Why We Write ed. by Meredith Maran (review)

I could not leave Why We Write on the shelf because of the echo of one of George Orwell’s most accomplished essays, ‘Why I write.’¹ The title is no coincidence. Meredith Maran lists Orwell’s four motives for writing in her introduction (xiii): sheer egoism; aesthetic enthusiasm; historical impulse; and political purposes. I imagine that all Orwell’s motives impinge on an academic’s writing, although political purposes are probably important in only certain areas of study. The ego is undoubtedly important as a driving mechanism in academic writing; aestheticism less so, judging from the low quality of the writing in many papers; but historical impulse, ‘The desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity’ (xiii), is surely our most significant purpose.

The twenty authors were persuaded to contribute to this book by a commitment to donate part of the profits to a worthy literary charity. Of course, multiple authors giving tips on writing is not new,² but such a group discussing their motivations in answer to a standard set of questions is notable. All the contributors are creative authors who are not following academic trajectories, but their motivations for writing are many and varied, and should be of some general interest. I discovered that I had only read one book by one of the contributors, which is not to say that I did not recognize many of them by name or by the titles of their books; rather, it is a reflection of my (mainly scientific and historic) reading interests. Their commentaries, in answer to the suite of questions posed by Maran, are generally informative, but a monologue discussing them all would not be a readable review. Instead, I have chosen a few contributions that I particularly enjoyed, while emphasizing that the others make interesting reading, too.

In answer to the key question (Why do you write?), many of the authors are shown to have essentially similar motivations. Consider the first five chapters as a sample: Isabel Allende replies, ‘I need to tell a story. It’s an obsession’ (4); David Baldacci, ‘I can’t not write. It’s a compulsion’ (17); Jennifer Egan, ‘When I’m not writing . . . There’s something vital that’s not happening’ (28); James Frey, ‘. . . it’s so much a part of my life that I can’t not do it’ (40); and Sue Grafton, ‘Writing is my anchor and my purpose’ (52). This pattern of answers continues throughout the book. There are academic writers who would probably make similar responses—in the fields of study that I know, I might expect E.O. Wilson and Richard Dawkins to concur—but writing is only part of the academic job. A full-time writer needs to be motivated to write. Academics are part-time writers at best, unless they are retired or on sabbatical and particularly inspired; we also teach and edit and mark student papers and review manuscripts and attend meetings and . . . the list goes on. As human beings, we can be exhilarated by these messages of joy from a field of leading creative writers. As academics, we can at best find our writing a refreshing interlude before the realities of life once more close over our heads.

But this does lead to an obvious question: Why does Steve Donovan write? Research papers, monographs, and conference abstracts are part of my job. If I did not write them, questions would be asked by my bosses. Yet if I never wrote another book review or popular article, my employers would hardly notice. Writing what I have to write for my job is a pleasure, as I love my research; but keeping within those limits is too confining, at least for me. Academics should spread their publishing wings. Many of my reviews, like this one, concern books that I’ve bought, read, and enjoyed; no editor asked me to review...