Robin Wasserman Books Robin Wasserman Other Writing Robin Wasserman Bio Robin Wasserman Links
Robin Wasserman contact Robin Wasserman News and Events Robin Wasserman's Theory of Everything Blog



Fans of NY Times bestselling author SCOTT WESTERFELD's mind-bending novels will not want to miss this wonderful FREE event on Tuesday, September 23rd, beginning at 6pm.


I feel like that’s the thing that’s holding back many young women writers, and many young women in general now—this idea that we don’t put our work out until we believe it’s immaculate, and there’s no such thing as perfection to begin with. Secondly, the lack of a perfected idea never stopped men from speaking out! To be successful I think you really have to shove yourself forward, and I consider myself really lucky that I’ve never held myself back in those ways. To a fault! I’m sort of a pamphleteer for my own work, standing on a street corner ringing a bell, shouting, “Look what I made! Look what I made!”
The Liars Club with E. Lockhart, Libba Bray, and Robin Wasserman

Tonight @ McNally Jackson in Soho (NYC)

Start: 7:00 pm
Please join E. Lockhart in conversation with Libba Bray and Robin Wasserman to celebrate the release of We Were Liars

One of the main defenses of any abhorrent character, whether in Game of Thrones, True Detective, or All in the Family, is that they’re a “product of their times.” This argument is usually wielded as a means of recuperating misogynistic, racist, and/or homophobic men: of course he sexually assaulted/manipulated/destroyed that woman; that’s how men operated then! To some extent, I actually buy this argument: there’s no “outside” of ideology, even in fictional television, and all men must wallow in the moral imperatives set forth by their narratives.

What strikes me, then, is how seldom this defense is used to exonerate unlikable women. Their actions are just as circumscribed by the ideologies that inform their cultures, but instead of explaining why they are the way they are, we call them bitches and shrews, harpies and sluts.

Anne Helen Peterson, in defense of Betty Draper
That was when I decided to take seriously the person I actually am rather than try to be a person whom others define as serious.
A much needed reminder from E. Lockhart

Me too, dudes. Me too. (source: Robin’s tweet and Scott’s)


Me too, dudes. Me too. (source: Robin’s tweet and Scott’s)


Happy EMPATHY EXAMS day! You’re all going out right now to buy this book, right?


Especially because you know I write a “why you MUST read this book” post about once a decade, so you know this is serious.

And that you must.

How do I explain THE EMPATHY EXAMS?

A long time ago, back when I used to actually write blog posts (and I think this is so long ago that I used to post them on my livejournal), I started a post that I never got around to finishing, because I am lazy, and because talking about things you love is hard, especially when you’re talking about writing that’s so good it makes you want to set your laptop on fire. I wrote (and bear with me, because this gets relevant):

"Here’s the thing about David Foster Wallace’s essays.  I don’t read a lot of nonfiction, and when I do, it’s usually to educate myself on a topic I find interesting. When I’m in the mood for…well, I hesitate to call it spiritual enlightenment, since anyone who knows me knows this is a phrase I would never, ever use, so let’s say illumination, I turn to novels.  

But that’s what DFW’s nonfiction writing does for me: illuminate. 

Some of his essays just make me think.  Hard. 

But occasionally he writes something that, at least for the duration of my reading, changes everything I see and understand about the world. 

Here’s something else I hesitate to say, because under normal circumstances these are really not words you would ever catch me using, but occasionally he writes something that, at least for the duration of my reading, makes me feel like a better person. 

Or like I have the capacity to be a better person (not to mention a better writer).”

Just to be clear, Leslie Jamison is nothing like David Foster Wallace in any way—except for the fact that her writing does exactly the same thing. The fact that her essays are also beautifully brilliant interrogations of what it means to be human, and I love them with the same evangelical zeal. (Obviously.) Not since I picked up that first DFW essay collection have I felt the same kick in the gut, reverberation in my bones, glowing in my heart, whatever you want to call it (and here’s where I wish I could call in Leslie Jamison to get her to explicate the emotion, because that’s what she does best).* 

So I’ll let her speak for herself. From the title essay (which you can read in full here, and I dare you to do so and not fall in love):

Empathy isn’t just something that happens to us—a meteor shower of synapses firing across the brain—it’s also a choice we make: to pay attention, to extend ourselves. It’s made of exertion, that dowdier cousin of impulse. Sometimes we care for another because we know we should, or because it’s asked for, but this doesn’t make our caring hollow. The act of choosing simply means we’ve committed ourselves to a set of behaviors greater than the sum of our individual inclinations: I will listen to his sadness, even when I’m deep in my own. To say “going through the motions”—this isn’t reduction so much as acknowledgment of the effort—the labor, the motions, the dance—of getting inside another person’s state of heart or mind.

This confession of effort chafes against the notion that empathy should always arise unbidden, that genuine means the same thing as unwilled, that intentionality is the enemy of love. But I believe in intention and I believe in work. I believe in waking up in the middle of the night and packing our bags and leaving our worst selves for our better ones.

That last line, I believe in that, too. And I think reading books like this is as good as any a place to start.

*Disclosure: I actually could call Leslie, because I know her. Which I say less to admit any kind of potential bias and more just to brag, because seriously, how cool is it that I know someone who can write and think like THIS?

We are always writing the other, we are always writing the self.
A sentence can always be improved. You never finish a sentence. You just abandon it.
John Banville, interviewed here