“Let’s talk about the book…”

That’s Carl Bernstein’s final plea in this substantial–if not exceptionally substantive–profile in the Post, on the occasion of his Hillary bio. As it turns out, the profiler displays a pretty strong disinclination to talk about the book; the pratfalls and potential journalistic restoration of Carl seem much more interesting than rehashing the story of New York’s junior senator. (At the expense of Bernstein’s sales, save some time and just read Elizabeth Kolbert’s review of both new Hillary books.)

The main lesson for we writers seems to be the old, trite one: Don’t wish for too much success too soon. (Easy for me to say, given my, um, zero manuscripts out circulating…) Most of us don’t have the constitution for fame and sustained quality production. My Exhibit A is Charles Frazier, but he has a lot of company (perhaps Woodward, even, considering his display over the past few years of journalistic ethical confusion.)

Sort of makes Cormac McCarthy seem like a smart kid for hiding out all these years, and Philip Roth seem like a miracle.

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On a more positive note:

I’ve received word, direct from the authorial source, that two publishers have bid on a new novel by the best writer with whom I ever weathered a workshop. Don’t know if I’m allowed to shout it from the rooftops yet, but, JA: Congratulations.