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Knopf | Aug 12, 2014 | 352 Pages | ISBN 9780385351614

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    Vintage | Jul 21, 2015 | 368 Pages | 5-3/16 x 8 | ISBN 9780307279132

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    Knopf | Aug 12, 2014 | 368 Pages | 6-1/4 x 9-1/4 | ISBN 9780307266262

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    Knopf | Aug 12, 2014 | 352 Pages | ISBN 9780385351614

Praise

“Elegantly constructed . . . One of Richard Bausch’s many talents is the forthright ease with which he delivers his characters—and readers—to the gravest questions of love, faith, and ultimately God, even as he nimbly hides the answers in plain sight.”
            —The New York Times Book Review
 
“Scrupulous observation and straightforward storytelling . . . As he empathetically investigates his characters, Bausch uncovers thoughts and feelings as tangled and troubled as the world around them . . . Back stories are traced with Bausch’s customary deftness and delicacy, his protagonists placed within a carefully drawn web of relationships that further illuminate their personalities . . . Bausch has always professed a Chekhovian credo that quiet attention to the details is more truthful and revealing than grand gestures. The moving but tentative final scene keeps faith with that.”
            —Boston Globe
 
“Intimate. Just as Sue Miller did in her 9/11 novel, The Lake Shore Limited, Bausch explores the way private tragedy is distorted and subsumed by national disaster. And as Roxane Gay did in her recent novel, An Untamed State, he juxtaposes an individual act of sexual violence against the broader violence of countries . . . The story effectively recreates the frustration of dealing with a victim in deep denial—and it’s a harrowing reminder of how the reverberations of those explosions traveled through the American psyche. For all the novel’s lovely description of romance ‘before,’ Bausch is even more insightful when he follows the corrosive effects of anxiety ‘after.’”
            —The Washington Post

“Riveting . . . Thoughtfully crafted . . . Bausch portrays Faulk and Natasha with as much toughness as tenderness, a toughness which lends the intimate story an emotional weight that can bear the load of these larger historical events . . . Bausch has found a way to write about love and tragedy that is both particular and resonant, not lost in the sweep of history but enlarged by it.”
            —Chapter 16

“Terrific . . . Humane and believable . . . [Bausch is] a master storyteller who appreciates subtleties most of us can’t see, much less write . . . Bausch has found a way to connect the optimism that died that day with the hopes and dreams that we take into our intimate relationships. They can collapse, too. And often we don’t even see it coming.”
            —The Seattle Times
 
“Elegant prose . . . Keen insights . . . Bausch explores the intersections of private and public history, including the unexpected and often tragic ways that each can influence the other.”
            —Chicago Tribune 

“Bausch earns his subject matter, and proves he’s up to the challenge . . . by displaying the utmost care for his characters, employing the highest form of authorial omnipotence to show how external horrors reverberate in internal spaces . . . transcribing the instant of a pang of feeling in his character’s heart, in other words doing the work of literature . . . Masterful prose, in the service of a masterfully told story.”
            —The Daily Beast

“Bausch makes it look easy . . . His people and situations feel real. They reflect our hopes and dreams and fears. He holds up a mirror with his portrayal of characters who resonate because they spark an old memory, conjure up the face of a forgotten friend, or otherwise ignite something in our consciousness.”
            —Washington Independent Review of Books
 
“Skillfully crafted . . . Taut and restrained . . . Courageously tackles a difficult conundrum in fiction: how to fictionalize—that is, how to make art—out of unspeakable evil taken from life . . . Bausch is a powerful evocator.”
            —New York Journal of Books 

“Sublimely probing what it means to lose trust in one’s self and in those one loves, the masterful Bausch delicately ponders the consequences of devastating loss on both a grand and personal scale. A luscious, sweeping heartbreak of a novel.”         
            —Booklist (starred review)
 
 “Winner of everything from a PEN/Malamud Award to the Literature Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, Bausch offers a twentieth work of fiction that blends private and public trauma to devastating effect.”
            —Barbara Hoffert, Library Journal
 
“Gorgeous, emotionally complex . . . Bausch’s narrative voice is patient, compassionate, and observant, noting the small details that anchor the story in a concrete, fully realized world . . . He never judges [his characters]. He is not interested in whether their human limitations His handling of 9/11 as a background is sensitive and deft. Before, During, After is a beautiful and tender novel about the personal consequences of a cataclysmic national event.”
            —Jeanette Zwart, Shelf Awareness 

“A tale of trust and loss . . . Bausch excels at capturing the mood of Americans in the days and weeks following 9/11—equal parts camaraderie and suspicion.”
            —Publishers Weekly
 
“Authentic . . . compelling . . . Bausch has created flawed characters searching for the courage to move forward through uncertainty . . . Has the feel of a Tennessee Williams play.”
            —Sally Bissell, Library Journal

Author Q&A

Q: The title of the book—BEFORE, DURING, AFTER—refers to the stages of a love affair that unfolds in the months leading up to September 11, 2001, and is rocked as the nation is rocked by tragedy. Why did you choose to set the personal, intimate story of romance—with ups and downs, surprises both good and bad—against a national tragedy?
 
A: I have always said that in most of the world’s good fiction the history is backdrop. The Napoleonic war for Tolstoy, for instance, with War And Peace; and, say, World War One for Hemingway, with A Farewell To Arms. Both of those books can be called romances. But this story occurred to me first from the personal history of a neighbor I knew thirty-four years ago in Virginia, whose marriage did not survive a trauma very much like that of Natasha in my book. I wanted to write about that catastrophe, and ended up wanting to make a successful love story, even with the troubles that arise; a portrait of a passionate love threatened by internal failings stemming from the larger circumstances. But that is what all fiction is ultimately doing. I thought about each generation’s catastrophic event, where everyone remembers where they were at the moment it happenedRoosevelt’s death and Pearl Harbor for my parents; Kennedy’s and King’s deaths for me; The Challenger for so many, and now 9-11. But of course beyond the shared catastrophic event, each of us has anyway, our own personal catastrophes to live with or make some kind of truce with, and that is the province of fiction. In some ways, it’s fiction’s main purposeto make personal what we tend to see as abstract. But beyond all this, and more important than any of it, is that I wanted to tell a good story.
 
Q: How do your stories come to you? Do you develop characters first, or do you begin with the plot?
 
A: The two are too closely allied to distinguish between them, really. Sometimes it’s a line, sometimes it’s a speculation, a what if, and sometimes it’s a combination of both. Sometimes it starts with a character, but the character is always dealing with some kind of trouble, which of course is plot.
 
Q: September 11 not only changed our nation, but in the aftermath we’ve seen an outpouring of literature around that moment. What has your book has added to the conversation in literature about that day? (Or—is there something you hope readers will be compelled to discuss about that day and it’s long-lasting effects after reading your book?)
 
A: I wouldn’t presume to guess at that. I believe there was a certain nihilism that accompanied the outpouring of extreme religion that followed upon it. We all have our ways of dealing with these irremediable things; we all serve some idea of hope, and redemption, but it seemed to me that everything was darker for a time, though people went on as themselves.
 
Q: At the center of this novel is a secret—it is so pervasive that it almost becomes a character itself. What drew you to tell a story that is moved forward, in many ways, by the unspoken, by silence?
 
A: The long ago instance did not involve secrets, so I can’t really say why it becomes so important in this novel, except to say that by the time I had been working on it for a couple of years, the psychology of what Natasha has been though, and my inhabiting of her as a character, dictated the rest of it. And we know that in most instances, people who suffer her trauma never report it.
 
Q: You’re a celebrated short story writer as well as a beloved novelist. How is the process different with crafting short stories, as opposed to novels? Do you prefer one to the other, or do they ebb and flow as your work creatively in the different forms? Do your short stories ever spiral into novels?
 
A: It is all expression to me, long or short. Several of my novels began as what I thought would be short stories; once I had a short story, “All The Way In Flagstaff, Arizona,” that started as a novel. I thank God every day that that has only happened to me once, and it was very early in my writing life, so I think I can chalk it up to inexperience. There are always five or ten unfinished projects lying around, and some of them have been for years. Eventually, I’d like to write all of them. I hope I’ll get to them, and there are always new ones coming up.
 
Q: The story is initially set in the political arena of Washington, DC, then moves to a calmer environment in Memphis, TN—with moments in NYC and Jamaica as the tragedy of September 11 unfolds. Do you have connections to these places?
 
A: I lived in Memphis for seven years. NYC is my favorite city in all the world. Never been to Jamaica, but would like to visit. I just needed them to be far apart and out of reach when it all came down, as of course many people were.
 
Q: This is your 20th book, and we hope there’s no stopping now! What are you working on next?
 
A: I’m almost finished with a new book of stories called Living in the Weather of The World. I’m aiming to have it ready, with pages of a new novel I’m not talking about, by mid-August.

 

Q: The title of the book—BEFORE, DURING, AFTER—refers to the stages of a love affair that unfolds in the months leading up to September 11, 2001, and is rocked as the nation is rocked by tragedy. Why did you choose to set the personal, intimate story of romance—with ups and downs, surprises both good and bad—against a national tragedy?
 
A: I have always said that in most of the world’s good fiction the history is backdrop. The Napoleonic war for Tolstoy, for instance, with War And Peace; and, say, World War One for Hemingway, with A Farewell To Arms. Both of those books can be called romances. But this story occurred to me first from the personal history of a neighbor I knew thirty-four years ago in Virginia, whose marriage did not survive a trauma very much like that of Natasha in my book. I wanted to write about that catastrophe, and ended up wanting to make a successful love story, even with the troubles that arise; a portrait of a passionate love threatened by internal failings stemming from the larger circumstances. But that is what all fiction is ultimately doing. I thought about each generation’s catastrophic event, where everyone remembers where they were at the moment it happenedRoosevelt’s death and Pearl Harbor for my parents; Kennedy’s and King’s deaths for me; The Challenger for so many, and now 9-11. But of course beyond the shared catastrophic event, each of us has anyway, our own personal catastrophes to live with or make some kind of truce with, and that is the province of fiction. In some ways, it’s fiction’s main purposeto make personal what we tend to see as abstract. But beyond all this, and more important than any of it, is that I wanted to tell a good story.
 
Q: How do your stories come to you? Do you develop characters first, or do you begin with the plot?
 
A: The two are too closely allied to distinguish between them, really. Sometimes it’s a line, sometimes it’s a speculation, a what if, and sometimes it’s a combination of both. Sometimes it starts with a character, but the character is always dealing with some kind of trouble, which of course is plot.
 
Q: September 11 not only changed our nation, but in the aftermath we’ve seen an outpouring of literature around that moment. What has your book has added to the conversation in literature about that day? (Or—is there something you hope readers will be compelled to discuss about that day and it’s long-lasting effects after reading your book?)
 
A: I wouldn’t presume to guess at that. I believe there was a certain nihilism that accompanied the outpouring of extreme religion that followed upon it. We all have our ways of dealing with these irremediable things; we all serve some idea of hope, and redemption, but it seemed to me that everything was darker for a time, though people went on as themselves.
 
Q: At the center of this novel is a secret—it is so pervasive that it almost becomes a character itself. What drew you to tell a story that is moved forward, in many ways, by the unspoken, by silence?
 
A: The long ago instance did not involve secrets, so I can’t really say why it becomes so important in this novel, except to say that by the time I had been working on it for a couple of years, the psychology of what Natasha has been though, and my inhabiting of her as a character, dictated the rest of it. And we know that in most instances, people who suffer her trauma never report it.
 
Q: You’re a celebrated short story writer as well as a beloved novelist. How is the process different with crafting short stories, as opposed to novels? Do you prefer one to the other, or do they ebb and flow as your work creatively in the different forms? Do your short stories ever spiral into novels?
 
A: It is all expression to me, long or short. Several of my novels began as what I thought would be short stories; once I had a short story, “All The Way In Flagstaff, Arizona,” that started as a novel. I thank God every day that that has only happened to me once, and it was very early in my writing life, so I think I can chalk it up to inexperience. There are always five or ten unfinished projects lying around, and some of them have been for years. Eventually, I’d like to write all of them. I hope I’ll get to them, and there are always new ones coming up.
 
Q: The story is initially set in the political arena of Washington, DC, then moves to a calmer environment in Memphis, TN—with moments in NYC and Jamaica as the tragedy of September 11 unfolds. Do you have connections to these places?
 
A: I lived in Memphis for seven years. NYC is my favorite city in all the world. Never been to Jamaica, but would like to visit. I just needed them to be far apart and out of reach when it all came down, as of course many people were.
 
Q: This is your 20th book, and we hope there’s no stopping now! What are you working on next?
 
A: I’m almost finished with a new book of stories called Living in the Weather of The World. I’m aiming to have it ready, with pages of a new novel I’m not talking about, by mid-August.

 

Q: The title of the book—BEFORE, DURING, AFTER—refers to the stages of a love affair that unfolds in the months leading up to September 11, 2001, and is rocked as the nation is rocked by tragedy. Why did you choose to set the personal, intimate story of romance—with ups and downs, surprises both good and bad—against a national tragedy?
 
A: I have always said that in most of the world’s good fiction the history is backdrop. The Napoleonic war for Tolstoy, for instance, with War And Peace; and, say, World War One for Hemingway, with A Farewell To Arms. Both of those books can be called romances. But this story occurred to me first from the personal history of a neighbor I knew thirty-four years ago in Virginia, whose marriage did not survive a trauma very much like that of Natasha in my book. I wanted to write about that catastrophe, and ended up wanting to make a successful love story, even with the troubles that arise; a portrait of a passionate love threatened by internal failings stemming from the larger circumstances. But that is what all fiction is ultimately doing. I thought about each generation’s catastrophic event, where everyone remembers where they were at the moment it happenedRoosevelt’s death and Pearl Harbor for my parents; Kennedy’s and King’s deaths for me; The Challenger for so many, and now 9-11. But of course beyond the shared catastrophic event, each of us has anyway, our own personal catastrophes to live with or make some kind of truce with, and that is the province of fiction. In some ways, it’s fiction’s main purposeto make personal what we tend to see as abstract. But beyond all this, and more important than any of it, is that I wanted to tell a good story.
 
Q: How do your stories come to you? Do you develop characters first, or do you begin with the plot?
 
A: The two are too closely allied to distinguish between them, really. Sometimes it’s a line, sometimes it’s a speculation, a what if, and sometimes it’s a combination of both. Sometimes it starts with a character, but the character is always dealing with some kind of trouble, which of course is plot.
 
Q: September 11 not only changed our nation, but in the aftermath we’ve seen an outpouring of literature around that moment. What has your book has added to the conversation in literature about that day? (Or—is there something you hope readers will be compelled to discuss about that day and it’s long-lasting effects after reading your book?)
 
A: I wouldn’t presume to guess at that. I believe there was a certain nihilism that accompanied the outpouring of extreme religion that followed upon it. We all have our ways of dealing with these irremediable things; we all serve some idea of hope, and redemption, but it seemed to me that everything was darker for a time, though people went on as themselves.
 
Q: At the center of this novel is a secret—it is so pervasive that it almost becomes a character itself. What drew you to tell a story that is moved forward, in many ways, by the unspoken, by silence?
 
A: The long ago instance did not involve secrets, so I can’t really say why it becomes so important in this novel, except to say that by the time I had been working on it for a couple of years, the psychology of what Natasha has been though, and my inhabiting of her as a character, dictated the rest of it. And we know that in most instances, people who suffer her trauma never report it.
 
Q: You’re a celebrated short story writer as well as a beloved novelist. How is the process different with crafting short stories, as opposed to novels? Do you prefer one to the other, or do they ebb and flow as your work creatively in the different forms? Do your short stories ever spiral into novels?
 
A: It is all expression to me, long or short. Several of my novels began as what I thought would be short stories; once I had a short story, “All The Way In Flagstaff, Arizona,” that started as a novel. I thank God every day that that has only happened to me once, and it was very early in my writing life, so I think I can chalk it up to inexperience. There are always five or ten unfinished projects lying around, and some of them have been for years. Eventually, I’d like to write all of them. I hope I’ll get to them, and there are always new ones coming up.
 
Q: The story is initially set in the political arena of Washington, DC, then moves to a calmer environment in Memphis, TN—with moments in NYC and Jamaica as the tragedy of September 11 unfolds. Do you have connections to these places?
 
A: I lived in Memphis for seven years. NYC is my favorite city in all the world. Never been to Jamaica, but would like to visit. I just needed them to be far apart and out of reach when it all came down, as of course many people were.
 
Q: This is your 20th book, and we hope there’s no stopping now! What are you working on next?
 
A: I’m almost finished with a new book of stories called Living in the Weather of The World. I’m aiming to have it ready, with pages of a new novel I’m not talking about, by mid-August.

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