REDBOOK Reads: Q&A with Jean Hanff Korelitz
The author of You Should Have Known talks sociopaths, female vulnerability, and the not-so-obvious thing aspiring writers must do.
By Hannah Hickok
Mark Czajkowski
What inspired you to write You Should Have Known?
Like many people, I have a fascination with lies and the people who tell them. I wouldn't say I've never told a lie, but I don't think I've ever told one without both assuming I would be found out and feeling absolutely rotten about it. There are, of course, people who are, shall we say, unburdened by these issues—we tend to call them psychopaths or sociopaths—and they are very interesting, if very disagreeable, people. I'll admit to being gullible, but most people assume that they can spot a liar, that they would never fall victim to a lie. I wondered how it would feel for a person who prides herself on her instincts about people (perhaps even whose job it is to pass judgment on human behavior) to find out that she has lived with a psychopath for years and not known. Grace's character emerged from that wondering.
Did you ever consider letting your reader meet Jonathan, the dark, mysterious man who is the subject of this book?
Jonathan was very present in the early drafts of the novel. But with each draft, there was less and less of him in the flesh, and finally, I realized that this was not a mystery about what Jonathan did or did not do, a thriller about how he tries to evade the police, or a procedural about how the police attempt to find him. This is Grace's story, pure and simple. It's about her experience of discovery and what she does as a result of that discovery.
What went into creating Grace's character?
I find Grace quite difficult to like, at least at the beginning. She is so sure of herself and of the way she's ordered her existence. Superficially, she's a busy woman in a crowded city with a full professional life and a thriving family, but the truth is that she has very few meaningful, intimate relationships, and even in those, she holds back. Her strength is undeniable, but it isn't really tested until she discovers that the entire foundation of her life is untrustworthy. As a writer, I have this compulsion to take characters who appear formidable and bombard them with adversity until they crumble. What's interesting is watching them rise again, and seeing how they've changed and grown, if indeed they have.
In your mind, why was Grace's son Henry able to transition so seemingly smoothly into his new life?
Henry is keeping his own secrets, and they have weighed upon him very heavily. I think, in a strange way, those secrets almost protect him from the broader horror unfolding in his family. He is so preoccupied with what he knows that that, not the full disaster of what Grace is experiencing, becomes his narrative. Grace only truly gets to know her son after the worst has happened. For the first time, she can see what's important to him and what he cares about. Like Grace, Henry has more people in his life at the end of the novel than at the beginning, and more meaningful relationships with them. So I think he's going to be all right.
How did you pace the novel to make it so suspenseful?
The novel gets off to a slow start, in part because we need to see Grace in the life she thinks of as "normal" before it blows up. Then there's a certain period when we believe we know more about her life than she does, when we're yelling at her, "Can't you see what's happening?" Pacing is not the sort of thing you can plan out beforehand, but you're always aware of it as you write, because you need to make constant decisions. Does the character pick up on this clue or understand what this person is trying to tell her? These small choices add up to the experience of reading the story.
In your mind, should people see the book as a warning? In other words: Don't think you know everything about anything or anyone.
Well, I'm not in a position to tell anyone anything about how to live his or her life, but I think it's worth noting that no one can lie to us as effectively as we can lie to ourselves. We know exactly what to say! And I do think that women, even extremely smart women, can be very, very vulnerable to men.
What's the last great book you read?
I was absolutely riveted by Lawrence Wright's masterful examination of the Church of Scientology, Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief.
Do you have an all-time favorite author or book?
Too many to count, but one novel I still consider the funniest I have ever read is Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living in New York by television writer Gail Parent. It's in the form of a suicide note by a woman who's decided to kill herself because she's 30 and single. I know, I know—but trust me, it's hysterical.
Very early work on a new novel.
Do you have any advice for aspiring novelists?
You're expecting me to say, "Write! Write! Write!," aren't you? Well I'm not going to do that. The best thing aspiring novelists can do is read. You'd be amazed how many people who want to be writers don't actually read. Good writing will affirm your wish to work with language, and bad writing will start to piss you off—which is a good thing. The more you read, the easier it will be to tell the difference.
Read our full review of You Should Have Known here.
Hannah Hickok Hannah Hickok is a writer and editor living in Brooklyn.
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