Tag Archives: Daisy Alpert Florin

Pod Rewards: Writer Geeks, Unite!

2023 Fellow Craig Holt reflects on working with his BookEnds pod. 

I have always been impressed with the way the writing community supports its own. Whether it’s online or in flesh and blood, we recommend each other’s books to friends, review one another’s books, celebrate each other’s successes, and listen to each other lament the inevitable slowdowns and five-car collisions on the long and winding road to a finished draft. 

The bulk of our time, though, is spent critiquing each other’s work. 

I’ve had the good fortune to participate in some excellent writers’ groups and I have exchanged plenty of pages with wonderful peers in my MFA program. I even have a coven of reliable beta readers in my life. I’m grateful to all of them. But as a novelist I always wished I could exchange entire books with other authors and take a deep dive into each other’s revisions over the course of months. I always assumed that such a dedicated gaggle of authors would be difficult to come by and impossible to sustain. How would you structure it? Who has the time? Where do you find peers generous enough to devote that much time to other people’s projects? 

The answer, for me, was BookEnds. 

BookEnds was – and continues to be – an exceptional learning experience anchored by an unprecedented level of mutual support between writers.

First of all, there is the question of scale. Instead of going over ten or twenty pages of one person’s work every few weeks or once a month, my amazing podmates Miranda Shulman, Fae Engstrom and I started by reading each other’s entire manuscripts. We spent our first three meetings talking through our initial impressions and learning what the author was trying to achieve with the book. Thereafter, we gathered every week on Zoom, often for three hours or more per session, to go over one podling’s book. 

We started by addressing big picture issues and then worked our collective way over the course of six months down to line edits. We weren’t obligated to meet every week, but all three of us had been encouraged to essentially run our novels through a woodchipper and reshape the splintery, resinous hash into a new draft. Having read each other’s manuscripts in their entirety, we were eager to see each other’s stories reborn. 

But there was more to it than just the quantity of feedback. There was also the quality. I was struck by the depth of insight Miranda and Fae brought to my work. They are experienced authors and careful readers, and they came to every session with a wealth of ideas, many of which surprised me. Their feedback came from a place of real understanding of my characters, and an enthusiasm for helping me create the story I had intended to write. They were relentlessly honest and unflaggingly encouraging. Miranda and Fae put as much into my story as they did their own, and it was a pleasure to do the same for them. 

Before the program began, I worried that spending so much time on other people’s books would wear me out. Instead, working on Miranda and Fae’s stories energized me. In thinking critically about their work I gained insight into my own story, and their remarkable progress inspired me to slog onward. 

Even after we began work with our mentors (for more on that happy topic, take a look at Daisy Alpert Florin’s excellent post on working with program director Susan Scarf Merrell, among many other posts on working with mentors) our group continued to meet regularly. We continued to go over pages, but we also touched base to talk through slowdowns in our plots or float ideas for alternate narrative routes. Sometimes we got together to listen as one or the other of us lamented being blindsided by self-doubt or just shook our tiny fists at the literary sky. We guided each other to our BookEnds destination, and beyond. 

Since completing the program last June, we’ve continued to meet. We’ve gone through another round of edits on each other’s books, and we share notes on the good and humbling process of querying. We remain invested in each other and in our fellow BookEnders. And as part of the active and encouraging BookEnds Alumni group, our support network continues to grow. There is sustenance there. Fuel for the long journey. So, yes, BookEnds helped me improve my book. Just as importantly, it expanded and strengthened my writing family.

People talk a lot about how solitary the writing life can be, but BookEnds showed me that being a part of the writing community is about more than craft. Investing in other writers and their work can make the process a little bit less painful and a lot more rewarding. 

Craig Holt’s work has been published in Hippocampus Magazine, Cutleaf Journal, Psychopomp Magazine, and elsewhere. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Best of the Net anthology, and Best American Short Stories. His first novel won the 2018 Independent Publishers Book Award gold medal. He graduated from the Bennington College Writing Seminars MFA program and, more recently, from the BookEnds, where he worked with program co-founding director Meg Wolitzer. 

Fall News Round-Up

Please join us to learn more about the BookEnds novel revision fellowship at our annual Open House on Monday, October 16, 2023, 4-5 pm EST. Register here!

Following the publication of several novels last year, 2023 has seen the publication of two BookEnds novels: Daisy Alpert Florin’s My Last Innocent Year (Holt) was a New York Times’ Editors’ Choice Selection, as well as the subject of the Times’ Group Text Discussion and an Alma Award nominee. Vanessa Cuti’s The Tip Line (Crooked Lane) has been received to high critical praise, most recently from Library Journal in an audio book review: “An unnerving psychological suspense about compulsion and corruption.” 

We are proud to announce these forthcoming novels from our BookEnds Fellows!

  • Nora Decter’s What’s Not Mine (ECW, April 2, 2024) 
  • Joselyn Takacs’ Pearce Oysters (Zibby, July 2024)
  • Giano Cromley’s American Mythology (Doubleday, Summer 2025)

This coming spring, we will announce BookEnds BookClub events for Nora’s and Joselyn’s books, along with an event for BookEnds mentor Eve Gleichman’s new co-authored novel Trust & Safety (Dutton, May 2024). In the meantime, you can always watch our first book club events here, featuring mentor Paul Harding’s This Other Eden (longlisted for the Booker Prize), in conversation with his BookEnds mentee Caitlin Mullen; Daisy Alpert Florin’s My Last Innocent Year, in conversation with her BookEnds mentor and program co-director Susan Scarf Merrell; and Vanessa Cuti’s The Tip Line, in conversation with her BookEnds cohort member Alison Fairbrother. 

BookEnders are busy with new works in progress, supporting one another through daily and weekly Zoom writing sessions; the alumni meetings and Alumni Visiting Writers events, this fall featuring Lucy Ives, Melissa Chadburn, and Laura Warrell; giving each other advice, feedback and support on query letters and the query process; and—of course—through our BookEnds blog. 

We’re also delighted to remind everyone to check out our co-founding Director Meg Wolitzer as the host of Selected Shorts

We look forward to bringing you more great news soon.

Girls with Feelings: On Daisy Alpert Florin’s MY LAST INNOCENT YEAR 

In advance of our BookEnds BookClub on Wednesday, April 5, featuring program alum Daisy Alpert Florin and her debut novel MY LAST INNOCENT YEAR (Holt, 2023) in conversation with her BookEnds mentor and co-founding director Susan Scarf Merrell, alum Rachel León considers the validation of reviews and the power of opening lines.

For many writers, to have our work raved about in The New York Times is a landmark feat, a universally-recognized indication of success. The BookEnds community was thrilled to see alum Daisy Alpert Florin’s debut novel My Last Innocent Year receive such laudatory coverage from reviewer Elisabeth Egan, who writes “My Last Innocent Year is a heartfelt chronicle of a writer who realizes that her stories about girls with feelings matter every bit as much as the ones written by the guy who annotates The New Yorker.” 

My Last Innocent Year centers the protagonist, Isabel Rosen, during her final semester at a prestigious East Coast college as she falls into a relationship with her professor. Set in the late 90s against the backdrop of the Clinton/Lewinsky scandal, it’s atmospheric and beautiful, a smart and masterfully written novel that examines consent, the cost of our mistakes, and how we reckon with our past.

Egan points out how richly layered My Last Innocent Year is—the multiple threads that are woven throughout the story. And while, yes, the story itself is meticulously plotted, one of the things not noted is the attention to detail on the line level, attention we see from the novel’s very first line: 

“It’s hard to say how I ended up in Zev Neman’s dorm room the night before winter break.”

This sentence does so much work. It establishes Isabel as the kind of conscientious narrator who wants to get this story right, yet admits the fallibility of her account. This is not a narrator who will manipulate the reader. She won’t lie or stretch the truth. But Isabel is relying on her memory to share her account, and memory is inherently flawed. 

The first line also sets up the opening scene, in which the facts of the events can be debated by readers. It’s clearly a nonconsensual sexual encounter; does that mean it’s rape? Zev could be described as a friend; can one be assaulted by a friend? The temporal distance from which Isabel narrates this story forces the reader to consider the limitations of how our culture talked about sexual assault and consent twenty-five years ago, and continues to debate it today. We live in a culture that still blames women victims of sexual assault for “asking for it” if they are wearing clothes that are tight or revealing, if they drink heavily around men, or if they go to a man’s bedroom, as Isabel does. So this one sentence situates the novel’s themes, from the very first line. 

From there the novel builds to a crescendo. My Last Innocent Year has gotten a lot of buzz for being a literary page-turner that prompts important cultural conversations. Its themes and smart craft choices make it a perfect book club novel, and The BookEnds Book Club event on April 5th one not to miss. 

But what ultimately makes My Last Innocent Year such an incredible success isn’t as easily measured. As Daisy told me in a mini-interview on my Substack, she wrote the book she wanted to read. She didn’t rush, she took the time she needed to write this remarkable novel. And in the end, that’s the greatest success we should all hope to achieve.  

Rachel León is a writer, editor, and social worker. She serves as Daily Editor for Chicago Review of Books. Her work has appeared in Catapult, BOMB Magazine, The Millions, Electric Literature, and elsewhere. 

Spring News Round-Up: New Novels, Acclaim, and the BookEnds BookClub!

The past months have seen the publication of several BookEnds novels to great acclaim: Alison Fairbrother’s The Catch (Random House), which was Selected as an Editors’ Choice in the New York Times and a Best New Book of the Week at People Magazine; Sue Mell’s Provenance (Madville), winner of the Blue Moon Novel Award, a 2022 Great Group Read Selection by the Women’s National Book Association, and a 2022 Best Indie Fiction Pick by the Community of Literary Magazines & Presses [clmp]; Coco Picard’s The Healing Circle (Red Hen Press); and most recently, Daisy Alpert Florin’s My Last Innocent Year (Holt, 2023), a New York Times’ Editors’ Choice Selection, as well as the subject of the Times’ Group Text Discussion in February 2023. 

We are proud to announce these forthcoming novels from our BookEnds Fellows!

  • Vanessa Cuti’s The Tip Line (Crooked Lane, April 18, 2023)
  • Nora Decter’s What’s Not Mine (ECW, April 2024)
  • Joselyn Takacs’ Pearce Oysters (Zibby, Summer 2024)

We are also thrilled to announce the launch of the BookEnds BookClub!

  • Check out our inaugural event featuring Paul Harding and Caitlin Mullen, in conversation about Paul’s This Other Eden (Norton, 2023).
  • Daisy Alpert Florin will be in conversation with her BookEnds mentor and program co-director Susan Scarf Merrell on April 5 for our BookEnds BookClub. You can order signed copies of both Daisy’s and Susie’s books by the event date by following the link on our BookClub page
  • Vanessa Cuti will be in conversation with her BookEnds cohort member Alison Fairbrother on May 24 for our BookEnds BookClub. You can order signed copies of both Vanessa’s and Alison’s books by the event date by following the link on our BookClub page.

BookEnders are also busy with new works in progress, supporting one another through daily and weekly Zoom writing sessions, the alumni meetings and author events, and giving each other advice, feedback and support on query letters and the query process, and—of course—through our BookEnds blog. 

We look forward to bringing you more great news soon!

Fall News Round-Up: Forthcoming BookEnds Novels and More!

This past summer saw the publication of three BookEnds novels: Alison Fairbrother’s The Catch (Random House), which was Selected as an Editor’s Choice in the New York Times and a Best New Book of the Week at People Magazine; Sue Mell’s Provenance (Madville Publishing), winner of the Blue Moon Novel Award and just selected as a 2022 Great Group Read by the Women’s National Book Association; and Coco Picard’s The Healing Circle (Red Hen Press), recipient of The Women’s Prose Award. 

We are proud to announce these forthcoming novels from our BookEnds Fellows: 

  • Daisy Alpert Florin’s My Last Innocent Year (Holt, February 14, 2023)
  • Vanessa Cuti’s The Tip Line (Crooked Lane, April 18, 2023)
  • Joselyn Takacs’ Pearce Oysters (Zibby Owens, 2024)

Our alumni and fellows are actively publishing stories, essays, book reviews and author interviews—and as BookEnds novels are published, they are writing about one another’s work and interviewing each other! BookEnders are also busy with new works in progress, supporting one another through Zoom writing sessions, the alums monthly meetings and author events, giving each other advice, feedback and support on query letters and the query process, and through our BookEnds blog. This vibrant, supportive community extends to our Alumni Group and Visiting Writers Series, which hosts talks this fall with Matt Bell, Courtney Maum, and Peter Ho Davies. 

Finally, we are thrilled to announce that 2023 will bring The Lichtenstein Center Presents: The BookEnds Book Club! The first events will discuss This Other Eden, by longtime BookEnds mentor and MFA director Paul Harding, in conversation with his BookEnds mentee and Edgar Award-winning novelist Caitlin Mullen; My Last Innocent Year by Daisy Alpert Florin, in conversation with her mentor and program co-founder and director Susan Merrell; and The Tip Line by Vanessa Cuti, in conversation with her BookEnds podmate from the first year of the program, Alison Fairbrother.

Summer News Round-Up: Forthcoming BookEnds Novels

We are proud to announce these forthcoming novels from our BookEnds Fellows!

  • Alison Fairbrother’s The Catch (Random House, June 21, 2022)
  • Sue Mell’s Provenance (Madville Publishing, July 19, 2022)
  • Coco Picard’s The Healing Circle (Red Hen Press, August 16, 2022)
  • Daisy Alpert Florin’s My Last Innocent Year (Holt, February 14, 2023)
  • Vanessa Cuti’s The Tip Line (Crooked Lane, Spring 2023)

BookEnders are also busy with new works in progress, supporting one another through Zoom writing sessions and #1000wordsofsummer, the alumni meetings and author events, giving each other advice, feedback and support on query letters and the query process, and—of course—through our BookEnds blog. We look forward to bringing you more great news soon!

BookEnds Alumni Speaker Event: Expanding the Writer’s Life and Practice with Rebecca Morgan Frank

Fellow Rachel León on our March 2022 BookEnds alumni group author event 

Rebecca Morgan Frank works across several genres and brought this interdisciplinary approach to her talk, entitled “There Were Nine Muses: Expanding the Writer’s Life and Practice.” She’s the author of four books of poetry, most recently Oh You Robot Saints! (Carnegie Mellon University Press), but she also writes short stories, essays, and reviews, and collaborates with composers. Drawing on her rich artistic background, Morgan explained that not only can we draw inspiration from painters, composers, choreographers, and other non-writer makers, but also we can learn from them, and even “steal” their approaches. She gave us several examples, including prompts from Gregory Halperin’s The Photographer’s Playbook to see how to apply them to our writing. 

It was an idea I hadn’t considered. While I grew up writing stories and dabbled in poetry as a teenager, I’d always seen writing and visual art as separate spheres and resisted the idea the two could overlap, partially because I saw them at odds. I attended college on a significant art scholarship and was in the middle of taking studio classes for my art major when I had my first child. It was like I’d given birth to a new creative brain in the process: I felt unable to draw, sculpt, or paint, but inexplicably wanted to write fiction. I tried to describe my predicament to my art professor—I just can’t anymore… but it was inexplicable. I’ve long tried to make sense of it (could it have happened out of necessity as writing can be done quietly and in spurts, whereas I painted while listening to loud music and needed hours at a time?) but the reason matters less than the aftermath: I abandoned visual art in favor of writing. 

After Morgan’s talk, we had an informal discussion about the way we’d all switched to writing from another discipline—the contrast of the collaboration of music theater versus the solitude of writing and the physical limitations of the body to return to the demands of ballet in middle age. As a recent alum, I’m still getting to know those in the cohorts before my BookEnds year. I’ve been friends with Jennifer Solheim for years, so I knew she was a bassist, singer, and songwriter in several indie punk bands. But in conversation with Morgan, I discovered that Sheena Cook and April Darcy studied classical music prior to writing; Daisy Alpert Florin was in musical theater; Sue Mell, like myself, was first a visual artist; and like our guest speaker, Marian Donahue was once on track to become a professional ballerina. It was delightful to learn all of us shared a creative lineage that didn’t start with writing. 

We also discussed how returning to art forms—or exploring new ones— can help our writing practice. For example, Marian’s novel is structured like an art exhibit, and she’s begun delving into art herself. Sue returned to visual art to design the cover for her novel, Provenance (out July 2022 from Madville Publishing) and Jennifer’s novel Interstitial centers around a rock band. April recently returned to playing the piano, while Daisy is taking lessons and finds comfort in the freedom to do it for enjoyment without the pressure of having to be good at it. This is something I could relate to: I took up dancing on my fortieth birthday for nothing but my own pleasure. 

Creating for enjoyment is something we can lose as writers when we get mired in the goal of publishing. Another thing Morgan addressed was the two sides of the writing process: the creative side, where our imaginations reside, and the publication realm, which is task-driven, applying, submitting, and getting our work into the world. While both spheres are necessary, we want to keep them separate when we’re creating. One way we can do that is through bodily practice—the physicality forces us to leave behind things like social media, which is notorious for distracting us, yes, but also pulls us into the marketplace of competition. She quoted the late Martha Graham, modern dancer and choreographer, who said, “This is not competition, there is no competition. You’re in competition with one person only and that’s the individual you know you can become.”

Being part of a supportive writing community like BookEnds and the alumni group helps remind us of that quote. Despite how it can feel—particularly with social media—we aren’t in competition with other writers. Rebecca Morgan Frank’s nourishing and inspiring talk reminded us of that, and how we each have a unique sensibility and can draw from our past creative backgrounds. Perhaps writing and visual art aren’t as antithetical as I thought when I was a new parent. Maybe it’s time for me to return to see how these art forms speak to each other through my own practice. 

Rachel León is a writer, editor, and social worker. She serves as Fiction Editor for Arcturus and Reviews Editor for West Trade Review. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Chicago Review of Books, Fiction Writers Review, Entropy, Nurture, Necessary Fiction, (mac)ro(mic), The Rupture, Split Lip Magazine, and elsewhere.

In Treatment?

Fellow Daisy Alpert Florin on when therapy scenes work in a novel, and why they often don’t—yet are still invaluable to the writing process.

In an early draft of Sheena Cook’s novel, A Tender Hate, Scottish detective Iris Larkin is ordered to go to therapy when her personal issues threaten her ability to do her job. If therapy was a way for Iris to work out her issues, it was also a way for Sheena to discover what those issues were.

“I was trying to work out on the page the secrets Iris wasn’t telling anybody, the secrets I didn’t even know,” Sheena, a BookEnds fellow, said.

There were seven therapy scenes in the draft Sheena submitted to her mentor, Meg Wolitzer, at the end of 2018. At Meg’s suggestion, she cut them down to three. But when the book went on submission, one editor suggested cutting the scenes altogether.

“She told me the scenes did not move the plot forward,” Sheena said. “It was a surprise, and I was sad to take them out.”

When I heard Sheena’s story, I was well into a revision of my own novel, which included scenes where my main character, Isabel, goes to therapy in the aftermath of a sexual assault. At the time, I considered whether or not to cut the scenes but, in the end, decided to keep them.

The scenes remained in my draft throughout my BookEnds year and were still there when the book went on submission. It was only when my editor, Caroline Zancan at Henry Holt, did a close edit that she suggested I remove the scenes. 

“I think you needed to write those scenes to get insight into Isabel’s character and motivations,” Caroline wrote, “but you don’t need to spell out those motivations so neatly for us.”

Like Sheena, I was surprised, but when I looked closely at the scenes, I could see the novel didn’t need them. Aside from a few exchanges, which I reassigned to other characters, I scrapped the scenes entirely.

All of which got me thinking: do scenes of therapy in novels ever work? 

“Therapists work well in fiction when they are used to move the action along,” said Sandra Leong, a BookEnds fellow and practicing psychotherapist. “They work less well as a form of exposition about a character.”

Therapy is central to the plot of BookEnds fellow Jennifer Solheim’s novel Interstitial, about a rock band on the rise. When Nate, the band’s lead singer, passes out on stage during a performance, he goes to therapy to understand what is happening to him. His therapist, Kathleen, is a former musician and working with Nate brings up issues for her about her lost music career. Therapy works in Interstitial because it is crucial to the central question of the novel: it defines Kathleen as a person after she leaves music. She plays a pivotal role in the band’s story, but—as Sandra explained as crucial to the role of therapists in novels—she also has a fully developed storyline of her own.

Therapy can also work in fiction if it leads to an explosive revelation that causes change in the novel. In Pat Conroy’s 1986 bestseller The Prince of Tides, for example, what is revealed in therapy is a secret so dark and long buried, it clarifies what has happened to the characters up to that point.

But, Leong points out, those kinds of breakthroughs are rare in therapy and can feel contrived in fiction. “More often than not, therapy is a slow drip of information,” she said.

While sending your character to therapy can be a useful exercise, those scenes don’t always need to appear in the final work. When considering whether or not to use therapy in a piece of fiction, Caroline says it’s important to distinguish what you as the writer need to know about your character and what needs to be on the page.

“The things that often come up in therapy,” she said, “are often more powerful as the subtext rather than the text of the novel. It’s important for you to know these things, but let us see them at work in the characters’ actions and interactions.”

In the end, Sheena removed the therapy scenes from her novel, keeping only the most essential points, which she lets Iris muse on throughout the novel. But even though the scenes didn’t stay, she doesn’t regret writing them. 

“I learned so much about Iris by writing those scenes,” she said. “And besides, I love eavesdropping on other people’s secrets.”

Daisy Alpert Florin was a BookEnds fellow in 2019-2020. Her novel My Last Innocent Year will be published by Holt in 2023.

What My Mentor Taught Me: Susan Scarf Merrell on Cutting Timelines and Embracing the Blank Space

Alum Daisy Alpert Florin reflects on working with the BookEnds Founding Director.

I applied to BookEnds with a manuscript I’d been working on for four years. The story of an affair between a college student and her professor, the novel shifted back and forth between two timelines: 1998, when the affair takes place, and 2016, when the two main characters meet again. My biggest challenge was how to combine the two timelines and also how to find the right ending, something that had eluded me so far.

I had tried combining the timelines in a few different ways. I’d put the 1998 section first followed by 2016, a structure used by Susan Choi in her novel My Education. I’d also tried starting with the 2016 section, allowing the novel to unfold like a long reminiscence like Emma Cline’s The Girls. Working with my BookEnds pod, I spent the fall working on braiding the timelines together, similar to Julie Buntin’s Marlena or Kate Elizabeth Russell’s My Dark Vanessa. This was the version I turned in to my mentor, Susie Merrell, in December. But I knew it wasn’t quite working and I still hadn’t found a way to finish the novel; the draft still had sections marked “FINISH THIS” and “SCENE TBD.”

When Susie and I met at her house in early January, she asked me to bring the whole manuscript printed out and separated into scenes. We laid it across her kitchen floor, the 1998 sections on one side and the 2016 scenes on the other. Right away, I could see how unwieldy it was and also how haphazardly I had incorporated the timelines. I started to worry—how had I worked for half a year and not managed to solve this problem? And what would I do now?

“You know what?” Susie said, looking around. “I don’t think you need the 2016 timeline,” and in that moment, I knew she was right. Susie walked me through the pages and showed me how little information was being conveyed in the 2016 sections and also that the second timeline had no real tension or arc. The story—the real story—was happening in the 1998 sections. I felt instantly relieved, as if I’d been walking around with three arms and someone showed me how much easier it would be to have only two. 

I went home and got to work. Still, early on, I had doubts. Was I eager to discard the second timeline because I just couldn’t figure it out or because it was the right thing to do? But Susie encouraged me to push forward. I worked from January to June on the revision, this time starting in a different place and cutting 55 pages of 2016 scenes. I could feel right away that the novel was sharper and tighter and with Susie’s clear and precise editing, I knew exactly how to get to the end. 

Early on, Susie asked why I had wanted the 2016 timeline in the first place. First, because I wanted the book to have a wistful, retrospective tone, to capture the feeling we have as adults when we look back on the actions of our youth. But Susie showed me I could do that by making it clear that the main character is narrating from a very specific time and place in the future. Whenever her voice intrudes on the 1998 narrative, I made sure it was emanating from this place.

Second, because my book asks questions about consent and sex and power, I felt in some ways obliged to include references to Trump and #MeToo. But Susie showed me how these details threatened to swallow up the novel I was better suited to write. I still think my novel is political, but once I let go of the idea of writing a capital-P political novel, I was able to complete a draft I was happy with.

Do I miss the second timeline? Not really, because it’s still very present for me. I needed to write those scenes for the rest of the story to make sense. Once I knew what was there, I no longer needed it in the same way, and, like scaffolding, it could be removed. Every writer throws out material, but it is never really gone. The 2016 sections of my novel are no longer on the page-—but they still exist in blank space.

Daisy Alpert Florin was a BookEnds fellow in 2019-2020. Her personal essays have appeared online in Full Grown People, Motherwell Magazine and Under the Gum Tree, among other publications. Her essay “Crash” was listed as a notable essay in The Best American Essays 2016. Her novel My Last Innocent Year is represented by Margaret Riley King at William Morris Endeavor.

BookEnds Alumni Inaugural Speaker Event: Rebecca Makkai on Time in Endings 

As part of our ongoing BookEnds community, the alumni group has started inviting authors to speak on different craft topics every other month. Fellow Daisy Alpert Florin reflects on our first invited author’s lecture, Rebecca Makkai’s “Closing Time: Chronological Shifts at the Story’s End.”  

As writers, we are taught to give a lot of thought to beginnings, to grab our reader with a compelling opening sentence, paragraph, page. We tend to place less emphasis on endings— although, as award-winning novelist Rebecca Makkai pointed out in her recent talk to the BookEnds alumni group, the ending of a novel or story is often where we find meaning.

The end of a piece, Makkai said, can be a moment of great opportunity when you, the writer, can break rules—including ones you’ve set for yourself—and experiment with dramatic shifts in tone, point of view or pacing. In her talk, Makkai focused on endings as they relate to time. Our relationship to time is heightened when we reach the end of a story or a novel, she said. We might be casting our mind back to what we’ve just read, soaking up our last moments in the world the author has created and also imagining what might come next, not just for the characters but for ourselves.

Makkai discussed different story and novel endings that experiment with time, dividing them into three categories: those that stay in the present, those that revisit the past and those that look ahead to the future. These temporal shifts are not necessarily connected to verb tense, although they can be; it’s more a question of where the energy lies, if it’s backward-looking or forward-looking, if it stays in the present moment or is some combination. The ending of a novel might flash back to a time earlier in the story, or even to a time before the story began as in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. An author might choose to end on a moment of reflection, as in The Catcher in the Rye, or in a “freeze frame” moment like Rick Moody does at the end of The Ice Storm. Many novels end by imagining characters at some point in the distant future using a technique called prolepsis, as in Michael Chabon’s Wonder Boys. A writer might also create an ending that combines time periods. At the end of his short story “Joseph,” for example, Etgar Keret describes the moment just before a suicide bombing and simultaneously projects into the future to let us know who will be killed. The combination of present with future adds to the pathos of the story’s ending.

I decided to parse the ending of one of the novels that most influenced my own recent work—Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence—which ends with what Makkai would call a directed open ending, one in which a future outcome is strongly suggested but not explicitly described. In the last chapter, Wharton zips forward in time nearly thirty years, summing up decades of protagonist Newland’s life, those he has lived without his erstwhile lover Ellen—their relationship the central focus of the story—in just a few pages. By moving forward in this way, Wharton is telling us how life without Ellen has felt to Newland, colorless and drab; it is only when he has occasion to see her again that Wharton returns to scene level pacing. In the novel’s last scene, Newland, on a trip to Paris, sits for a long time on a bench beneath Ellen’s window. He sees a servant close Ellen’s shutters and, “as if it had been the signal he waited for, Newland Archer got up slowly and walked back alone to his hotel.” 

We don’t know for certain that he will never see Ellen again, but there is a strong suggestion that he won’t. It should be a disappointment. After the journey Wharton has taken us on, we desperately want Newland to reunite with the woman he loves, and as modern readers, we believe in the possibility of second acts. So why is the ending so satisfying? Because Wharton remains true to her characters and the world she has created. A novel about duty, honor and sacrifice could have no other ending.

Makkai concluded her talk by encouraging us to look closely at endings, both as readers and as writers, and ask ourselves what they are doing in relation to time and with what effect. She also acknowledged that while the possibilities are endless, you’re never locked in. “Let go of the idea that there are right or wrong decisions, right or wrong choices,” she said. “You don’t need to try everything. You just pick something and you see.”

Daisy Alpert Florin was a BookEnds fellow in 2019-2020. Her personal essays have appeared online in Full Grown People, Motherwell Magazine and Under the Gum Tree, among other publications. Her essay “Crash” was listed as a notable essay in The Best American Essays 2016. Her novel My Last Innocent Year is represented by Margaret Riley King at William Morris Endeavor.