after two miles and shouted at other runners as they cruised by--sometimes praise, sometimes encouragement, always wondering what it would be like to complete the marathon. Now I know. When I opened the Jiffy envelope containing my own galley, I felt like I'd arrived at the finish line.
Alice tries desperately to find that delicate balance between family life and full-time career our society has come to refer to as "having it all." Do you think anyone can "have it all"?
As an editor, I appreciate your use of quotes around "having it all." It's an amorphous, over-analyzed concept, deserving of skepticism and unworthy of the stress it causes. I think the definition of "having it all" changes according to your stage of life, where you live and what you really want. Here's what makes me happy right now: having a family and a job, and also having time to relax with my family, be thoughtful in my job, be a decent friend, sister and daughter and occasionally to exercise. All these things don't necessarily happen on the same day, or even in the same week.
You have these little moments when you know you're off kilter, focusing on the wrong things. A few years ago, I gave my husband an unsigned Valentine, still wrapped in plastic with the price tag on. I didn't have time to fill it out. He thought this was hilarious, but I took it as a sign that I needed to recalibrate. Another example: when my kids were really little, I used to save time on laundry by having all of them strip down for dinner. My husband and I would race in from work, toss the onesies and overalls down to the basement and then settle in to eat our spaghetti with a trio of kids in diapers and underwear. I thought I'd devised a clever system for sparing us the nuisance of stain removal--until my older daughter said, "Mom, can we please keep our clothes on while we eat? This is getting really weird." Again: a subtle cue to re-evaluate my insane race against the clock.
I've noticed that this "conversation" is always set up in terms of family and work, but there are so many spokes under those umbrellas--all equally important at different times, and all adding up to the many-textured world we were promised by Free to Be You and Me.
What's this No Guilt Book Club thing all about?
It's a joint collaboration between me and Marisela Santiago and Margot Sage-El of Watchung Booksellers in Montclair, N.J. For a small fee, readers are invited to come to the bookstore for an evening of personalized recommendations, wine and food, a 20% discount--and, of course, scintillating conversation. It's better than a book club at your house because potential reads are available for browsing and nobody has to shove the junk mail in a drawer or pretend they always have a little bowl of Godivas on their coffee table. The no guilt part comes from my firm belief that you shouldn't feel badly about putting down a book you don't like. In my club, you can just show up and eat the brie--no flagellation of self or literature required.
What can we expect to see from you next?
I hope you'll see me signing books with a straight face. Honestly, I haven't been asked to sign anything since my high school yearbook came out in 1991. In the meantime, my shoes are laced up and I'm plodding my way to the next finish line. --Jaclyn Fulwood