Dear readers, Maybe it’s because I still have Ann Patchett on the brain, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the roles of pleasure, compassion and gentleness in literature. I’m all for books that challenge you — emotionally, intellectually. It’s one of the great reasons to read. But somewhere along the way, I fear, books that offer comfort or a sense of hopefulness have come to seem lightweight, as if those good feelings are antithetical to serious, worthy work. Not so! With this in mind, it’s a fruitful moment for the novelist Andrew Sean Greer to publish a new book. Greer won a Pulitzer for his novel “Less,” about a hapless, globetrotting novelist, and his work is warm and humane. There are humiliations, sure (heartbreak; a prize jury composed of high schoolers; thinning hair), but you never feel his characters are in the hands of a vengeful higher power. In “Villa Coco,” which comes out on Tuesday, Greer follows a recent college graduate who arrives in Italy for an ill-defined job as an archivist for a wealthy older woman. This is a classic Greer formulation (his fans might remember that he himself worked for a baronessa while the director of a writers’ retreat, which required him to clean up after her incontinent pug). Also a classic Greer formulation? Hidden inside the novel’s charming universe is a story with a good deal of perspective and soul. I spoke to Greer by phone last month, soon after he returned home to San Francisco from Venice, where he lives part of the year. First off: Is the hero of his new book a younger version of his most famous fictional creation, Arthur Less? “Well, they’re written by the same author,” Greer said, drolly. But no. “I think Arthur is more of a Mr. Magoo: Every step should be disaster, but it turns out great because he assumes it’s going to turn out better tomorrow than it did today.” The idea for what became “Villa Coco” started two decades ago, when Greer worked in rural Tuscany. He took copious notes, and had a ball fictionalizing his experiences, taking care to protect the private life of real people, including “my own beloved baronessa.” He knew from the outset he wanted to write an “utterly charming” story where you knew “everything’s going to turn out OK.” But those upbeat books still require literary rigor, and more than a touch of studied nonchalance (or as the baronessa might say, “sprezzatura”); you never want the reader to know how much finessing went into it. “You have to do all the work of a quote serious novel,” Greer said, “but you have to bury it in order for it to be a delight.” Time to go hunting for buried treasure. Finally, I’d be remiss not to spare a line for Marjane Satrapi, the hugely influential Iranian French author and graphic novelist, who died this week. It’s worth revisiting our review of her best-known work, “Persepolis,” which offers a brilliant and personal accounting of Iran’s political upheavals in the 1970s and beyond. See you next time. Like this email? We hope you’ve enjoyed this newsletter, which is made possible through subscriber support. Subscribe to The New York Times.
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