![]() ![]() In one of her new essays, she tells of visiting a laundromat to wash a comforter. She would likely be disappointed if no one did. She discloses and critiques, and she’s fine if you disagree with her. She’s a clear, deliberate thinker who sinks into her discomfort. Her writing is often beautiful and marked by a shrewd self-awareness. ![]() She’s described herself as a “poet who writes in prose, or a prose writer informed by poetry,” a flexible taxonomy that exemplifies her style. ![]() This isn’t so much due to the writing not fitting the definition of those terms, but rather that the prose is too varied in its scope, approach, and presentation for standard designations. And yet, it wouldn’t work to classify Biss’s output as autobiography or memoir. Throughout her four books, the author presents a complex self-portrait. It’s not Biss’s distinction as an essayist that made me unsure of how our conversation might go. I figured my preamble would be different, but I still seem to be drawing attention to the fact that Biss is highly acclaimed. It’s both impressive and boring, the way the recital of prizes, awards, and fellowships precede her ideas. In articles, interviews, and lectures, the author is often introduced with a long list of accolades. In Having and Being Had (Riverhead), Eula Biss wonders if she’s on her “way to becoming an asshole.” I wasn’t sure what to expect when I called her to talk about the newly released book. ![]()
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