Geraldine Brooks had an unpleasant surprise while teaching at Harvard

What books are on your nightstand?

Standing three thin volumes of a series called “A Return to Poetry.” In each, 10 notable Australians choose 10 favorite poems and say why those poems speak to them. I often delve into these books and I am sad that they have discontinued the series. In addition to them, I currently have “Worn Out,” by Sofi Thanhauser, a compelling dive into the human and environmental costs of what we carry on our backs; two novels, Nicole Galland’s “Master of the Revels” and Chris Bohjalian’s “The Lioness”; and Gish Jen’s new short stories, “Thank You, Mr. Nixon.”

What’s the last great book you read?

I’m still reeling from ‘The Overstory’ by Richard Powers.

Are there any classic novels that you have only recently read for the first time?

Let me whisper this, ’cause I’m mortified, “Middlemarch.”

Can a great book be badly written? What other criteria can overcome bad prose?

The “Remembrance of Earth’s Past” trilogy, by Liu Cixin, is full of insights into everything from the Chinese Cultural Revolution to why we haven’t experienced first contact yet, and why perhaps we shouldn’t. But some sentences are clumsy and I don’t know if it’s the text or the translation. Unfortunately, it’s too late for me to learn Mandarin to get a definitive answer.

Describe your ideal reading experience (when, where, what, how).

A cold winter’s day, a steaming lavender-scented bath, a good book, an hour or so of nothing else needed, and no guilt about wasting hot water.

What is your favorite book that no one else has heard of?

“No Man on Earth”, by Walter Moudy. The only other person I know who has read it is my son, because I printed it.

What book should everyone read before age 21?

I taught writing at Harvard last year and half of my students had never read a Shakespeare play. That set my hair on fire.

What book should no one read until the age of 40?

I think you could read both “Gilead” and “Housekeeping”, by Marilynne Robinson, as a younger person, but you should do yourself good and read them again if some profile has worn off your tires.

Which writers – novelists, playwrights, critics, journalists, poets – working today do you most admire?

Anyone who stands up for the truth against the poisonous mud of Murdoch-enabled lies.

Do you count books as guilty pleasures?

I love Michael Robotham’s detective-adjacent fiction and I’m not the least bit guilty about it.

Which writers are especially good at American history, at fiction or non-fiction?

In non-fiction, the prolific and protean Jill Lepore, especially her biography of Ben Franklin’s sister, “Book of Ages,” a painstaking excavation of the voice of an ignored woman. Likewise, in “Bound in Wedlock,” Tera W. Hunter lets us hear the unheard of stories of love and marriage among the enslaved people. Drew Gilpin Faust on the Civil War; David W. Blight on Frederick Douglass; Charles E. Rosenberg on Horrible Diseases. Nikole Hannah-Jones, who, like my late husband Tony Horwitz, is a reporter of history, revealing the price of the truths we deny and the myths we embrace. In fiction, my favorite American historical novel is Brian Hall’s “I Should Be Extremely Happy in Your Company,” about the Lewis and Clark expedition. Packed with insights earned through in-depth research, it’s a masterclass on voice and character.

How do you organize your books?

My books organize me. Poetry demands in the entryway, plays commander seats in the TV room, classics loom in the living room, books about food rummage in the kitchen, contemporary fiction spills over walls of recently built shelving in the guest house, books for my current research see-saw piled next to my desk, as books from previous research march to the shed, which was Tony’s study. There, volumes of lead mining in the Pennines and the letters of Bronson Alcott accompany every book ever written about the Civil War, which was Tony’s passion. And a pair of vertical metal shelves holds a motley selection of titles, united only by the fact that all of their authors have stayed with us.

What’s the most interesting thing you’ve learned recently from a book?

That the plural of octopus is octopuses, not octopuses, since you can’t put a Latin “i” on a Greek word. Just one of the interesting things I learned from Sy Montgomery’s ‘The Soul of an Octopus’.

What topics would you like more authors to write about?

We need to reformulate the story of climate change so that it is not just about renunciation and loss, but also about opportunity and joy. A wild lawn full of bees and wildflowers is more beautiful and less work than a dull expanse of poisonous ChemLawn; a sunlight-powered electric car is a sportier ride than a petrol car, and a second-hand treasure discovered during a chat with the neighbors at the local Dumptique is more satisfying than a plastic tchotchke with one click on the internet. It’s not about giving up things, it’s about finding better ways.

What touches you most in a literary work?

White, in all its guises. From Jane Austen to Andrew Sean Greer I love a book that makes me laugh while revealing deep truths about human nature.

What book might surprise people when they hit your shelves?

“How to Land a Plane”, by Mark Vanhoenacker. As the author pragmatically points out, you never to have to take off, but you may have to land. As someone who lives on an island and has to fly small planes with pilots who may not always seem to be in top shape, I find that having this book offers some comfort. And Vanhoenacker writes beautifully about flying. I love his book ‘Skyfaring’.

Do you prefer books that reach you emotionally or intellectually?

How can you feel without thinking? In what world or species would those two qualities be separable?

Which genres do you like to read most? And which one do you avoid?

I like elegant, insightful essayists like Helen Garner, Ann Patchett, Michael Lewis, George Packer, Annie Dillard, WEB Du Bois. I’m a reluctant reader of my own genre because I get too frustrated when presumptuous research crushes the soul out of the story, or when careless inaccuracies rip me out of my time. There was no train to Fitchburg in 1840. There were no camels in Israel before 2000 BCE. And until at least 1796, no one used the word “mauve” for a color. ” in 1665.)

If you could require the president to read one book, what would it be?

“The End of Nature”, by Bill McKibben, with the publication date of 1989 picked in highlighter. It might remind him that we’ve been nagging about this crisis for over three decades, so it’s time to tackle Joe Manchin and get a climate package approved.

Do you remember the last book you put down without finishing it?

“Moby-Dick”, again. Despite Nathaniel Philbrick’s persuasive essay on the virtue of the text, that whale just keeps slipping away from me.

You’re hosting a literary dinner. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?

First, I’d bring Tony Horwitz back because he was more fun at dinner than anyone I know. Then, since I think it’s kind of rude — and a little boring — to invite writers without their partners, I’d like to have my compatriot Tim Winton and his wife, Denise, who is a marine scientist. I would add Margaret Atwood and bring back her partner, Graeme Gibson, a passionate conservationist.