Taffy Brodesser-Akner (“Fleishman Is in Trouble”) is a staff writer at The New York Times, where she covers everything from The Eras Tour to Tom Hanks.
She joins us today to unpack her new book Long Island Compromise (7:30), its central questions about wealth, trauma, and inheritance (11:58), and the real-life crime that inspired the story (12:52). Then, we dive into the process of writing a novel (15:17), a formative passage from the book (24:31), and Brodesser-Akner's memories of growing up in between Brooklyn and Long Island (29:54).
On the back-half, she describes her work as a journalist (40:14), profiling Nicki Minaj (45:38) and Bradley Cooper (45:54), how those experiences propelled her to write Fleishman Is in Trouble (46:20), her reflections while writing about Taylor Swift (54:05), and the transformational power of storytelling (1:04:07).
Thoughts or future guest ideas? Email us at sf@talkeasypod.com.
Pushkin. This is Talk Easy. I'm standing for Goso. Welcome to the show today. I'm joined by journalist and author Taffy protesser Ackner. Taffy is a staff writer at The New York Times, where she covers everything from the Eras Tour to Tom Hanks. For a time, she was known primarily for her celebrity profiles. You may have read her viral pieces on Gwyneth Paltrow, Jonathan Ranson, Bradley Cooper, Billy Bob Thornton. No matter how famous or incendiary the subject, she always managed to take care of them while also being unafraid to unpack their more thorny tendencies. But what really made these pieces unique was the writing itself, her ability to communicate something interesting about her subjects, even from the most anodyne interactions. She seemed, at least to me, always more interested in observing rather than interviewing, And to no surprise, that gift for observation has served her well as she's pivoted to writing novels. Her debut book, Fleischmann Is in Trouble, was a New York Times bestseller that she then quickly adapted into an Emmy nominated show on Hulu, starring Jesse Eisenberg and Claire Danes. Her latest book is called Long Island Compromise. It begins on the day in nineteen eighty that Carl Fletcher, a wealthy businessman, is kidnapped from the driveway of his home. The family promptly ransom and within a week Karl is reunited with his wife and kids. Together, the family is absolutely determined to continue living their best and, let's be honest, very privileged lives to not have this old traumatic incident define them or God forbid the Fletcher legacy. And that's just the opening of the book. What follows is the rest of their lives, which includes, but is not limited to, anxiety, sex, addiction, paramid schemes, right wing capitalists, psychics, beta blockers, the terror of history, of fear of the future, and hell, while we're at it, some concerns about the present. One reviewer called the book reminiscent of Philip Roth. Another cites the work of Tom Wolfe. But it's most importantly a very funny book about the legacy of wealth, trauma and inheritance. And so today Taffy and I talk about just that, how money, whether it's the pursuit, presence or absence of it makes us crazy. We also get into her middle class childhood growing up in between Brooklyn and Long Island, and how it informed her ideas around wealth and security as she embarked on a career in journalism, which is not exactly known for either of those qualities. And so with that, I want to thank Taffy for coming on the show and having this very candid conversation about a subject we don't often discuss in front of an audience, but one that I know I've been having a lot more of this year with friends and family. I also have to note at the top that we want to do a mail bag episode this summer, So if you have any questions for us, it can be about the show, how we make it, how we book it, anything you've been wanting to ask but haven't. You can email us at SF at talk easypod dot com. That's sf at talk easypod dot com. And now here is Taffy producer actor Hi Davy.
Hello, Sam, nice to meet you. It's nice to meet you.
How are you feeling on this book tour of yours?
You are right, I am, I'm a little turned around, and I'm very emotional.
What does turned around look like?
It means that I couldn't have told you exactly where we are. I have twenty dollars on it being Wednesday, but I was corrected and told it was Thursday. I've always been told that mindfulness is this incredible state of being, and of course I would never understand that except I think this is what it is. It's that I really don't know what's going to happen when I have to stand up and leave. There's a car they're going to weekend it bernies me into the car, take me somewhere, prop me up somewhere else. Amazing moment. But people think that a book tour is a victory lab and it's actually really very much part of the work.
So am I getting the weekend at Bernie's Taffy right now? Or is this the real taffy? And after the interview you'll slip back into the Bernie into the car.
I think you can define me by understanding that I am always me when asked, like anyone who needs me to be me, I show up.
Can we try to tell, at least in some chronological order, the way in which this book comes together?
Oh my god, terrifying.
I'm going to try to help you, Okay. The book is called Long Island Compromise. You started writing it in the summer of twenty fifteen in Russia while an assignment for ESPN, the magazine to profile the US's only male synchronized swimmer. Bill may yes to begin. Why did you initially take the assignment and what happened over those twelve days of reporting in Russia.
We had just moved from Los Angeles to New Jersey, and my husband had gotten a job at the Star Ledger, and I was freelancing, and I was having a very terrible time in the rental we were living in New Jersey. The landlord wanted us out. She wanted to give the house to her daughter. And I have some really deep rooted stuff with precarious shelter, and I realized we were in New Jersey, and in New Jersey it doesn't make sense to rent. You have to own a home there in order for it to make sense. So I went to a realtor and I said, how much money would I need to buy the smallest, ugliest house on a block. And she told me. And I went to my friend Liz, and I said, how can I make this money? And she said, write a sports story in magazine lore, true crime and sports kind of always cells And I started casting about for a story about a sport that nobody was covering. So I found synchronized swimming. I learned from a woman named Isaita whom I knew that there was a man who was trying to become an Olympian in a female sport. And I knew that that was it for me, so I pitched it. I had contracts at GQ and the New York Times magazine, and they were like they were met on it. And Liz again said go to ESPN, the magazine, and I went, and they said an emphatic YUS, and we'll send you to Russia. We will run this at length. I had to go for twelve days, fourteen really if you count the travel. And I had these days in between these competitions to do nothing, and I walked around Russia and I cried, which, by the way, Russia a great place to do that. And there was a song playing that summer that my had loved. It's the one that goes it's been a long day without you, my friend, And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again?
Does it sound like Bud?
No, It's better. But my son loved it. And in Russia it was playing all the time, and I would just walk through the streets crying over it. And I sat down and I decided I had to write a novel, and I wanted to write something about money. I wanted to write about the fact that here I was in Russia, completely capable of making an amount of money that would allow me to put a very meager down payment on a house. It is great to have that skill, but I also wondered, what is it like to not have to have that skill? What is it like to feel safe in the world? And I started to wonder who is better off the people who have never felt the wolf at the door and can sleep through the night, or people who have had to become scrappy and learn how to survive on their own steam. It seems like the answer is, like the American answer is the scrappy person. But what if I tell you that no matter how far ahead you get, you still wake up in the middle of the night. And That's what I wanted to write about.
So this book about class and money and security came out of your own financial insecurity and procarity in that moment.
Yes, I wanted to know can money actually buy you security? Will I ever feel safe? And that's what I set out to do.
You describe the book. To give the elevator pitch of this book, you would have to go into an elevator that, once ascending, would have to break down, pause, and then maybe be serviced by some folks. Then by the time you ride to the top floor, you may possibly have a pitch. But since this is a podcast, yes, how do you explain the book?
I say that it's a book about a family, a rich family that loses their money and has to figure out who they are without it. It is about the legacy of trauma. It's about the way money makes you crazy. It is about trying to survive your genetic makeup and your socialization, and it's about the question of whether or not you ever stood a chance in the world. But it's also I want to say here that it's also funny. It sounds, it sounds intense, but it's also funny.
Funny like woman crying down the street in Russia.
Funny like walking down the street in Russia crying like ha ha oh, okay, like ha ha, that's my Russian laugh.
Look, I wasn't I wasn't even gonna ask you to do it. Did this whole thing is for free, and thank you for that. But the book is inspired by the real life kidnapping of a wealthy Jewish businessman in nineteen seventy four, a man that was actually a family friend of yours. Yes, man that I think hired your father for a job in the eighties, Is that right?
Well, he and my father grew up together. His was Jack TIChE and I grew up knowing him. He was kidnapped a year before I was born, and it was kind of just a thing I grew up knowing.
And you grew up spending time between Brooklyn and Long Island.
We lived on Long Island for six years. My parents got divorced. My mother moved us to Brooklyn, and we went to Long Island for the weekends, first in Dix Hills, and then my father moved back to Great Neck, where he's from and where Jack Tich was from, and where Jack Tich lived when he was kidnapped out of his driveway. And I grew up knowing this. I grew up knowing that I knew someone who was kidnapped.
How was the story explained to you as a kid?
I don't remember hearing it for the first time. Trust me, I have thought about it recently. How did I know this? And who told me about it? But I knew about it somehow. It was just something I knew the way I sort of also knew who was getting divorced and who had cheated on someone else, you know, different families.
It was just another piece of information.
It was a piece of information. And like all, I'm always fascinated by the way you look at information at different points in your life. I think about the people I knew growing up who had numbers tattooed on their arms, and I understood that to be leftover from the Holocaust. And then I can tell you the moment that I sort of woke up to it and understood, oh my god, this person was in a concentration camp. And my first thinking about jack Tysch was, can you imagine being so rich, so absurdly kidnappably rich, that someone would do that.
You're feeling, well, how come my family know?
How come I can't get how come nobody wants to kidnap me?
Why has no one picked me, Yeah, pick me to.
Pick me, kidnap me. And at the appropriate time I developed empathy and compassion. And I also woke up to this thing. Oh my god, this man I know who My father had gone to work for as a computer consultant. He had a steel door factory, and my father, at the dawn of computing, helped automate their factory.
So when you start writing and you call your father and you call Jack, I.
Didn't call my father.
He didn't call.
No, my father has a weird relationship with my writing. It's like too personal for him.
When you started working on this book, you didn't say, Hey, I'm doing this thing.
Here's what happened. Okay, I kept trying to write it. I was not getting encouragement. You know. I had an agent who didn't think it was good. And then a year later I started writing Fleischmann is in Trouble, and I sent her to the first thirty pages and she didn't like that much either.
So why did you believe her?
Because anybody who is in the business whose own success is tied to yours, they want the work to be good. So I didn't account for a taste. I mean, I am willing to believe that every single word I've ever written is garbage.
There's a writer in this book, Beamer, who delivers a script and there's a sort of like internal monologue that is exactly what you just said, which is at any moment. People don't understand how quickly I can discard my own writing and discredit the quality of that writing upon hearing that it's not good from someone else.
The minute, I mean, look at what happened. Instead of going back and revising it, I was like, you're right, this is terrible. I'm going to write something completely different. I started writing that, and she didn't like it, and I was like, you know what, maybe that we have different tastes. And I found another agent and I wrote Fleischmann is in Trouble, very very quickly, because again I had the hot breath of finances down my neck. So I decided I had to write Fleischmann very quickly. I gave myself six months, and if it's not saleable in six months, then I should go back to magazine writing. Because it's a blessing to have a good magazine career, especially here at the end of magazines. It's a blessing to have it.
Are we here?
Yeah, I'm sorry, we're here?
What do you mean? I don't do magazines.
No, I know, but it's coming for me too. Yeah.
Yeah, this is our last episode. This is the end.
It's actually becoming a zine. It always does become a say nature is he going? So what happened was the minute I sent in Fleischmann and the publisher was very excited about Fleischmann. I started writing Long Island Compromise. Again. Fleischmann was a book I felt like I could write. It seemed to me to have the contours of a magazine story. It was about one person. It was a beginning, middle, and end, and I knew and I would be done with it. Long Island Compromise was the kind of book I love reading, and I didn't feel that I had the skill to write it yet. And I went to start writing it, and I realized, oh my god, I have to talk to Jack teisch And I reached out to his son Mark and I said, this is so crazy, but I need to talk to you and your father, And he said, it's so funny you're reaching out because we were about to get in touch with you. So we went and we had lunch and I told them, listen, I am writing a novel and there is a kidnapping in it, and every time I try to make it not have a kidnapping in it, it still has a kidnapping in it. And I guess what I have to say is I can't pretend that I don't know somebody who is kidnapped. And I'm wondering if I could have your blessing to proceed with it. And he gave me his blessing very quickly and said, it's funny. We were reaching out to you because I would finally like to tell my story. I would like to write a memoir. And for a minute, I thought, why don't we both abandon our projects and I'll just write your true crime book. But he wanted more control over the story, and what he wanted was a document for his family of what he went through. But then he published his document in June twenty twenty, which is if you think getting kidnapped is bad publishing your first book in a pandemic.
That's like publishing a profile of Billy Bob Thornton the day after the twenty.
Six can know everything, but what you are referring to is my wound. Which is that the best profile I believe I ever wrote. I won't go back and reread it because I don't want to know that that's not true. But I believe the best profile I ever wrote was published November tenth, twenty sixteen.
It was in GQ.
Yeah, I know a lot of people were upset about that election, but I was more upset.
We know twenty sixteen election not great, but worse my GQ profile.
The real tragedy being ignored, being ignored. We will get to that, thank you.
But the thing that we keep circling is that this book beyond coming out of your own economic frustrations of being this freelance writer. I was often writing ten stories at once that had two kids in New Jersey, married to a loving husband, also a talented reporter, that you couldn't actually save enough money to create a life, to create a home.
A middle class life, And this book.
Ends up being about, I think, the erosion of the middle class, which if people felt on the periphery in twenty sixteen, it feels like now in twenty twenty four, it's come into complete focus.
It is one of the loudest stories, especially one of the loudest I hear I'm forty eight years old. I feel that I am uniquely positioned to remember being told that if you work very, very hard at something, if you have some talent, if you are successful, you will get ahead. You will be able to have a middle class life. And I couldn't understand why I was working so hard and I was working successfully. People knew my name, I was in demand. I couldn't get ahead. I feel that at a certain point in success it's tacky to talk about money, but I feel like people will say, you know, it's a shame, we don't ever talk about money, but they punish the people who do.
I famously did I did you said I don't get out of bed for less than four dollars word.
I didn't say that. That was not the quote. I was talking about negotiation. And when I did that ESPN story, I was told to ask for four dollars a word from ESPN because that's what they paid the men I knew who worked there.
In Cosmopolitan, it appeared as when I started doing the I don't get out of bed for less than four dollars a word thing, people started paying me four dollars a word.
Is that what it says.
That's what it says in Cosmo. That's what it says in Cosmo. That's what it says as of today, in July of twenty twenty four.
Wow. So the real story about that is that I did not make four dollars a word anywhere. I made four dollars a word at ESPN, the magazine, and there was a sort of big moment about that. I don't think that that moment was about me. I think that moment was about the economics of magazine writing. I never felt it was about me. But I didn't correct it either. I didn't say, actually, the full story is that I mostly get paid this much, but just this one, I was telling the story of a negotiation.
Ah, And so that was the high end.
It was not the high end. It was the only time I ever made that. But then what I learned quickly was that other people were going to their editors and saying, Taffy makes four dollars a word. I would at least like to fifty award or three. And I had a lot of editors saying to me, people think you make four dollars a word, and I said, pay them more, like, don't like. I never corrected it. Actually, maybe I'm doing that now, but I never corrected it. I was always so interested in what happened, because the idea that any amount you could make on a magazine story is enough to live on is also laughable. But I don't discount anyone who is ten years younger than I am and who has a dream. You know, I want the economics of this to work out. I'll tell you that two dollars a word, which was the average of what I made at a glossy magazine, was the average you'd make at a glossy magazine in nineteen eighty nine. I wasn't there for it. But the older generation of women I knew who were quitting the business when I started, were quitting because they hadn't gotten a raise in ten years. The economics of magazines are terrible. It was this very weird moment. I never thought it was about me. I never felt like people were coming for me, even though it felt like a soft cancelation. I remember where I was. It was the weekend before Fleischman came out in Atlantic. I was. I was in the hard rock cafe.
By the way, they should have given you six dollars worth.
I know, but for a New York Times magazine story on the Miss New Jersey pageant.
Eight dollars are worth.
I never ended up writing it twelve dollars a word.
But what And that's when the negotiating started.
Yeah, I know. That's when they were going into a tunnel. They couldn't hear me anymore. I mean, it was interesting to me that I'd just written a novel as the only way I could figure out to get ahead financially.
It was okay, all the way to get ahead in your writing career was to do a lot more writing. Yeah, in the form of a book.
I think that we, for some reason are calling the much younger than I am generation people who are graduating now into a burning planet and a terrible economy, a gig economy, and we call them lazy, and we make fun of them for their self care, when really they have no access to the American dream. Their only chance of getting ahead is either to go into a business like a finance business, where you actually your goal is to make money, make money, or you have to have come from money.
And those who come from money are at the heart and center of this book. Yes, and the questions around survival and safety I think are interrogated a whole lot throughout the book, But I want to go to the end of chapter one, when Carl has been returned home safely after being kidnapped, and the family believes they are now going to move on.
So he gets returned home after four days and his mother says to him, don't let it in. This happened to your body, This didn't happen to you. Pull it together, and they move on, or they think that they move on. The book had started with the first question do you want to hear a story with the terrible ending? And at the end of the kidnapping in the first chapter, when it's resolved, the answer is this now, Obviously, this isn't a terrible ending. This was the best possible ending to a horrific story. But life wasn't over yet, and part of what happened next had to do with the way the Fletchers believed that they had done their time, that actually it was all that they'd been through already that had blessed them to enjoy this eternal sunny day, that the safety and survival they delighted in was earned by them, a sort of hazard pay for what they had endured. Carl Fletcher had been kidnapped, and not only did this kidnapping not ruin his family, No, the kidnapping became a symbol of the family's fortitude, of their ability to survive in the world. The Fletchers persisted a beacon of what a person should hope for for their fami family, arm in arm in lockstep down the pathways of happiness and prosperity. The problem is that they didn't stop to consider what the rest of us knew, which was that they had no right to set the conditions for safety and survival in the first place, that safety and survival might not work that way. They don't care about you. They don't accrue like an Israel bond. The more you bank on them as investments that feed off of themselves, the more precarious and insidious there yields. But what are you going to do? That's how rich people are.
What the rest of us knew is what I've been holding on to since I read it, because it seems to me that that was born that that line was born out of a pretty lived experience for you, starting from a young age.
It was it was born out of lived experience there's this idea my grandmother gave me that if everyone threw their problems into the middle of the room, you would take your own if given the oppportunity to take someone else's. And I don't know. I'm forty eight, and I keep saying I don't know.
So imagine that we're all standing in a circle, we throw our worst shit right into the middle. Would you, upon seeing everyone else's go, I'll take my own taffy bullshit?
I think that that is the journey of the book. The journey of the book is to understand two things, which is that you fall in love in a way with the way your life worked out, no matter what happened.
What do you mean by that.
I mean that they're terrible things that happen in life. You work your hardest to get over them. But working hard at getting over them is also called the rest of your life. And you find yourself years later unable to extricate the bad from everything good that happened, and you fall in love with the entire thing. And I think that's the first thing. And the second thing is that if you have to watch, people will be rich in front of you. It is hard to remember that it is hard to ever think that it is worthy to have your own problems. The epigraph of this book is the line from the Don Henley song the Boys of Summer, Remember how you made Me crazy? And I think money makes you crazy. And the people the characters in this book are made crazy first by their money, then by their lack of money, then by trying to figure out who they are without money. And there are people watching them who are made crazy just by being up close.
But as a kid, when did you realize safety and survival that they were not inevitabilities for.
Me or for everyone for you.
So I your parents split up at six.
My parents split up at six, and they would fight about money. And you don't really have control over how you hear those things when people are fighting their hyperbolic We went and we moved to Brooklyn, and we didn't live very large. We lived in a sort of terrible section of Brooklyn. We were very confused. We had money for food, we had shelter, We were all as worried we wouldn't. It was such a different economy that it is hard to define it in the terms of the economy now. But as a child, I was afraid as a child. We moved around a lot, I changed schools a lot. I never felt like I had stability. And I looked at people who didn't even understand what I was talking about, people who were casual about their safety, who knew that they would be able to go to summer camp. Again, like we're talking in sort of what existed as a middle class. My mother used to say that we weren't poor. We were broke, we had no money, but we had this sort of trappings, like we held on to a middle class status. But my parents' divorce, a sort of division of the money, really hurt all of us.
In this period growing up and spending the weekdays with your mother and the weekend with your father. I want to try to pinpoint when and how you became a writer, and I wonder if it was around the time, like you were twelve years old and your mother and two sisters decided to become Orthodox. Yes, but you did not.
I did not.
Did their decision surprise you, Like, how did you reconcile that.
I'll tell you how I reconciled it in the future when I finally reconcile it.
Okay, So forget reconciliation today.
Yeah, it's not going to happen today. But I'll tell you a little more about it, which is that my mother became religious. My sisters quickly joined, and I remember saying to them, our mother has had her fun and is clearly trying. We're about to be teenagers. She's shutting us down right. And they said, no, this is great, and I said, no, it's not great. And my sisters are the people in my life that I'm closest with. We have a sort of same ethic, a same point of view. I still cannot believe that this is how they chose to live their lives. But I was only twelve, so I had so much time to go. How am I going to reconcile the fact that I love these people? And I think that's what made me into a writer. And certainly it is a skill I call upon most as a journalist.
Why do you think it made you into a writer?
Because I had to sit there and try to understand with words what was going on. People sort of see the breath of my family. They see a bunch of religious people and me, and they think I'm the black sheep, I'm the basic And I would watch them and I would be at war? How can I hate this and love them? And that is where writing comes from, yearning to understand how to make sense of the world that you love.
In twenty fifteen, for the Paris Review, you wrote about Taylor Swift. Shout out to you for getting the Parish Review to include Taylor Swift in their coverage, and in it you wrote, has there ever been a more passive aggressive profession than writing? Writing is first born of a need to explain oneself, and it is comorbid with the desperate loneliness of an ostracized, chubby middle schooler like she was she being Taylor Swift, and well, like I was. The popular kids can explain themselves to each other, only the lonely ones they're left to their writing. Is that how you felt as a teenager in high school?
That's how I felt up until this morning?
Really?
Yeah?
But can we sit with the actual teenager that you weren't?
Sure? So?
I want to understand that person. I'm trying to imagine you as a teenager writing college and mission essays for twenty dollars a piece with a Hebrew Thelma and Luis poster in your bedroom. Yes, who was that kid?
I understood myself to be a writer when I understood that you're not supposed to be living an alternate life in your head, that not everyone was doing that they're not, and I felt so lonely and trapped. I lived in a part of Brooklyn. Brooklyn is a sophisticated place. Now people who grew up where I did will still tell you that that is hilarious. I grew up lonely, confused, chubby, and I was desperately friendless. And one day my mother sent me to the newsstand to get her a carton of kent Box that was what she smoked. And while I was there waiting for them to get it, I saw a spy magazine and I suddenly understood what I was. It was like someone was calling to me, like there are other of you with a point of view like this. I bought it, and I also took a Village Voice, which was there in a pile, and I went home and I read them over and over. And one day, when I was a senior, I would become obsessed with tabloid crime. And there was a crime at the time, the Amy Fisher. Do you know about this that on Long Island in Massapequa. This young woman named Amy Fisher, who was having an affair with a mechanic named Joey Buttafuco, went and shot his wife, Mary Joe in the face. It was all anyone could talk about. And soon there were three TV movies in production, over like three competing ones. And I don't even know if three was enough. Frankly, I want I wanted more. And my friend Brian said to me, on Friday, they're doing Amy Fisher the Musical on Christopher Street. I snuck out. It was a Friday night. I'd never snuck out before. I went in the village and I saw it. It was like somebody whispering to me, just hold out, just wait a little while longer, because after you leave your house there's something waiting for you. I thought I would always feel that way. I thought I would always be that sad. And I don't remember. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying. I don't remember anything from that musical except one lyric. It's Mary Joe and she sings I'm happy as hell. There's the doorbell, and that's when Amy Fisher goes to shoot her. Of course, it's not a funny story. I do not find it a funny story, but it was so shocking to me. And I saw this connection between a thing and art that you would make out of the thing that you were obsessed with, and I saw a way forward for myself. And from then on I was just like, I can't wait. And I feel like the thing we don't tell children enough. We tell them that childhood is the best time of their lives, and I don't understand why we tell them that it is not. Childhood is awful. I look around even at people having good childhoods, and like, do you know you'll be able to drive one day? Like from the time I turned forty, it has just gotten easier every single year. And I feel like it's a trick that we perpetuate on young people to make them think that they are having a better time. But actually it's just our nostalgia, you know. And I could be nostalgic for a mugging like I have like a very I have a very fine tuned nostalgic. Ho I go back to that terrible neighborhood in Brooklyn, and I say, oh, I'll look at that. But I also understood from the time I was very little that something happened to adults where they thought this was was good, childhood was good, and I was there to tell you it's not even okay. And I would write little notes saying, don't ever forget how bad this is.
Where are those notes?
You know what? I don't have them anymore. My house burned down when I was eighteen.
When you left for college.
Yeah, I don't have that anymore.
But you wrote that down.
I wrote it down because I was so afraid the thing that happened to adults would happened to me. And what was that that their lives become so hard that they begin to romanticize this other period of time where they had no control over their lives. Where like, if you think about what we do to children sending them to school, it's awful. You're expected to accept this assertion of control over your body, mind, and time, and the only reason you're willing to do it is because you're a child. And anyone who voices an objection to it is parting a sea that is not to be parted. They are rabbel rousing, they are rebelling when actually the kids who go to school there's something wrong with them.
The times you did go to school. When you're in high school. Yeah, you had an English teacher who said to you, you're not very good at writing.
Yeah, when she found out I was writing those essays, she would say to me, this is unethical, but also you're just not that good.
When did you stop believing that she was right?
I have inferred over the last maybe ten years that some combination of hard work and talent has worked out for me. I don't think you can extricate the hard work from it, like I think that, Especially when I was at GQ, there were so many men there who were real, actual geniuses, like genius writer men, and they would sometimes become crippled by their genius and not be able to file a story. And I always felt like I was just short. I was functional, Like.
You sit in the past that you don't believe in writer's block.
Well, I didn't believe in writer's block, which I always said because I needed to believe that, and also because I thought, what people do is they romanticize this profession.
Right, you said, people describe writing as mystical, but it's actually a matter of physics.
It is it's a matter of physics. Have you written a word? It is not writer's block if you write the next sentence, and even if it's not a great next sentence. I also argue always that you can't fix anything until it's complete. And the thing that people are calling writer's block is their imagination that the first part isn't good yet.
Do you think that philosophy about writing is born out of your own distinct class experience?
Yes? I think that. The thing that hovers over my head is you will have to get a real job, and so if I didn't treat this like a profession, I don't know what I would do. I once filed a story for a magazine that no longer exists. That was my best try. It wasn't great, and I handed it in saying, I really tried here, but something about it isn't working yet. It was the first time I was writing for this magazine. This was long before you know, any sort of concern about word rate for me. And the editor wrote back to me and said, I know we don't pay as much as some of the other places that you work, but we expected better. And I was so offended by it because I could not believe. I remember when I was on that synchronized swim story I picked up a phrase where they would say, leave it all in the pool, like fight your way out, leave it all in the pool. I was like, I left it all in the pool, man, Like what more do you want from me? Sometimes a story isn't that good. But it was really wounding that he said that, can.
We talk about some stories that you do?
Like? Yeah, sure, let's do that.
In twenty fourteen, you're hired as a contributing writer for both GQ and The New York Times magazine, where your primary focus was writing these very big celebrity profiles. And I'm fascinated about how you thought or concede of the job at that time, because you've said in the past that all writing is about making a case for somebody and the story you are their advocate. Is that how you saw your role in these profiles, Like as an advocate for people like Don Lemon or Jake Tapper or Christian Slater or Billy Bob Thornton, did you feel like you needed to be their advocate?
I felt like I needed to be their interpreter. This is what I thought. I felt that I needed to advocate for their point of view. What was I going to do with my access. That's the thing I had. I had extraordinary access. Why do you think that was because I worked at the two biggest magazines.
There were a lot of people do the kind of work that you were doing at those specific places and were not granted the amount of time that you were.
No one granted me time. I kept showing up. I wedged my way uncomfortably, cringe worthily into like I just kept showing up. Can I just come with you for this fifteen more minutes? Because of those interactions, not because of anything else, but because of those interactions, I can't really watch, you know, a Don Lemon whatever he's doing now, YouTube cast or whatever it is. I can't ever interact with those people again because of how much I knew that my job was to just keep asking to show up. I once to write a newsletter that talked about my access in the Gwyneth Paltrow story, and it was like science fiction. I just kept begging and begging, Whereas it seemed from that person's point of view that I just was given and given because I worked at the New York Times. But no, I don't think it works that way. I think that access and my ability to just keep showing up like the most annoying bad penny you've ever met is my skill.
Why are you able and willing to do that when so many others are not.
I have a lot of sympathy for the people who are not, because they're more obedient than I am, first of all, and obedience is a good skill. But second of all, it's very dazzling to be around these people and to annoy them. To see visual evidence of how annoyed they are with you is awful. I am not awful to be around for a celebrity. And here is why I don't ask a lot of questions unlike you. Unlike you who are great at this, because you're on a podcast, you have to ask me questions. I was not beholden to anything that anyone would hear think about. You know David Markesy, who is my colleague at the New York Times magazine, who for years and years wrote the Talk column. You would see his questions and then there would be answers. He was accountable to the reader. Fully, I wasn't doing that. I was writing a story. If I asked a lot of questions, that would be regarded as very invasive, and that would be annoying. But actually what I spent most of the first time we met doing was signaling to somebody that I was willing to listen and that whatever gripe they had with the way people perceived them, I was a safe place to correct any misapprehension we had. All I know is that I was more afraid of being looked at as a starfucker or of my editors and readers like these people will never love me, but maybe my editor and reader will, and I remembered that I work for them. I always thought that interviewing a celebrity, and a celebrity, by the way, will always make an overture of friendship. It's one of the stages of being of profiling a celebrity, is this celebrity making an overture of sort of future friendship as a way of saying, don't hurt me too badly, because they really do understand how much power the writer has and how much power the interviewer has.
When you're writing your novels or your screenplays, you keep a post it note on your computer that reads, torture them, y, what did the post it look like when you were writing profiles of the amount I just mentioned Don Lemon Billy bolthornon Christian Slater. What was that post?
It? There was none because my only job when I was writing was to let the reader know what happened, torture him or torture them. Is a note to remind myself that, no matter how much I fall in love with characters, fictional characters, that I'm not doing the reader any favors by pulling punches on them.
And you didn't feel that obligation I did profile writing.
I didn't feel an obligation to say anything that didn't happen. I felt an obligation to interpret what I had been given in terms of the person. What you do with that kind of access is you take it because it's so rare, and you tell the truth about what happened.
But I think there are examples of your work where in fact you had to write about what didn't happen. I mean, your first piece for GQ was with Nicki Minaj, who didn't really want to do it, didn't like you all that much, and fell asleep in the process of being asked questions.
She fell asleep while we were while I was trying to interview her. It was it was crazy I.
Mean, I'm thinking even in that Bradley Cooper interview where he is I'm stuous. I mean, he clearly doesn't like the form right. He doesn't understand he.
Doesn't understand it. I would say he was contemptuous. He was confused. Why would anybody want to ask him personal questions? He didn't understand it.
I'm curious, like when the shift happens, or if the shift happens, where you eventually designed to write Fleischmann and when you turn it into a show, you cast Jesse Eisenberg and See Kaplin and Christian Slater, you all go out to dinner, and it is then and only then at that dinner that you realize that the work you had been doing for the last decade was not exactly what you thought it was. Yeah, what happened?
Well, I'll tell you there are two things that I realized over the course of making that TV show, and one of them was that I'm sort of shocked at how little curiosity I ever displayed about why actors went into acting. Like, I would watch on set. I would watch them prepare, I would watch them make choices. I would watch them either ask me a question about something or not and I'd watch them do it, and I think, my god, this is fascinating. How come it did not occur to me to care about this in all the time, all I cared about was their relationship with their fame. That was like my entry into everyone I wrote about.
Why do you think that was?
I think it was the only thing I could find purchase with, Like, what must it be like to be somebody who, in success, would like to spend all their time pretending they were someone else and then have to go out into the world. What is it like that suddenly people have an opinion about you that you can't correct.
What is it like to be a family rich enough to be kidnapped?
What is it like to be rich enough to be kidnapped? That's I guess all I ever wanted to know. I think the thing I can say about my journalism career is that I'm not embarrassed at what I'm curious about, for the simple reason that nobody ever sees my questions. Like, maybe it's totally embarrassing, and maybe that's why I can't ever interact with any of these people ever again. But I do think that I am curious about the weird thing that happened to them, which is it is maybe traumatic to become famous, to suddenly have people who know you, who are interacting with you, and then you realize that they've known you a lot longer than you've known them. It's a shock.
But the weird thing that happened to you that produced Fleischmann's in Trouble, I think is in part informed by that period of working at GQ and the New York Times, Yes, where you wrote a lot of profiles about men in their fifties who had gotten divorce, Yes, and they started a new family with a younger woman. That seemed to be what propelled you into wanting to write Fleischman.
You know, while I was writing Fleischmann, I went through this period where I was interviewing so many actors who had these young marriages, probably to famous people, had a couple of kids, had a wild life, those marriages ended, and then now in their fifties, they had new wives and they had this whole new set of kids. And now they would always tell me about how they're taking their time and how they're really focusing on the kids. And I would think, my god, these poor women who never had the chance to reinvent their lives in their fifties. It informed a lot of my point of view of sitting there in those interviews. The other thing I think of when I think of writing celebrity profiles is the dinner you referred to Christian Slater, wasn't there. It was me and Jesse Eisenberg and clar Danes and Lizzie Kaplan and we sat down and here were these three famous people, the kinds of people I would interview, and they just started talking. And I had always prided myself on being personable, and you could talk to me. I present as fairly warm, and I think, I mean, those are all real things about me. I am. A lot of people I interviewed would say to me, you don't seem like a journalist, which I would get offended at. And I would sit and think about that. And then that dinner happened and they just started talking to each other, and I realized, you idiot, nobody ever opened up to you. They always knew what you were, and they always knew who you were. And I was watching these kinds of people, who are the kinds of people I would interview have a frank and real conversation that would have I would never have gotten to no matter how much access I had, and fairly like, you shouldn't talk to a journalist like that. I don't know anybody that I interviewed who wasn't already so famous that they hadn't been burned seventeen times before in being too familiar with a journalist, and so they were always on their guard around me, and I don't think I ever punished them for it. I never pulled any punch. I took pride in having a story that you had to read that did not take advantage of a way somebody misspoke and sent it around to People Magazine or Usly. I took pride in that. I also understood very well that just because you are good at acting, singing, falling asleep while I'm talking to you, does not mean you are good at talking about yourself. And I think that the mistake a lot of celebrity profiles that I had read in my history, it's that if somebody wasn't a good interview, the story wouldn't be good. But it was my job to tell a good story. So Nicki Minaj can fall asleep and Bradley Cooper could have quibbles with the entire enterprise. But at the end the story had my name on it. Sure it was in four point font, but that was my story. It had to be good by my standards.
We'll be right back with author and journalist Taffy Brotessair Ackner coming back around the release of Fleischmann Is in Trouble on Hulu. You did a lot of interviews I think it was the end of twenty twenty two or early twenty twenty three where you said, when this is all done, I'm really excited to get back into journalism. Well, Tappy, since twenty twenty two, you've written two pieces, one that just came out. That one's about the real life character at the heart of Long Island Compromise, and the other is about someone that defies characterization in Taylor Swift. She also wasn't interviewed as part of the piece, which is fine, Which is fine, But where are you at on all this? Does being a journalist still interest you?
So I'm on a book tour and I'm promoting this book. The magazine stories are to me still the most perfect way to convey an idea.
Why is that?
Because they are perfect? They are the exact right amount of time. They are an opportunity for storytelling. Have you ever heard that when chefs get together, what they make for each other is not their fanciest dish, but they make roast chicken. A magazine story is roast chicken and what you can do with it. That is your signature. A book can be anything. A TV show can be a lot of things. It has to be certain things, but it could be a lot of things. A magazine story has to meet certain criteria, and the way you move throughout that criteria is your interaction with the world. Also, I don't know, I just feel I feel like it was something I was born to do. When I was writing that Taylor Swift story, which was the first magazine story I wrote after writing seven episodes of Fleischmann Is in Trouble novel Fleischman Is in Trouble and part of Long Island Compromise, most of Long Island Compromise, I thought, oh my god, I'm home.
When you're writing the article you're writing about the Aras tour, and you find yourself at the concert you somehow got a teket Congratulations, Thank you so much. I'm so sorry that one of your kids won't be able to go to college.
I did, Yeah, I did it through a bevy of maneuverings that had to do more with my life as a sports reporter and then being in football arenas.
It all comes back to the come back to secretized swimming. When you're at the show and she starts singing My Tears Ricochet, Oh my god, what happened?
The way the Eras tour is organized is so beautiful. Unlike most pop stars in my understanding, where they just keep reinventing themselves, she reinvents herself, but she never denies or discards who she used to be. So what you're watching is you're actually watching American girlhood play out, and you have no choice but to wonder what your own girlhood has to do with this. As I was watching the Eras Tour and I was coming to understand because right I didn't get an interview, but I was doing reporting, and I started to ask myself, what does this have to do with me? I came to this song My Tears Ricochet, which on its surface seems to be about a breakup or a love song, but actually what it is thought to be about she has not confirmed. This is the way she feels that she was betrayed by the record label that she came up with. You know, there's a whole story that you could read about the selling of her Masters, and it is the understanding through the sort of Taylor Swift network of code readers, that that's what that song is about. And when I heard it, I started thinking about the ways I'd been screwed over in business. One of the funny things about when I came to under stand myself as a member of the establishment, as we discussed earlier, was that I had, yes, Yes, I had just left GQ because I had found out that I was being paid a third of what the men there were being paid.
And he didn't know that.
I didn't know that. I didn't even ask about it. I didn't wonder about it. I knew the economics of magazine writing had changed. They had been working there longer. There were all of these ways I understood it. But the New York Times had come to me and asked if I wanted to work for them, and I said no, no, no, I just love working at GQ. And then finally I had that new agent and I asked him about the numbers, and he said, that's not what you should be making at GQ.
How did you feel when he told you that.
I'm still not over it. I'm still not over it. To the tune of being forty seven and crying with a bunch of young women who understand stand that not all songs are about men or about romantic relationships. And I sat there and I was crying because I understood that this was a song that was about that devastation. I recognized the devastation in it. Someone who was supposed to be taking care of you, they betrayed you.
Editors and colleagues that you loved.
That I love, and that I thought loved.
Me, And I think they did.
I think they did. And it's complicated. I don't even know how to untangle it. I don't know because I know that I got a contract in twenty fourteen, and those contracts, maybe we're going back to the nineties. Maybe I have no right to complain. But I was so proud of working there. It was so meaningful to me to be a GQ writer. It's all I had wanted growing up. My father had a GQ. When he first got divorced, he either subscribed or bought a couple of GQS, and they stayed in our living room forever, and I read them over and over, and it seemed to me that the people writing in there had this level of freedom and personality. They were going out to see the world and then to explain to everybody what it was like. It was the best possible way you could live was to be a magazine writer. And I still feel that way. I still feel that the most profound moments of my life are standing in row six gazillion at the aristour and realizing something about the world and being so excited to go back and tell everyone what I found. GQ gave me my career. The New York Times came to me because of the stories I was writing for GQ. Where do I put all of that?
I don't know. Does knowing that you were paid a third voy your contemporaries were being paid, does it retroactively dim or tinge like the things that you wrote and the time you spent there.
It's funny you ask that, because on this book to for I'm living in a way that I haven't lived since that period of time where I would run through airports trying to catch the connection or trying to get to the hotel in time or to the interview in time, and the visuals are the same, the running through and the knowing to go to the witch bathroom, to go to at lax where to get Italian food and an akron like you know, all of it, and I think it gives context to it. And I don't regret one thing because look where I ended up. I ended up doing the thing I wanted to do. I'm so lucky and I and I'm one of the last people to be able to do it. I don't know what the future of magazines is. We keep making.
Jokes, but you keep making it.
Yeah, well you keep me, you keep Yeah, we bot zines comparing you are you are?
I'm not a Taylor Swift scholar, but I am. Yes, you asked, but I did. I did read the lyric to that song and there's that line. And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home.
Yeah.
I know you've said magazine writing is like the thing you feel like you were born to do. Are you sure it's not writing novels.
I love doing it. I'm going to continue to do it. I'm very lucky to be able to write the characters in here are not people that you could write journalism about. First of all, you wouldn't. You would never write about a sort of average American family. You would not write about a screenwriter with a bright future behind him who re enacts his father's kidnapping in a hotel room with the help of sex workers twice a week.
By the way, that character. I'm just going to have a passage here for you, but in which you write Beamer. His name is Beemer, yeah, is it? Beamer had been born with a thirst for body contact that cannot be quelled with body contact. He had been born with blood voluminous enough to throw equal parts of its supply to his penis and to his brain, although perhaps definitely more to his penis he had been born with. Again, these are Taffy's words. Workmen's semen committed to its indefatigable factory production line, a supply that threatened to become toxic to him, were not relieved like a pressure valve, often and enthusiastically, and often and often you don't know, like the New York Times have published.
That I don't know the rules keep moving over there. In terms of language, we were just talking about how you could get so much more Yiddish in than you used to be able to without explaining it.
Yeah, I would love to see the footnote the editors on what I just read. I can't believe workmen semen.
Workman semen exactly the name of the episode.
When you wrote that, How proud were you?
It is hard to describe things, and anytime I describe, when I describe triumphantly, I am triumphant descriptions. We are in twenty twenty four, so many of them have been done. It is a real triumph when you can line up the words in a new way. You know, no cliches there.
The thing I'm trying to get at. You did an interview recently with NYU, which is where you went to school. Yes, and you said to them, the fact is, I'm at this weird moment in my life where I don't really acknowledge how much things have changed over the last few years. Because if I did, I would have more infrastructure in place. I would have hired someone to do our laundry, or maybe I would have made sure that our interview was in a quiet, alone space. But I'm still trying to do everything. If I had to analyze where I am right now, I'm still trying to hold on to who I was, as that person has already left the gate.
You know. An interview I gave a few days after that, somebody asked me about writing Fleischman Is in Trouble, and I thought, how impossible it is to describe the person who was writing Fleischman is in Trouble, because the writing of Fleischman is in Trouble changed her to the point where I think, that's what writing is supposed to do. You're supposed to with everything you complete, be so transformed by the process of completing it, of telling the story, that you no longer resembled the person who started the story. I remember when I was writing Fleischmann, I was so vexed about the institution of marriage, and now EH cannot understand what the big deal was. I'm a completely different person, and that person put out a story into the world Fleischmann Is in Trouble, and listen to everybody else's stories about their divorces, about their marriages, and it changed me. That's the great thing about being a writer is that it puts you in conversation in the world. I hope I don't sound too high Faluton. I feel like I've gone down a high faluten road here, But I'll be earnest because I think that we're at a moment in time where people talk about cringe so much, and I'll go to the other direction and say, let's be earnest and say that what is more serious than how you choose to spend your time? What is more worthy than how you spend your time? And I feel this extraordinary privilege that I spend my time in conversation with people about ideas and the way the world is. It has been the privilege of my life.
Why does me reading that quote make you emotional?
Because it is moving so fast for me because in that moment, I'm actually thinking about my kids, thinking about what was going on in that moment, which is that we were in my apartment and I was trying to negotiate something with my younger son and it was happening in front of this interviewer. It was like a nightmare. It was like a good thing. It was an alumni interview, and that not at like a place that was trying to actually get a slice of my life because it was a tense moment between me and my thirteen.
Year old because it was a real it's a real life.
It was a real slice of my life.
He's about the graduate eighth grade, he was.
About to graduate eighth grade. And by the way, he's a graduate of eighth grade. Now he's not even thirteen anymore. Now he's fourteen. And if you are clocking the way, time passes and you look and you say, why did I set up that interview? Why was I having that conversation in front of somebody? That was me apologizing to somebody for them having to see this messiness, this like sort of the dirtiness of my life and how messy it is. And I just I guess I had questions. You know, I haven't even read that interview. I normally don't read interviews. I think I just don't like to for the same reason I don't read anything I've ever written. Once it's done, it's done and it's unchangeable, and I don't want to have regrets. But I guess when I think about that, I think about the versions of me that are gone, and there are so many of them, and there's one that is going to leave the studio today changed a little by this interview. And the real question is Who were you? But now who are you going to be?
The last question I have for us. Sure is a version of you that's long gone, but I think still here is the one that was a teenager that said, hold on. If you can just hold on, you'll have a chance at doing the kind of work that may give your life a meaning. And I want to just sit with that day that I think is the first time you understand what art can do. And it is a production of The Secret Garden. Oh yeah, with your aunt Aunt lois what happened that day the Secret Garden. I don't know if it was the musical or the moment Mandy Patinkin. I was in a room with Mandy Patinkin because he was playing Was he playing Archibald or the other brother? I can't remember. The Secret Garden is also in this The Secret Garden, So this is a big part of the book.
The Secret Garden plays a big part in Long Island Compromise, as does Mandy Patinkin as a real life character in this book, which I beg his forgiveness for. And I understood something about my that musical, which was that I loved being there. I loved everything about it. I loved sitting there. I loved the entry protocol. I loved the weird, fancy goldness of the theater. I loved these people who were creating a performance just for you, this thing that would go away. And I sort of grafted into it in a way that when I left, I was able to recite every song. It's insane, my aunt even she commented on it later, like, I can't. I've never seen anybody able to just recite a musical. It meant something to me so much. It was another point in the right direction of this is what you want. And I remember saying to her, I know what I want to do with my life now. It's in eleventh grade. And she said what And I said, I want to have to be in the theater. And she said, oh, you want to perform in the theater. And I said, no, that's not what I meant. I didn't know what I meant yet, But to this day, every time I have to go to the theater for something, which is very very often, I think, I did it. This is what you wanted to do. You did it.
What does it mean now?
In this mountain that you know, I know a lot of people who are practicing the profession that they decided they wanted to do when they were twenty, and some of them were right and some of them were wrong. And I was lucky enough to be right. Except the difference between a writer and any one of those professions is that it takes so long before you know that you did the right thing. I'm just now, in the last few years, understanding that I did. You know, when you're a writer, you watch everybody become more successful than you have the things that you want. Then you have a family and they have the things they want their family, and you're still struggling, and you take this giant bet on the far future, and you have no idea if it's going to work out. It's not for the week. It is not for It is a scary thing. And I don't know how I got the guts to do it, except that I didn't know how to do anything else. I'm not educated for anything else. I know how to type, I know how to talk, and I know how to ask people questions about themselves or listen. You know how to do those things too, You're great at it.
I thank you for answering the questions today.
I thank you for asking such great ones.
And for holding on for as long as you did.
Thank you, Sam.
You once said that all great art is art that sees you. And I want to say, if it's not clear already that this new book Flashman's in trouble, even the Billy Bob Thornton profile, that kinds of art I saw myself and love so very much. So I thank you for the time.
Wow, Thank you Sam.
And the nicest thing was this all right.
This is great, that's really a great I'm really in awe of your preparation. I want to know everything about how you prepare.
Next time, next time.
I don't think that's true because you're such a good pivoter.
I don't know what you mean, Pathy brouser Aner. Yes, A true pleasure.
A true pleasure. Thank you so much so.
And that's our show. I've been making Talk Easy for eight years now, and at the end of all these episodes, I always say, leave five stars on Spotify, Apple, wherever you do you're listening. All of that is true, But if you really want to go above and beyond and help us continue making this show for you each and every week, the best thing you can do for us is to share the program on social media, Share it with the friends, share it with the family member, Share it with anyone that you think may enjoy the kinds of conversations we have here each and every Sunday. I want to give a special thanks on this episode to the team at Penguin Random House, and of course our guest today, Taffy Brotuser actor. Her new book, Long Island Compromise, is available wherever you do your reading. If you want to learn more about her and her work, or if you want to read any of the pieces we mentioned in today's episode, you can visit our show notes at talk easypod dot com for more episodes with other great writers. I'd recommend our talks with Min Jin Lee, Elizabeth Gilbert, George Saunders, and Margaret Atwood to hear those and more pushkin podcasts. You can listen on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you like to listen. You can follow us on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram at talk Easypod. If you want to purchase one of our mugs at Come and Cream or Navy, or our vinyl record with writer fran Leebwitz, visit our website at talkasypod dot com slash shop that's talk easypod dot com slash Shop. Talk Easy is produced by Caroline Reebok. Our executive producer is Jenick Sabravo. Today's talk was edited by Lindsay Ellis, who was mixed by Andrew Vastola. Our music is by Dylan Peck. Our illustrations, as always, are by Chrishashenoy. Photographs today are by Maria Alvarez. Research assistance by Callie Conley. I also want to thank our team at Pushkin Industries, Justin Richmond, Kerrie Brody, Jacob Smith, Eric Sandler, Kira Posey, Jorna McMillan, Tera Machado, Owen Millers, Sarah Nix, Malcolm Gladwell, Greta Cone, and Jacob Weisberg. I'm San Fragoso. Thank you for listening to Talk Easy. I'll see you back here next week with another episode. Until then, stay safe and so lo