American Libraries

And my role for the last couple years has been largely to help develop the web site and publishing system powers it, but ultimately I'm responsible for helping shepherd content from the magazine to the web and kind of giving it something extra. I have been called a “booth babe.” I don't think that's accurate; it may be a little derogatory. I turn into a salesman. I start using a very slick voice and I ask people, "What's it going to take to put you in a new Booklist online?"

I have allegedly written a new book called My Fellow Americans that’s been published by Severn House. So the applause would still be going while I reached the podium. I'm still getting the hang of this, so all my impromptu remarks will be carefully scripted. I started writing My Fellow Americans because I wanted to write a spy novel. Unfortunately for me, I don't know anything about diplomatic intrigue, submarines, or ninja assassins. I do read the newspapers, however, and it seems to me a lot of regular people are having close encounters with the kinds things that should be reserved for the spy novels: paranoid government agencies, secret prisons, and bombs.

“’Andrew Walker?’ He nodded. The man who would ask was gone to the grave. His skin like crinkle tissue paper willing to pay $10 for a pack of cigarettes. ‘Say yes or no. We’re recording this.’ ‘Yes, that' my name.’ The man read a Social Security number. The man said that that was his, too. The man dug around in a large envelope. He coughed several times, dry, sharp and forced. He cleared his throat several times. He was wearing gray slacks, a blue blazer, a white shirt, and a red tie. The other man was wearing blue slacks, a gray blazer, and the same shirt and tie. The other man was short, round, and red-faced with a fixed scowl. He glared angrily.”