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"Blindsided by her mother's sudden death, and wrecked by a recent love affair, Casey Peabody has arrived in Massachusetts in the summer of 1997 without a plan. Her mail consists of wedding invitations and final notices from debt collectors. A former child golf prodigy, she now waits tables in Harvard Square and rents a tiny, moldy room at the side of a garage where she works on the novel she's been writing for six years. At thirty-one, Casey is still clutching onto something nearly all her show more old friends have let go of: the determination to live a creative life. When she falls for two very different men at the same time, her world fractures even more. Casey's fight to fulfill her creative ambitions and balance the conflicting demands of art and life is challenged in ways that push her to the brink. Writers & Lovers follows Casey-a smart and achingly vulnerable protagonist-in the last days of a long youth, a time when every element of her life comes to a crisis. Written with King's trademark humor, heart, and intelligence, Writers & Lovers is a transfixing novel that explores the terrifying and exhilarating leap between the end of one phase of life and the beginning of another"-- show less

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124 reviews
Writers and Lovers is an incredibly moreish book – once you start to read, you just can’t stop. It has a spellbinding quality to it, even though the storyline isn’t 100% original. It’s just in the way the story is told.

The novel is about Casey, who is living in a shed trying to make ends meet as a waitress. Her passion is for writing, but she’s been working on the same novel for six years and it’s still not finished. Her relationship has crumbled and her mother has died unexpectedly. Casey is lost and barely hanging on emotionally and financially. Her solaces are small – with the friends she has left in town (the others having married and/or moved away) and the ducks that gather on the river. But things are slowly looking show more up and there are glimmers of hope. She meets Silas and things look promising until he disappears suddenly. He has things going on and at 31, Casey is weary of all the games. She’s falling apart physically (there is a ‘so-frustrating-it’s-amusing’ subplot on the absurdities of American health care) too but has to hang on to a job that’s becoming untenable for the health insurance. That’s when Oscar comes on to the scene. An older man and a writer to boot, he comes with baggage of a different sort – children (who are adorable), grief and experience. Suddenly Casey is caught between two men and things are starting to look up for her personally. Who should she choose?

What gradually comes to light as the novel progresses is that the story is not set in the days of mobile phones and internet. It’s set somewhere in the 1990s and Casey is reliant on two things for communication – her answering machine at home and getting messages at the restaurant where she works. It’s a nice little quirk for missed connections, waiting to speak to someone and just generally not being in contact 24/7. It also means that everyone is a lot more present and wanting to meet up in person – or even speak on the phone! Apart from this, the novel doesn’t seem dated by the setting. (If anything, it feels very fresh – the concepts might be familiar but the writing is superb).

Casey is a character with hidden depths. She’s a writer, and a frustrated one at that, feeling left behind by her peers almost like a fraud. She’s also hurting with the loss of her mother, which leads her to ask some questions at inappropriate times. She feels lost and adrift and this translates well to the page, especially when Casey is faced with conflict. There’s a great scene with her father in the restaurant that is both awkward and disgusting in equal measures. King is great at making the reader feel what Casey is going through. You can’t help but support her, even when she makes some silly decisions.

Writers and Lovers is a wonderful read with a great rhythm, almost mesmerising. I dare anyone to be able to put it down.

http://samstillreading.wordpress.com
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Writers & Lovers feels like Lily King reached into my brain, pulled out some of my favorite things, some of my memories, wrapped them all up in her gorgeous prose and presented this amazing gift to me. Casey Peabody is 31, waits tables at a high-end restaurant in Cambridge while trying to finish the novel she’s been working on for six years. Casey has a lot of problems--debt collectors, a recently broken heart, some physical ailments and she is still grieving her mother’s sudden death the previous year. With all that, somehow King still manages to write a book full of funny and hopeful moments. The story falters at points (the end...ugh), but King’s writing wins the day with such simple yet incredibly thoughtful and emotional show more moments. (“I don’t write because I have something to say. I write because if I don’t, everything feels even worse.” Sigh.) Writers & Lovers hit me with a lot of personal connections--Boston, restaurants, books, writing--but kept me with everything it became. A definite TBR for readers of Emma Straub, David Nicholls, Meg Wolitzer, etc.

I received an ARC through Edelweiss+
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I just finished this purely masterful novel. The pacing, the sensitivity, the passions of the different characters, the gritty down-and-out quality of it, and the glorious ending lit up my heart. Books that touch me like this novel are exactly why I read, and they’re what I’m constantly searching for in novels of all forms and style.
It’s a very intelligent book, that’s set in 1997, and centered on writers, some who have found some success, and those who are struggling. Our main character, Casey Peabody, is 31 and rightly feels that life has been cruelly tossing her around for too many years.
While growing up, she had a troubled relationship with her father, who forced her into being a child golf prodigy. After taking on show more $75,000 in debts to get her M.F.A., she finds herself being constantly hounded by creditors. Her long love relationship ended, and her mother unexpectedly died during a trip in Chile. Casey was suffering, but doing her best to deal with it herself.
To most people Casey is a waitress at Iris, an upscale restaurant on Harvard Square, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Those who are closer to her know that she had been struggling to finish her manuscript, Love and the Revolution, for six years. As the story develops, she is involved with two men: Oscar, an older novelist of some stature, who’s raising two young boys himself; and Silas, a struggling writer much closer to her own age. She has a good relationship with Oscar’s boys, and Oscar is a sweet man who shows her real affection and offers her much in life. With Silas, there is a burning passion, but then he will be out of touch for days.
After a while, she finishes her manuscript—and with great excitement sends it out to publishers—only to start a bitter collection of rejection letters. Eventually she gets an agent and interest in her work starts to grow. Meanwhile, her waitressing career seems to end, she chooses between Oscar and Silas, and finds an interesting teaching job. That’s enough, I’m not going to reveal everything.
Casey’s passion for her writing is intense, and though her progress seemed difficult many times, completing and successfully revising her book is a wild mix of emotions. I loved how King writes about maneuvering the writing/publishing world. Write about writing and bookselling and you’re already halfway there to getting your in so many bookstores.
I love all the side stories and the full cast of characters. There is no tedious misdirection in the book, people appear, situations change, she doubts so much, and love/passion/companionship/lust possess and confuse her... often all at the very same time. King doesn’t combined all these elements using some tricky plot device, they all come at Casey, just in the way life comes at most of the rest of us.
I’ll leave you with author Elizabeth Strout’s spot on review of the book—“Gorgeous.”
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Casey is having a hard time. She's saddled with student debt, living in a garage and working as a waitress as she tries to write. She's been working on her novel for six years and it's going badly. She's estranged from her father for very good reasons. Also, her mother died suddenly and then the guy she fell in love with at a writers' colony dumped her. She doesn't see things improving and she's dealing with a lot of anxiety.

So this sounds dreary, doesn't it? Except that Casey also has some good, supportive friends and her own resilience and humor to guide her along as she deals with mourning her mother and negotiating her way through her life. Lily King writes so gorgeously and with such immediacy in Writers and Lovers that I quickly show more forgot that I don't generally like novels about novelists -- it feels like an exercise in navel-gazing and how many novels about writers are there now? Except King's take is fresh and visceral and fun, while also being heartbreaking and fully committed to showing the precariousness of Casey's makeshift life.

I loved this novel. I loved how King had me inhabiting Casey's life and while that was rarely a comfortable place to be, it was intense. I loved the mocking/loving look at the writing life and at writers and the various ways they can be ridiculous.
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I did not love King's last book, Euphoria, despite the critics' unanimous genuflection, and I hesitated to read this as a result. Stupid me. I LOVED this beyond all else. I am pretty sure novel of the year just got locked in. Talk about a great match between book and reader. This book is gorgeous. The writing is spectacular. One of the best first sentences I have read in ages may have been surpassed by one of the best closing lines in memory. I love a happy ending when you know you caught things when the light was just right, and the next moment could be lovely or cataclysmic or maybe just straight up ordinary, where the target of a year of security seems like an overshoot and that target's achievement makes us mostly forget (or maybe show more just not care) that the next year might be more insecure than what came before.

This is clearly a deeply autobiographical novel. I have read a few of those lately, and most have not knocked my socks off -- those writers should read this. Its just the most flawless celebration of the coming of age of a true romantic.

The concept of success has become so hidebound in the last couple of decades. When, based on his strengths and interests, I encouraged my son away from "practical" majors toward philosophy, economics, art, literature and history people looked at me like I was crazy. What is he going to DO with that, they said. Can he get a high-paying job? I answer (as a career expert working at an elite university) that I don't know if he will. He may well have to spend a little time in squalor first and may decide he is not interested in endless wealth, just in more basic comfort for himself and his family. If he does, it won't kill him. He knows in the long run a living of some sort is essential and he will make one. More importantly, he is going to master critical analysis and recognize beauty and longing and need and love and hate and all the the things that actually matter. After that he can figure out how to make a life and a living that works for him, not one based on other people's values. People think you are crazy or rich enough to be flighty when you say those things. I am neither, but I know that if you believe in yourself and the importance and worth of other people (even the "bad" ones), acknowledge your material wants and needs, and accept that those needs can sometimes be delayed, you can find a wonderful life. I believe in the essentiality of art and literature, I believe people are more empathic and humane when they can stand in front of a painting and recognize that it contains truth more profound than any statement of unassailable fact. I believe in what is essential, true love and insightful humor and intransigent grief and unremitting need and and transformational art. I believe all of those things are more important than being practical, and that worshipping a linear checklist approach to life destroys people's connection to joy. If you have possessions that "spark joy" you don't know what the hell joy is. If you find joy in your work, in playing with children, or in dancing like a madwoman at a concert surrounded by friends you know what you are doing. And I believe if you are not allowed to fail, you never ever get to succeed on your terms. You don't know what success is for you unless you open yourself up to failure and know you are willing to suffer its sting to make something happen. I like messy people. I know grief, anxiety and fear are good things that we need to find a way out of, not simply things to be dulled. This book is a celebration of everything I believe in. I loved every character; Casey, and Oscar (with John and Jasper),and Silas were sympathetic and funny and smart and good, as were the supporting characters, who are barely on the page but still people we come to know because King writes so stupendously well. When I read the last words in this book I said out loud to my empty room "oh my god, that was perfect." What more can I say?
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This is about Casey, an aspiring novelist who works as a waitress in Boston. Her mother has recently died, so at the beginning of the novel she is consumed by grief and anxiety. The novel explores her relationships with a few potential lovers, both of whom are also writers.

King's writing is delightful. Despite how depressing Casey's situation is, and despite the fact that there isn't a lot of action in the book, the characters all feel so real that this book is hard to put down. The end was a little unsatisfying to me - it seemed a bit sudden and too tidy, but all in all, this is an enjoyable read about the power of friendship and love to heal wounds, and about the importance of the art of writing.
Such a wonderful book!

I don’t normally start reviews that way, but I didn’t want to leave you in suspense. Because you might start off this novel about an unsuccessful writer, or possibly an unsuccessful adult, and be thinking that it is that dreaded writer-writing-about-writing novel. Okay, it is that. But it’s so much more. Casey is in distress. The novel she’s been writing for six years is not yet finished. Her waitressing job that she took to make ends meet is not meeting its ends. The creditors of her student loans are sending threatening letters. And her love life — yes, mostly writers — has been a disaster. Her beloved mother’s death six months earlier has sent her into a complete tailspin. And she just keeps show more spinning. Of course in the midst of this yuckiness, wouldn’t you know it, she meets not one but two highly desirable guys (okay, they are both writers, but not all writers are assholes … probably) and, somewhat surprisingly, she has finished her novel and sent it off to a raft of literary agents.

What I liked so much about this novel was the very real voice of its protagonist. Life is messy and despite one’s talents (Casey was at one point destined to become a professional golfer — yeah, I know!) there is still what one longs for oneself. Writing is it, for her. Successful or unsuccessful, writing is the place she calls home. I get that. Also her sadness. Because life kinda sucks. Sometimes. And she misses her mom.

Beautifully written. Both moving and thoughtful. I heartily recommend it.
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½

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Author Information

Picture of author.
8 Works 7,885 Members

Some Editions

Winton, Kelly (Cover designer)
Wonner, Paul (Cover artist)

Awards and Honors

Series

Common Knowledge

Canonical title
Writers and Lovers
Original title
Writers & Lovers
Original publication date
2020-03-03
People/Characters
Camila "Casey" Peabody; Luke; Muriel Becker; Silas; Oscar Kolton; Caleb Peabody (show all 13); Harry; Robbie Peabody; Ann Peabody; Adam; Jennifer Lin; John Kolton; Jasper Kolton
Important places
Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA; Boston, Massachusetts, USA; Iris (restaurant)
Dedication
For my sister, Lisa,
with love and gratitude
First words
I have a pact with myself not to think about money in the morning.
Quotations
I don't write because I think I have something to say. I write because if I don't, everything feels even worse.
It's a particular kind of pleasure, of intimacy, loving a book with someone.
Marriage is the polar opposite of a fairy tale, my mother said.
When I was visiting her a few years ago she hugged me and said, 'Tomorrow after you leave I will stand here at this window and remember that yesterday you were right here with me.'
     And now she's dead an... (show all)d I have that feeling all the time, no matter where I stand.
He's still leaning against his car and turning only his head in my direction, as if he likes his pose too much to undo it.
I don't know if they're friends outside of the building, but they work every shift together like a pair of evil skaters, setting each other up for another dastardly deed, then preening around the room when it comes off.
And yet now I can't remember what we said to each other. Conversations in foreign languages don't linger in my head like they do in English. They don't last. They remind me of the invisible-ink pen my mother sent me for Chris... (show all)tmas when I was fifteen and she had gone, an irony that escaped her but not me.
In the morning I ache for my mother. But late at night it is Luke I mourn for.
He kissed me where I was touching, just below my collarbone, in that place where all my feelings got caught.
I feel like a hag in a fairy tale, waiting to be made young and supple again.
All your life there will be men like this, I think. It sounds a lot like my mother's voice.
I wheel it around to his window and ring my bell out of habit. It is the sound of me coming to his cabin at the end of the day. I want to take that sound and stuff it into a bag with rocks and throw it into the river.
I squat there and think about how you get trained early on as a woman to perceive how others are perceiving you, at the great expense of what you yourself are feeling about them.
He seems genuinely happy for me. You can't always count on a guy for that.
The air between us crackles, as it does when you speak of your beloved dead.
I feel like there's a misshapen ball in my lungs that isn't leaving much room for air.
He can sound wise in love, but he's bad at it, too.
We pass beneath a maple that has already started to drop leaves. They crack beneath our feet and lease the smell of fall.
I take his hand and he pulls me in and kisses me on the temple and we look through the windows again as if the house and everything inside it belongs to both of us.
You don't realize how much effort you've put into covering things up until you try to dig them out.
It always takes me by surprise when someone wants to kiss me, even if they've met me at midnight with wine and a blanket. People change their mind. Between the idea and the reality falls the Shadow.
We hold hands on the way back, but it feels like we're still kissing. My whole body responds to his hand in mine.
Usually a man in my life slows my work down, but it turns out two men give me fresh energy for the revision.
Small unexpected things begin to thrum across the whole book. I feel like a conductor, finally able to hear all the instruments at once.
I take a breath, and it becomes so deep I realize I haven't taken one for a while.
It has been a long time since I've seen them. Three years, maybe. They look older, like something is gently tugging them to the floor.
There seems no end to the procession of things that make my mother feel more dead.
Nearly every guy I've dated believed they should already be famous, believed that greatness was their destiny and they were already behind schedule. An early moment of intimacy often involved a confession of this sort: a chil... (show all)dhood vision, teacher's prophesy, a genius IQ. At first, with my boyfriend in college, I believed it, too. Later, I thought I was just choosing delusional men. Now I understand it's how boys are raised to think, how they are lured into adulthood. I've met ambitious women, driven women, but no woman has ever told me that greatness was her destiny.
Being around kids means thinking a whole lot of things you can't say.
He's very tall and very thin, a knife blade of intensity.
Afterward I ask them to write about a time they felt like that. They open their notebooks slowly. They're wary, like when you try to feed a squirrel.
I float like a balloon back to the classroom.
Last words
(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)Those geese are already home.
Blurbers
Miller, Madeline; Hadley, Tessa; Kline, Christina Baker; Hilderbrand, Elin; Strout, Elizabeth

Classifications

Genres
General Fiction, Fiction and Literature, Romance
DDC/MDS
813.54Literature & rhetoricAmerican literature in EnglishAmerican fiction in English1900-19991945-1999
LCC
PS3561 .I4814 .W75Language and LiteratureAmerican literatureAmerican literatureIndividual authors1961-
BISAC

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Reviews
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Rating
(3.98)
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Media
Paper, Audiobook, Ebook
ISBNs
35
ASINs
7