The Alchemy of the Novel

For a while in my writing career—a decade, perhaps—I was anguished over the state of the novel in the United States. What did it mean that people seemed to be reading literature less often? That novelists were no longer so famous? That whatever ceiling I reached, the spoils would never match those of my predecessors, especially the swaggering Jews of the midcentury? What was I to do? It is hard to say when, exactly, I stopped caring about these questions so much. If I had to guess, it was after I turned thirty and some of my youthful restlessness leaked away. I brayed less; I was, on balance, calmer. And I learned the lesson all artists, if they are worth anything, must take to heart: only the work matters.