Dragging Out the Details

September 28, 2026September 21, 2026 / Susan O. / Leave a comment

Ever read a doorstop?

Big, thick books of more than 600 pages, such as Stephen King’s The Stand (823 pages originally, which he padded out to 1100 pages on rerelease), Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Silver Flames (757), Outlander (850), The Hour I First Believed (768), Shogun (1200), or even Les Misérables (1400 pages. I confess, I didn’t make it past 800. That’s a lot of griping about a loaf of bread) can be considered doorstops, sometimes too big to fit on shelves. Certainly, the bindings on these monsters are not destined for long-life. There are a lot of popular books whose weight will hurt your wrists holding them up.

The average book runs around 250-300 pages, or around 80,000 words. Romance and Mystery can run shorter, Science Fiction a bit longer, but Fantasy is the king of long novels, consistently running up tallies beyond James Michener, and usually for the same reasons. Michener researched his novels down to the history of the formation of the tectonic plates that formed the island where his story took place – and that was before the internet. You were going to know exactly what it was like to be in that location, no detail spared. And that is generally true of fantasy novels (and some science fiction. We’re not ignoring you, Dune, at up to 896 pages in some versions) such as the Game of Thrones series (674 pages in the hardcover) and A Memory of Light, of the Wheel of Time series, at 912 pages.

What often separates these novels apart is the need for world building. When an urban romance begins, you, as an inhabitant of the modern Earth world, already understand the location. You’ve seen cars and buses, trucks, trains, maybe a subway, even if only in a movie. You know a jet from a prop plane from a blimp. No one has to describe it for you. You know what a crowded street sounds like, the crush of people pushing past you, the colors of the traffic lights, the enticing smell of a food cart on a cold winter afternoon, the spooked raccoon leaping out of a dumpster. All it takes is a mention (“A rat the size of a pregnant chihuahua dragged a greasy box of KFC down the deserted back alley.”) and you get a picture in your head that is fairly accurate to what the author imagined.

If you’re inventing a strange new world, whether it’s an alien land with orange skies and eight-legged monsters and a generational spaceship besieged by radiation and a twenty-year old 404 error, or a land of wizards and dragons and three-headed talking sheep, and a castle that can only be seen at midnight when a full moon lands on a Tuesday and it’s being besieged by green-skinned gnomes, then the author has to spend an inordinate amount of time teaching you to imagine this place, and how to make sense of it.

Which brings me to my latest read, the fantasy novel Perdido Street Station, a 700-page monster by China Miéville. Miéville hasn’t met a 12-letter word he can’t use in a sentence, no matter how highbrow and obscure it may be to the average reader – I’m not talking words like unconditionally, but thaumaturgy and ululating and palimpsest. Now, ululating may be the exact word you need, that undulating whoop given to Native Americans and Arabic people in movies, but using a rare word six times in one book doesn’t feel right. Despite that, the novel is sublime: extremely imaginative, walking the line between fantasy, steam punk, and horror, with fantastical creatures at every turn of the page. The story is long and involved, with twists and turns that may take a while to play out, leaving you just intrigued enough to keep reading. I liked it far more than The Difference Engine by William Gibson, which came so highly recommended.

I repeat, it was an entertaining novel, with an unexpected and satisfying ending.

But it makes me think, when is enough enough? How much detail do we really need to be immersed in a setting? Miéville spares no detail in creating his world, right down to a map of his city, which the reader will reference often because he rattles off at least one neighborhood or train stop per page, as if the reader already knows the layout. Once or twice to give me a feel, fine, but do I really need to know the history of each neighborhood? Does the economic collapse of a neighborhood and the board by board building of the resultant slum really have a bearing on the story? I get it, it’s half human, half insect, but I’m losing track of head legs, human legs, and strange body parts. It’s nice to have details, but when do details begin to bog down a story, rather than elevate it? How much detail do we really need? The scattered Fremen words in Dune give the book flavor, and there’s enough of them that it comes with a dictionary in the back, but you can skip a lot of the words and still follow the story. Tolkien’s Elvish poetry in Lord of the Rings is beautiful, emphasizes the emotional depth of the ethereal elves, but you will lose no part of the story if you skip over them. Is it worth spending 200 pages of a book investing in a detailed character, only to have them die on page 300, but the story’s only half over? (Sit down, Game of Thrones. We learned not to invest after the first three characters died.)

An author’s world in their head is far more detailed than ever makes it to paper – sometimes. King’s The Stand is long, but there are several substories going on, and not one of them can be pulled out without affecting the story. Game of Thrones has so many stories going on that some characters are absent from entire volumes because there was no way to fit them in and keep it under 2,000 pages. Ayn Rand left no thought unspoken in Atlas Shrugged, at 1100 pages. Is that all you had to say, Ayn?

What’s the longest book you’ve read? Do you know a book that bogged down in so much detail you gave up? If you like imaginative steampunkish fantasy, give Perdido Street Station a try, but you’re going to need that renewal. Let us know what you think!

“Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man, very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. “The Lord help us!” he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent.” – Wuthering Heights (it’s not just fantasy novels)

Sunrise on the Reaping

August 17, 2026August 11, 2026 / Susan O. / Leave a comment

I love the Hunger Games series. I love a good action story, and Hunger Games delivers.

Like anything else, I did read the books before seeing the films, and I do feel the films have a slight advantage (except for Mockingjay – it’s nice you made it into two parts, but seriously, you didn’t need to). The films, being visual, cut any bloat that might have been lurking. I love them. I love the casting, I love the cinematography, I love the creative storyline. Any story that can make me love and hate a character at the same time is a pretty good story.

I can’t decide which is my favorite – there’s so much to love about all of them. It’s hard to make a sequel as good as an original – and we can all think of sequels that shouldn’t be spoken of in polite company (ahem, Highlander 2, Frozen 2, Caddyshack 2, Jaws 2, Godfather 3, Star Trek 5, etc) – and few franchises can pull it off – Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Empire Strikes Back being two of them. Hunger Games does, driving home the horror and mental devastation with unrelenting drumbeats.

Prequels in general are easier to write (we won’t talk about Star Wars), because you generally know what came before and how it winds up. You’re just filling in the details between A and C. I’m sure Collins had a lot of the backstory written – or at least roughed out, before writing the Hunger Games prequel, Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, a title that works perfectly on many levels. This volume, too, I adored, drawing me into the characters. Even so, I felt this was the most bloated of the series, and I couldn’t always track the action in my head. The movie fixed that gloriously. As always, the original folk music is just the icing on the cake.

And, okay, I was a year late reading it, but we were gifted with a second prequel, twenty-five years later in the timeline, the 25th games where we first meet the alcoholic mentor Haymitch, Sunrise on the Reaping.

I love Haymitch. I love Woody Harrelson for playing him to perfection. Who the heck wouldn’t be an alcoholic after all that? And to find out you might have to do it again, late in life, when you don’t stand a chance against a 17 year old professional assassin? Yo! Fill my cup!

But for the first time in the series, this book on Haymitch left me wanting.

Sunrise suffers from what I’ve long-called “Muppet Baby Syndrome.” In the original Muppet Show, all the Muppets are adults from different backgrounds, just like people. When the Muppet Movie hit, it explored the origins of all the characters and how they all met and came together to work on The Muppet Show.

Good film. Funny and entertaining for adults, not just kids.

Then came the cartoon Muppet Babies, and suddenly all the Muppets are all together and in the same room as infants (grrr) and no one knows why or how. Many shows have fallen into this trap, where characters are thrown together years before they should be, have always known each other, and everyone who might possibly be a new character knows everyone already, even if the character lines were already set differently. Think of Scooby Doo, with 50 years of genre, and someone now starts a series where the characters were all adopted as newborns in the same family, all at the same time. Star Trek has done this with the Strange New Worlds series. Doesn’t make sense, does it. Sometimes, the stretch is so far, it’s painful.

And that’s what Sunrise on the Reaping does. Districts are districts, large geographic areas, not single towns. It’s like saying all of Appalachia – which spans 13 states – is the size of Bird-In-Hand, Pennsylvania (pop. 537). All of the entire District 12 assembles in one place for the reaping? How do all these poor people get there? Everyone in the village is related, knows everyone, has interbred for generations, even before the war? (Okay, that’s not too far-fetched, very small towns are very like that). Or is only that town lucky enough to be reaped? We really needed to drag in Effie Trinket, 25 years early (she never seemed that old)? Why? Why not someone else? She is the only one who can ever draw names for District 12? They don’t take turns with assignments? And Caesar? Plutarch? Beetee? Mags? It seems suddenly that every character in the last four books is here in this one, too, whether or not they need to belong there, and that hits that painful spot of disbelief. Muppet Baby Syndrome. Instead of introducing us to new characters, and new backgrounds, and new stories, it feels pieced together from all the other bits that we already know. And while I liked some of the new characters, even though you knew they were doomed, I just didn’t have enough feel for Haymitch and his girl to care.

Maybe because the story is tightly locked in by the formula, and “how many ways to kill 24/48 kids can we come up with and still make it fresh?” You can’t. It’s been done. Four times. We know what’s going to happen, and who’s going to live. That’s the way the story must play out. It can’t change, no matter what you try to make different.

Despite it all, I did enjoy it enough. Still love Haymitch. Still love the series. It’s just this book is my least favorite.

Watch for Sunrise on the Reaping in theaters this November 20. View the movie trailer here.

Signing off from District 13.

Honest Looks at Motherhood for Mother’s Day

May 10, 2026May 6, 2026 / Lauren / Leave a comment

I once, briefly, had beautiful hair. In 2019, tired of the constant maintenance required by my standard-issue short bob, I decided to stop visiting the hairstylist. The Covid lockdowns in 2020 were a convenient excuse to continue the experiment. By the time I had my first child in the summer of 2021, my hair was lustrous, thicker and longer than ever (thanks, pregnancy hormones!), and shot through with cinnamon-brown highlights. On the rare occasions that I washed and dried my hair during maternity leave, I could almost pass for a mildly successful TikTok influencer.

Then, on cue, the postpartum hair loss started. Strands fell out at an alarming rate. Bouts with Covid and daycare-transmitted viral infections caused even more hair loss. I saw parts of my scalp I didn’t know existed. By the time I returned to work from having my second child, my hair resembled Albus Dumbledore’s phoenix, sad and ragged, a dark echo of its former glory (except for the new grays, of course). So, I went to the salon and had them take it all off, snipping and shaving me down until I had a pixie cut. I officially had my Mom Hair. I was in the club. I was no longer subverting gendered expectations, but living the reality of the most gendered expectation of them all.

I’ll spare you the other indignities that come with giving birth to another human being, but know, if you haven’t done it yourself, that they are legion. So are the complex social and emotional changes that happen when you transition to parenthood, and specifically to motherhood. Your whole identity changes overnight. That’s harder to talk about than the stupid hair thing. And the longer I’m mired in the day-to-day reality of being Mama / Mom / Mamba to two young kids, the harder it is for me to remember those changes, let alone articulate it to others. Luckily, there are women out there who have been able to do it. It’s not all beautiful, not like the flower arrangements and the precious handprint art that will be exchanged on Mother’s Day. But they provide an illuminating glimpse into motherhood for those on the outside. If you’re a mom like me, these titles might hit you right where you used to have ab muscles.

Honest Motherhood: On Losing My Mind and Finding Myself by Libby Ward (2026)

From the publisher: In Honest Motherhood, Libby candidly shares her journey of unlearning the myth of the ideal mother. She dives headfirst into the experiences many mothers have but few feel safe enough to say out loud—the lack of support, the guilt, the invisibility, the cycles they’re breaking, and the fantasies about a hospital stay just to get a flippin’ break. Libby untangles her social conditioning from learned trauma responses and discovers that letting go of unrealistic standards, asking for help, and prioritizing herself aren’t failures—they’re necessities.

I’ll Show Myself Out: Essays on Midlife and Motherhood by Jessi Klein (2022)

From the publisher: In Emmy Award-winning writer and producer Jessi Klein’s second collection, she hilariously explodes the cultural myths and impossible expectations around motherhood and explores the humiliations, poignancies, and possibilities of midlife. Klein explores this stage of life in all its cruel ironies, joyous moments, and bittersweetness.

Screaming on the Inside: The Unsustainability of American Motherhood by Jessica Grose (2022)

From the publisher: In this timely and necessary book, New York Times opinion writer Jessica Grose dismantles two hundred years of unrealistic parenting expectations and empowers today’s mothers to make choices that actually serve themselves, their children, and their communities.

Nightbitch: A Novel by Rachel Yoder (2021)

From the publisher: An artist turned stay-at-home mom becomes convinced that she is turning into a dog and, as her symptoms intensify, struggles to keep her alter-canine-identity a secret, until she meets a group of mothers who may also be more than what they seem.

Mama Needs a Minute!: A Candid, Funny, All-Too-Relatable Comic Memoir About Surviving Motherhood by Mary Catherine Starr (2025)

From the publisher: Filled with Starr’s signature wit, warmth, and observational humor, Mama Needs a Minute! tackles all the absurdities of modern motherhood through illuminating anecdotes and delightful illustrations. Whether you’re navigating a hellish sleep regression, wiping sweet potato off the walls, singing your four-thousandth lullaby, or simply hoping to pee without a toddler watching, this honest and irreverent account of motherhood will make you laugh, cry, and feel seen in a way that only a true mom-friend can.

I Was Told There’d Be a Village: Transforming Motherhood Through the Power of Connection by Melissa Wirt (2025)

From the publisher: Melissa Wirt thought she had everything-she’d built her own company and moved to a beautiful farm with her family. Then during a personal crisis, she realized: despite having created an online community reaching thousands of moms, she’d also somehow, become utterly isolated. In I Was Told There’d Be a Village, Melissa describes how she began making small changes-leaving behind a damaging Isolation Mindset and developing an advantageous Village Mindset. Using personal anecdotes and stories from moms across the country, this book provides specific, actionable steps to transform oppressive, solitary parenting into a connected, collective (even joyful) endeavor.

The Push: A Novel by Ashley Audrain (2021)

From the publisher: Blythe Connor is determined that she will be the warm, comforting mother to her new baby Violet that she herself never had. But in the thick of motherhood’s exhausting early days, Blythe becomes convinced that something is wrong with her daughter—she doesn’t behave like most children do. Or is it all in Blythe’s head? Her husband, Fox, says she’s imagining things. The more Fox dismisses her fears, the more Blythe begins to question her own sanity, and the more we begin to question what Blythe is telling us about her life as well. Then their son Sam is born—and with him, Blythe has the blissful connection she’d always imagined with her child. Even Violet seems to love her little brother. But when life as they know it is changed in an instant, the devastating fall-out forces Blythe to face the truth.

A Woman’s Work: Reclaiming the Radical History of Mothering by Elinor Cleghorn (2026)

From the publisher: Mothers make history. But what it has meant for mothers to do the physical and emotional work of mothering has, for centuries, been neglected in the stories of the past. Patriarchal control of motherhood has relegated the acts of growing, birthing, nurturing, and loving to the sidelines, and deemed it unimportant, women’s work. Now, through the voices of women themselves, Elinor Cleghorn reclaims and retells the history of motherhood, showcasing the mothers, othermothers, midwives, activists, community leaders, and more who have shaped the course of history.

Motherthing by Ainslie Hogarth (2022)

From the publisher: A darkly funny domestic horror novel about a woman who must take drastic measures to save her husband and herself from the vengeful ghost of her mother-in-law. Abby Lamb has done it. She’s found the Great Good in her husband, Ralph, and together they will start a family and put all the darkness in her childhood to rest. But then the Lambs move in with Ralph’s mother, Laura, whose depression has made it impossible for her to live on her own. She’s venomous and cruel, especially to Abby, who has a complicated understanding of motherhood given the way her own, now-estranged, mother raised her. When Laura takes her own life, her ghost starts to haunt Abby and Ralph in very different ways. Ralph is plunged into depression, and Abby is being terrorized by a force intent on taking everything she loves away from her. With everything on the line, Abby must make the ultimate sacrifice in order to prove her adoration to Ralph and break Laura’s hold on the family for good.

Survival of the Fittest

February 2, 2026January 31, 2026 / Susan O. / Leave a comment

I finished reading my last book of the year on December 27 (Sugar, Salt, Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us, by Michael Moss, which was very good), and figured that was it for the year. I had too much going on to rush another book but I just couldn’t go without reading something, so I grabbed one off my To Be Read shelf – Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which has so many recommendations the cover should be 14-carat gold.

Every review was correct. I read the book in a day and a half – I probably could have finished it in five hours, if I’d had uninterrupted time. I just could not put this book down. It’s a sparse novel about a father and son in a post-apocalyptic world – you don’t even find out what happened – as they try to survive travel on foot an unknown distance to the south shore to get out of the freezing winter weather. I’m guessing by the fact they crossed over high mountains they were heading to California, but no clues are given (in the movie, the map shows Florida). This book was beyond compelling, certainly worthy of every accolade. But I didn’t feel like writing an entire blog post about it. Nothing is worse than a review that gives a play by play recap of a book.

So I went and looked up books like The Road, because I’ve read enough post-apocalyptic fiction to have covered all the basics. What is it compared to? For decades (and arguably still) my favorite novel of all time, by number of rereads, is Alas, Babylon, by Pat Frank, a post-nuclear war novel from 1959. A little dated, but not much. In the chaos of 9/11, I sent my oldest friend a two-word text: Alas, Babylon, and he knew exactly what I meant.

But a couple of similar-to lists had the nerve to list Earth Abides, by George R. Stewart. My father was always after me to read this one, the Alas, Babylon of his youth, before the Cold War. Eventually I did, and honestly, it’s one of the worst apocalyptic books I’ve ever read. Okay, maybe they didn’t realize in 1949 that you should never dust pregnant women with DDT. The chemical world was still pretty much in denial that some things were deadly. But these “survivors,” instead of focusing on long-term survival, worry only about immediate needs and then go hungry when canned food runs out. They have no concept of gardening, let along farming and food storage. They think nothing about education, don’t teach their children even basic reading skills, and so that, although they have public libraries to learn survival skills from, in just one generation, no one can read the books. It’s difficult to root for their survival… After learning what to do and how to do it from Alas, Babylon, I truly hated this book.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other really good books (and movies!) out there. And post-apocalyptic doesn’t necessarily mean science-fiction. Stephen King’s The Stand can be drama, horror, alternative history, Christian fiction, speculative fiction, or loosely science fiction, depending on how you want to interpret it. Same with The Road: It’s a story about father-son relationships, survival during hardship, and climate destruction.

Post-apocalyptic fiction simply means that some calamity has befallen society, tearing apart what used to be normal. If a country – China, Turkey, Peru, Afghanistan, etc. – was utterly destroyed by earthquake and subsequent famine and plague, you could call their recovery post-apocalyptic, even though the rest of the world continued. How we formed trade networks and moved to online commerce during the Covid epidemic can be seen as apocalyptic in a way; we are in a post-apocalyptic society from Covid, as many of our bedrock companies folded, telehealth and working from home became a thing, and society as a whole changed. There are many, many excellent “post-apocalyptic” stories out there, some focusing on disease ( The Andromeda Strain), on climate (Day After Tomorrow), natural disasters (asteroids, etc.) (Solar), nuclear holocaust (Planet of the Apes), the death of oil (Road Warrior), electromagnetic pulse (One Second After), and more. How do people adapt? Can mankind survive? What determination does it take? How can you stay hopeful in the face of annihilation? What can we learn from these stories to avoid such scenarios, or how to survive them? Apocalyptic fiction can be quite imaginative (Hunger Games), and appeal to a wide range of readers (and viewers). Sometimes the book is meh, but the film is far better (Planet of the Apes, for one), sometimes the book is excellent but the movie is okay (Girl With All the Gifts), and sometimes there is more than one film version of the book, with differences between them (The Stand, Planet of the Apes, Day of the Triffids, War of the Worlds). All of them will question your morality and make you wonder about your ability to survive a serious disaster.

(Fun fact: the final battle in War of the Worlds was filmed at the old Uniroyal plant in Naugatuck, CT)

Here’s a wide array of post-apocalyptic novels and films sure to keep you engaged. Which do you like best?

Films (some from novels):

Books (some with accompanying films):

Disappearing Authors

December 8, 2025December 2, 2025 / Susan O. / 1 Comment

Barbara Newhall Follett was a writer who disappeared. Not fell out of favor or faded out of print, but disappeared. Considered a child genius who published a successful novel at the age of 12, The House Without Windows (it helped, of course, that her father was an editor at Alfred Knopf publishers), Follett was emotionally destroyed by her father’s divorce when she was 14, and never did much more. In 1939, Follett had a fight with her husband, walked out her door in Boston, and was never seen again…

Some authors are known for being extremely reclusive – J. D. Salinger, for one. Salinger had numerous personal and family issues, many, his daughter believed, stemming from PTSD from serving in World War II, and he hid from the intense fame he acquired from Catcher in the Rye. He seldom gave interviews or made appearances.

Thomas Pynchon is another, not having given an interview or even having a photo published in more than fifty years. He has no media accounts. In his late 80’s, it’s believed he’s living in Mexico, but no one except perhaps his publisher knows for certain.

Some authors aren’t lost, they’re just taking forever on that next novel – sometimes 10 years or more (staring right at you, George R. R. Martin). There are only a handful who have actually disappeared, becoming their own mystery.

Agatha Christie is perhaps the most famous. The Queen of Mystery herself disappeared in 1926, after a fight with her husband over his request for a divorce. Her car was discovered, empty. More than 15,000 people turned out to look for her, with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle going so far as to hire mediums. Eleven days later, she turned up in a hotel, 185 miles away, with no memory of what happened. Some publicists called it revenge against her husband that backfired when so many people got involved, while doctors said she had a nervous breakdown from the strain.

Solomon Northup is a name you may be familiar with. His memoir was made into an Oscar-Winning film, Twelve Years a Slave. Northup, who was born free in upstate New York but kidnapped and sold into slavery, wrote and published his memoir in 1853. Then, in 1857, he seems to disappear from historical records. Some thought he may have been kidnapped again, but his age at the time (around 50) made it unlikely. A Methodist minister in Vermont claimed to have worked with him in the early 1860’s, and last saw him in 1863. It’s assumed he died sometime between 1863 and 1864.

Elena Ferrante is a well-known author of more than 30 books, some of which have been made into movies or TV series, such as My Brilliant Friend. It’s also a pseudonym. Her true identity is a secret and almost nothing is known about her, except that she was born in Naples. In interviews, she claims it’s from shyness and fear of coming out of her shell. Speculation claims the author is actually Anita Raja, or her husband. Both people, and Ferrante’s publisher, deny it emphatically.

Antoine de St. Exupery is most famous for the timeless classic, The Little Prince, which was partly based on an airplane crash he and his navigator survived in the Libyan Desert. St. Exupery became a pilot in the 1920’s, joining the French Army, and later the French Air Force. Much of his writing has an aviation theme. When France was pulled into World War II, St. Exupery was assigned to reconnaissance missions, as an experienced pilot. On July 31, 1944, he left the airbase on Corsica in a Lockheed P-38, and was never heard from again. It wasn’t until 1998 – 54 years later, that a fisherman found a bracelet with his name on it. No one believed it, as it was some distance away from his intended flight plan. In 2000, a diver near the same area discovered wreckage of a Lockheed P-38. In 2003, the pieces were recovered and tested, proving indeed it was St. Exupery’s plane, downed in the war, though the details remain a mystery.

Ambrose Bierce was a short story writer and Civil War veteran, most famous for the story An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge. His stories influenced Stephen Crane and Ernest Hemingway, and he is considered one of America’s best satirists. At the age of 71, he went on a trip to visit his old Civil War battlegrounds, crossed over into Mexico, and wound up joining Pancho Villa’s army, documenting the battles. His last letter is dated December 26, 1913. His secretary believed he threw himself into the Grand Canyon in a suicide move, but witnesses saw him in Chihuahua in January of 1914. Mexican legend has it he was executed by a firing squad. Either way, it’s a great story!

Jack Black is one rough figure- no, not the actor! A drifter and burglar born around 1871, his 1926 autobiography You Can’t Win described his life of crime on the road. Disenchanted with both “genteel” life and that of the judicial system, he spent 30 years as a traveling criminal (15 of which he spent in prison). The book was influential for William S. Burroughs, a pioneer of the Beat Generation. Another odd fact: The author who helped him with his autobiography was none other than Rose Wilder Lane, the daughter of Laura Ingalls Wilder. You Can’t Win was adapted into a movie starring Michael Pitt and Jeremy Allen White, but has been in a liminal post-production stage for years. Black himself disappeared in 1932, and is believed to have committed suicide.

Returning to Barbara Newhall Follett’s story, there is something of a conclusion. After her disappearance, her husband didn’t report her missing for two weeks. The police eventually put out a bulletin – four months later. They used her married name, not her maiden name. A body was found, then determined not to be hers but a woman who had been missing years before. Thirteen years later, her mother insisted the police look harder, but nothing new was found. In 2019 – eighty years later – writer Daniel Mills proposed a theory that her body had been found in 1948, just not properly identified. The body had been found in New Hampshire – just a half mile from where she had a rental property and not terribly far from her home in Boston. The possessions found with the body were things Follett was known to have. The cause of death was barbiturate overdose, a substance Follett had taken before. The police in New Hampshire had no idea she’d been missing.

Authors, even the most famous ones, are still people, with the same dramas as everyone else. Does art imitate life, or does life create the art?

For books on “prodigies” who turn away from their potential, check out Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, or Off the Charts: The Hidden Lives and Lessons of American Child Prodigies by Ann Hulbert.