Announcer: Presentation of Dialogue on Idaho Public Television is made possible through the generous support of the Laura Moore Cunningham Foundation, committed to fulfilling the Moore and Bettis family legacy of building the great state of Idaho; by the Friends of Idaho Public Television, and by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

With additional funding from the James and Barbara Cimino Foundation.

Author Susan Orlean: America's an incredibly diverse country.

We are obligated to learn about things that are different from us, or we will never be able to move forward as a humanitarian culture.

Marcia Franklin, Host: Coming up, a free-ranging chat with author and longtime New Yorker writer Susan Orlean.

That's next on "Conversations from the Sun Valley Writers' Conference.

Stay tuned.

(MUSIC) Franklin: Hello and welcome to Dialogue.

I'm Marcia Franklin.

My guest today might just be the first person to tell you what a grand life she's had.

Susan Orlean has wanted to be a writer ever since she was a child, and six decades later, she continues to fulfill that obsession.

She was besotted with the New Yorker magazine – and ended up working there in her 30s.

It's a marriage that's lasted more than half her life.

And she eventually wanted to become a mother – and did so at age 49.

Orlean's insatiable curiosity quest has resulted not only in hundreds of magazine pieces, but also more than half a dozen books, including "The Orchid Thief," "Rin Tin Tin," "The Bullfighter Checks Her Makeup," "The Library Book," and "On Animals."

Known for her incredible attention to detail – "facts are fascinating!"

– she says, Orlean is able to punt from pathos to playfulness in her prose.

I caught up with her at the 2021 Sun Valley Writers' Conference.

We talked about the subjects that command her attention, how she draws us in, and whether she's come up with that all-important lede for her memoir.

Marcia Franklin, Host: Well, welcome.

Welcome to Sun Valley.

I understand it's your first visit here.

You've been to Boise before, but not Sun Valley.

Susan Orlean, Author: I've been to Idaho many times, actually, but this is my very first time in Sun Valley.

And I'm thrilled.

Franklin: Have you done stories here?

Orlean: Uh, let me think.

No, I've never done a story in Idaho.

I'm sure there are many.

Franklin: Well, let's go.

Orlean: Yeah.

Franklin: How about we just leave now?

Orlean: Yeah, and just get to work on something.

Franklin: I mean, why not?

Orlean: It's, you know, I'm sure there are a millions of great stories here, and I feel like I would have been wide open to coming to Idaho for a story.

It just never happened to turn out that way.

Franklin: Well, I can be your tour guide someday, if you want.

Orlean: Good!

Franklin: Actually, I was reading that you took a test, some sort of personality test or something when you were in junior high school and it ranked you high on being a forest ranger?

So, you know, perfect.

Orlean: This is where I should have ended up.

Franklin: For a second career, you know, you could go hang out... Orlean: It suggested that I was best suited to being a forest ranger or an army officer.

And I was really puzzled until I thought, "Oh, it's because I said, I didn't want to work in an office."

Um, and it's true.

I, I didn't want to work in an office and it turned out that way.

Franklin: And you've always wanted to be a writer.

Orlean: Always.

Um, I, from the time that I could read, I think I wanted to do that.

I wanted to be, excuse me, I wanted to be the person creating this magic on the page.

Franklin: Well, and you have for, for quite a while.

And I want to talk about, um, some of your works.

I want to ask you, though, about the past year and some.

Both, uh, your perspective on it as just a human being and also as a writer.

Orlean: It feels, it has felt to me at times, like living in a sci-fi novel.

It has felt so strange and so dislocating, even though, you know, I work at home, I, my day-to-day life didn't change that much, except that I often travel a lot and I wasn't traveling at all.

The monotony, the numbness of the time was unlike anything I've ever experienced.

I lived in New York at the time of 9/11.

That's the only thing I can compare it to, but it was also very different.

9/11, that feeling of utter dislocation and disorientation and despair was short-lived by comparison.

Also, the triggering event happened in one day, and then we were dealing with the aftermath.

This had no end point.

And I, I honestly found it, surreal.

It, you know, I got a lot of work done.

I was able to write; I know a lot of people who just couldn't focus.

I found it in a way easier to focus because there was nothing else to do.

I think the moment that it all really came together was during the black lives matter protests, the feeling that we were being driven into political chaos by what was going on in Washington, the numbers of people being, dying and being hospitalized and no idea when there would be a vaccine, it was unimaginably grim.

Franklin: On one hand you had the monotony.

On the other hand, you had these raging societal events happening.

Orlean: And that was the strangeness of it.

I think at a time, you know, you would sort of associate monotony with a kind of calm and quiet because that is what monotony sounds like.

But instead it was this anxious monotony, this anxiety that didn't seem to re -- there was no release.

Franklin: When you were working, you said you were able to kind of hunker down and work.

Was it on this next book, which has to do with animals?

Was that what you were working on?

Orlean: Yes, I was, well, I'm working on two books simultaneously.

I'm working on a memoir, but then I decided I wanted to put together a collection of the pieces I've done about animals, because I've written over the course of my career, many stories about animals.

And it struck me that I'd like to see them in one place and kind of have the impact of all of them in one binding.

So I spent a lot of the pandemic pulling those together.

And even though a collection at first seems like "Oh, that, that's easy.

You just go and take them off your shelf and cut them out and paste them together," it's a lot more work than that.

And I was also writing and introduction and a conclusion, making decisions, editing each of the pieces.

Because you get your second go round after the piece has been published.

Franklin: Well, while writing about animals and, and redoing your pieces might've been a wonderful, you know, task to do, writing a memoir seems a lot more challenging, particularly in a pandemic.

But, um, I, I'd be very interested in reading that.

How are you going to curate your, the pieces of your life into, uh, you've done so many things and interviewed so many people.

Orlean: It's going to be a challenge.

Um, I am, I'm really intimidated by it.

I feel, and I feel in a way that's a good thing, to put yourself in a position of doing something that's out of what is a normal comfort zone.

I'm not somebody who by nature feels that the world needs to hear stories of my life.

So, there, and yet, I do, I've had amazing experiences.

I've done a huge range of stories.

There are amazing anecdotes to tell about the stories behind the stories.

And, so there's a little bit of, um, I feel like I've got to grapple with my own resistance to it before I can even put it on the page.

But I like the challenge.

It's, um, I feel like it could be very long if I let it be.

Franklin: Do you have a lede?

Orlean: I do have a lede.

I had written a lede that I thought for sure was my lede.

And as often happens, I had thought, "Oh good, I've got the lede.

I'm really in good shape."

And then one day I looked at it and thought, "I don't like this."

And one thing I've gotten much better at, in my -- over the years of being a writer -- is self-editing.

It's a lot easier for me to look at something with a bit of objectivity and say, "You know what?

That's not that good."

So I threw it out and thought, "Well, now I don't have a lede.

And now I'm back to zero."

I then sat down and suddenly something just poured out on the page.

I like it so much more.

And it -- for me, it also is this huge key being turned.

I can't, I have trouble even thinking about a piece or a book until I have that lede written.

Then I feel like, well, now I know at least where I'm starting and I can kind of navigate from here.

But when, until I get that start on the page, I can't do anything else.

Franklin: I have to say, and I want to transition to this book here.

Uh, in addition to your ledes pulling me in, the last sentence of this book dissolved me.

Um, and I think it's circles around a bit to your, to your memoir writing, in that it has to do with your mother.

And you know, this book I, I gravitated to 'cause I love libraries so much.

Orlean: Mm hmm.

But I found myself as well, being attracted to the other story in here, which is about you and your mother and your mutual love of libraries.

In fact, her desire at one point to be a librarian.

Orlean: Right.

Franklin: And you're finding as you write this book about, um, you know, the, the, an arson fire of the library in LA, that it's really as much about your relationship with your, with your mom, who passed away from dementia.

Orlean: And it, her death came before I completed the book.

So there was a particular poignancy to that, to the, the realization when I began the book, it was this idea that I was doing a detective story.

There was a terrible fire at the LA public library, largest library fire in American history -- who did it?

So I, I really entered it thinking, "Oh, this is a, a kind of classic detective story.

I'm going to go back, re-examine this and see if I can figure out who started this fire and why.

And if the person accused really didn't do it, how did he end up being dragged in to this investigation?"

Not realizing that I was on this other journey of reclaiming and preserving the, the, the heart of my relationship with my mom, which began to feel, um, perfectly exemplified by these trips to the library that we took all the time.

That that was an, almost a ritual of my childhood, that was very special.

I never went to the library with my dad.

I never, it was a very specific thing.

And I can't tell you the number of people who have come to me since this book came out saying, "I have that same feeling about going to the library with my mom."

I love bookstores, but people don't have that same memory about going to a bookstore because the bounty of a library, the availability, the fact that you, especially as a child, the idea that you can take anything you want, nobody -- I mean, maybe the library has a limit of 10 books, but it still isn't the same as going to a toy store or bookstore where your mom says, "You can pick one," and you start getting all teary and tantrum-y, and it's a big issue, and it's a conflict and you want two, and your mom says no.

And my mother was extremely generous, but still, the fact that a library had this quality that was, there was no other place like that.

And we shared this experience together that felt like it was enchanted.

Franklin: And this story actually grew out of your being a mom too, and having a six or seven year-old son who decides he has an assignment.

And he decides to interview somebody in, in city government, right?

Or city worker.

Orlean: A city worker.

Franklin: And he decides he wants to go interview a librarian.

And so his assignment opened up this whole world for you because you went with him and then you became, you know, besotted all over again with the library experience and went down the stacks as it were, and Orlean: Mmm hmmm.

Franklin: And, uh, made this book.

But, you know, again, hearkening back to you, to memoir, um, your son, uh, I'm going to -- were you 49 when you had your child?

Orlean: Yeah.

Franklin: I, I'm not good at math, but I did try to do the math.

I mean, that has to be, uh, an incredible 180 for you.

You've had all these adventures, this is a different type of adventure I certainly hope will be part of the memoir as well.

What it's like to become not only a mother, but a mother later than most people did.

Orlean: Right.

Franklin: And, and, you know, obviously there's another parent as well.

But I think he's also, your husband's also around the same age.

Orlean: Right.

And he had had a son, um, at a more typical age.

So I have a stepson who's 35.

Um, and oh, it's absolutely a different experience.

I mean, particularly after having lived the life that I led with traveling as much as I did, delving into other lives, being immersed in my work.

And it was a big sort of reset to think, "Oh, I can't go to the swamps of Florida for two weeks when I have a 11-month old infant.

And I can't work till 4:00 AM if I'm going to be up at 6:00 AM feeding the baby."

I have to say there were times when my husband and I would say, "Maybe we're too old for this."

But my guess is we would have been saying that 20 years before just because a two year old little boy who's going full speed is exhausting for any adult.

And, um, I, I do think I had the great advantage of feeling confident enough in my -- first of all, as a person; I was just a much more mature person at 49 than I would have been at 29.

I didn't have the panic that you have when you're 25 thinking, "Am I going to make it as a writer?"

Am I, I have to be ready at the drop of a hat if I get an assignment, I need to make my name.

I felt comfortable with where I was in my professional life, so that I thought, "I can call the shots.

I can work as much as I want, or as little as I want," Or if I'm going to take a while till I get back to things.

I also think at 49, your hungry ambition has been sated a little.

You're not as, I mean, I found it much easier to say, "Yeah, either it's going to work or it won't, professionally."

Franklin: And now he's what - graduated high school?

Orlean: He's 16.

Franklin: 16.

Well, maybe he can do, like, in the back of the memoir, he can do an interview with you and add it, you know... Orlean: That would actually be very interesting.

He's a very interesting person.

So that would actually be pretty funny.

Franklin: Your writing is so full of detail.

You have such an eye for detail.

I understand you don't carry a recorder with you.

Is that right?

How do you get the dialogue and the details down?

Because there's one, there's one article of yours I just really love.

And it's about, um, is it Sunshine Market in Jackson Heights, Queens?

Orlean: Yes.

Franklin: Jackson Heights.

Um, and there's just detail after detail, after detail of the objects that are on the shelves, you know, and the people.

How do you do that without carrying a recorder, particularly for dialogue?

Orlean: Well, I have very strong opinions about this, and I'll begin with the basic one, which is, I feel lucky that I have a good memory, although I certainly wouldn't say, just rely on your memory.

That would be very risky.

I feel that a recorder actually causes me to notice less.

I feel like it's a bit like walking with a crutch.

You know, I carry a notebook and a pen and I'm scribbling as much as I can, but I also have to be really paying attention because I'll never be able to write down every detail.

Certainly anything that's factual, I'll double check and make sure I've got it right.

And quotes are, I write down.

And if I don't get it written down properly, then I have to paraphrase it because I don't have the exact words.

I look and listen so much harder than if I had a recorder with me.

I also like to spend lots and lots of time with people.

With that story that you're referring to.

I went to the supermarket every day for about six weeks.

I had massive amounts of time.

Franklin: You got to know the Mazola guy.

Orlean: Yes, exactly.

If I had been recording all of that, I would have had an absolutely unwieldy amount of tape.

And I'm looking for the little unexpected moments.

So I would've had to have a tape recorder running constantly.

Franklin: Well, it's like making a documentary, Orlean: Yeah.

Franklin: Cinema verite.

I mean, you know, just being there constantly.

Orlean: Exactly.

Exactly.

Franklin: You're just observing.

But still, for a print journalist I, I'm just, I just marvel that you're able to get -- you must have a great shorthand, that's all I can say!

Orlean: I have the sloppiest, most horrible shorthand.

And actually, as soon as I get home, I type up my notes because I know that if I don't type them up right away, I won't know what the, this line meant and this wiggle and, you know, I go "shelf" and I think "Ah, what does that mean?"

If I type it up right away, I can still remember what I meant.

It's something that I feel is a habit of mind that I, I've tried to train myself to really pick up the details, notice the things that are meaningful, put those down.

The other -- some of the stuff I can infill.

If I was writing a story about our interview and failed to write down the color of the walls, but later thought, "I want to say what color the walls were," I can call the hotel... Franklin: Right.

Orlean: ...and have someone check and tell me, "Oh, the walls were teal."

But it's important for me that I've paid attention to you in a way that's deeper than what those notes might contain.

It's scary.

There are times when I forget to write, or I, something didn't seem important, but when I sit down to write, I think, "Ugh, that was important.

And I didn't take good notes."

So I've got to make do with what I have."

It's almost the cost of absorbing myself the way I do is that there are times when I don't, I don't have it down.

I didn't write it down because I didn't realize at the time that it was important.

Franklin: Um, as we sit next year will be your 30th at The New Yorker.

If you were to make a simile or describe it as a marriage, this relationship, this three decade-long -- more than that, actually, because you were a freelancer for five years before that -- Orlean: Right.

Franklin: What kind of marriage are we looking at?

Is it?

Orlean: Um, I feel like it's been an extraordinary relationship and one that you could only dream of as a writer like me, who isn't, you know, I say this not to be kind of self-deprecating, but I don't know that I'm the easiest hire.

You know, I feel like I, I so much want to do the things that I want to do and what they are isn't always so instantly acceptable for publications.

Uh, I'm not complaining.

I'm just saying that there are ways in which I feel like this was the marriage, this was the marriage for me.

And I'm so glad they exist.

And that there was a place where I could do truly what I dreamed of doing.

And in many ways, I feel like I'm the luckiest writer in the world that I've really gotten to do what I want to do.

And with great editors, great support, and being surrounded by people who are so inspiring.

I mean, when I first came to The New Yorker, I used to go into the office library and just look at, they had notebooks of each of the writers over the years.

So there was an AJ Liebling notebook and, uh, um, you know, Joseph Mitchell notebook and John McPhee notebook with the clips of all their stories.

And I just felt that if I could soak in their, uh, kind of presence...it was absolutely inspiring.

It was completely educational.

And it was a bar that was set very high that I dreamed of aspiring to.

Being in that environment, uh, how could you do better than that?

Um, doing, wanting to do the kind of work I wanted to do.

Franklin: Well, and now there'll be a binder of your work up there for another journalist to look at and say, "I want to be like her."

Orlean: Well, that would be nice.

That would actually feel amazing.

And I've written enough now that it would fill its own notebook.

Franklin: Do you have a name for your memoir yet?

Or do you know?

Orlean: Uh, we have, uh, uh, a sort of holding title, "True Story."

And we'll see if it ends up with that title.

Franklin: Well, The New Yorker is going to have to fact-check it, right?

Orlean: Yes, exactly.

Franklin: Um I want to ask you, you've said that every choice you write is a moral one.

What do you mean by that?

Orlean: Given that I'm in the very lucky position of choosing what I write about, making that decision comes with lots of implications.

I can turn my light on anything.

So each time you make a choice, whether it's to illuminate a profession that isn't respected or nobody has ever thought about or is misunderstood, we should be willing to learn about the parts of our culture.

That seem off-putting to us.

It doesn't mean that your decision then is to say, "Now I love it."

But now it's an informed and perhaps more empathetic position.

And that's really what to me, the morality involved in all of this is to say, "You need to approach the world openly."

I'm, all of us are judgmental.

I'm incredibly judgmental, but I try my best to learn about what I'm judging.

I think it's a huge problem in our society.

America's an incredibly diverse country.

We are obligated to learn about things that are different from us, people who are different from us, subcultures that are unfamiliar to us, or we will never be able to move forward as a, as a humanitarian culture.

And we've lost a little bit of that impulse.

Um, people have drawn into their corners.

This is a very complex world we live in, with many, many different worlds within it.

Franklin: Well, I know you've opened up those worlds for people, with your writing.

Orlean: Thank you.

Franklin: So thank you.

And I really appreciate all the time that you've taken with me today.

Orlean: It's my pleasure.

This has been just a delight.

Thank you.

Franklin: I hope you've enjoyed this conversation with author and New Yorker writer Susan Orlean.

She spoke with me at the 2021 Sun Valley Writers' Conference.

My thanks to the organizers of that engaging event, to all our guests, and the Dialogue team.

If you'd like to watch this interview again, or any of the nearly 70 conversations I've taped over the years at the Sun Valley Writers' Conference, check out our website.

Just go to idahoptv.org and click on "Dialogue."

For Dialogue, I'm Marcia Franklin.

(MUSIC) Announcer: Presentation of Dialogue on Idaho Public Television is made possible through the generous support of the Laura Moore Cunningham Foundation, committed to fulfilling the Moore and Bettis family legacy of building the great state of Idaho; by the Friends of Idaho Public Television, and by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

With additional funding from the James and Barbara Cimino Foundation.