From the publication of “Bright Lights, Big City” in 1984 to last year’s “The Good Life,” Jay McInerney has become one of the few young American novelists to maintain a hold on a large audience, undoubtedly aided by the press coverage about his marriages, his night-clubbing, his writer’s block and other things that have nothing to do with writing. McInerney took time to talk about his career, his days as a student of Raymond Carver’s, and some of the avocations that take up time when he’s not practicing his vocation.
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Q. What did Raymond Carver teach you?
A. It was a lot about choosing the right words. I remember one time he told me, “Why is it earth when you mean dirt?” He was about consciousness of language. He would go over your manuscripts with a red pencil, marking, questioning. I don’t actually think he enjoyed it; he dumped teaching as soon as he could. He wasn’t so great in a classroom situation, but he was terrific one-on-one.
Q. Did Carver want a lot of little Raymond Carvers running around?
A. No, but he got a lot of that anyway, although he didn’t encourage it. Mostly, he encouraged us to read, and the people he wanted us to read didn’t write like Ray Carver. He told me that his favorite writer was Lawrence Durrell. He loved Isaac Babel and Chekhov — people who didn’t write traditional prose or traditional stories.
Q. It seems to me that a lot of critics review your lifestyle more than they review your books.
A. Well, it can be a distraction, although it can also be nice to have a persona. I do think that a lot of critics review their idea of Jay McInerney from 10 years ago. I mean, “Bright Lights, Big City” happened. I didn’t go after it. In retrospect, I wish I’d kept a lower profile, but I am who I am. I don’t want to look over my shoulder when I go out. If I hadn’t written “Bright Lights,” I’d probably be teaching freshman English in Kansas right now.
Q. “Bright Lights, Big City” captures a moment in time, and it seems to me it holds up very well.
A. It’s a coming-of-age novel about a guy trying to integrate into society and cope with the death of his mother. It’s a universal theme. I don’t think it would have been as appealing as it turned out to be if it had only been about a moment, or the fashions or the trends. That would have lasted about three weeks.
Q. What do you think is your best book?
A. “Brightness Falls.” I think it’s the most ambitious, the most accomplished, the most panoramic. And I like the characters.
Q. Where did the writer’s block come from?
A. I think it was partly a transition. I had outgrown my identity. I had kids, I had turned 40, the old me was gone. I had to find a new narrative stance as a writer; I couldn’t keep writing coming-of-age novels about troubled men and women. I had to keep writing and writing before I could break through to anything new, and then Sept. 11 made everything worse, although it ended up giving me a focus.
Q. Does your wine writing come from a different place than fiction, or is analyzing a Bordeaux the same as analyzing a character?
A. It’s similar in that I try to bring a novelist’s tools to the job. When I started, I didn’t think I had the experience, or knew enough, but I knew I could create similes and metaphors, which are important, because you’re trying to create a verbal equivalent for a sensory experience. And I try to write about the people involved with wine — character sketches of winemakers.
I’ve been doing it for 10 years, and I must say wine writing has gotten better in general in that time. Ten years ago, it was all horticultural. It’s a nice gig; I get to taste a lot of special stuff.
Q. What’s the best medium-priced wine today?
A. Ridge Guiserville ’03. It’s a Zinfandel. Ridge is one of the great American wineries.
Q. You’ve written two screenplays — “Bright Lights, Big City” and “Gia.” Do you enjoy the process?
A. Actually, I’ve written a lot of screenplays, but those are the only ones that got made. “Bright Lights” was my baby, and I wanted to usher it to the screen, not too successfully (as it turned out). Screenplays can be fun; they get you out of the house, and it’s good to brush up against the forces of commerce now and then.
But no, I don’t like it that much. “Gia” was a good experience; HBO just told me to do my damnedest and left me alone. And you always hope it will work like that, but it seldom does. They always say they want something different, but they don’t; they want last season’s big hit. It can be frustrating.
Q. What’s the most important thing in your life?
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A. At this point, my kids; I have twins — a boy and a girl. They’re 12.
Q. I was hoping for a less conventional answer.
A. Well, there was a time when I would have said, “my work.” But now the kids are first; my work is second.