Jay McInerney: ‘It’s just a terrible time to be anywhere in the US’

Portrait by Maria Spann for The Observer

Jay McInerney, 71, was born in Connecticut and lives in New York. His books include his debut novel, Bright Lights, Big City (1984), about a cocaine-addicted fact-checker, and A Hedonist in the Cellar (2006), a collection of essays on wine. His new novel, See You on the Other Side, completes a quartet about Manhattan power couple Russell and Corrine Calloway, first seen in Brightness Falls (1992).

A novel set in lockdown doesn’t seem an obvious fit for someone who writes so well about partying…

That’s what I thought, too! Everything I care about in New York had almost ceased to exist. The whole point of New York City is that you’re there because of everything that happens outside your door; that’s why you pay those outrageous rents, not for your own 750 sq ft. But the interesting thing [from a narrative point of view] is that in the current era, unlike in Shakespeare’s time or in the 19th century, there are very few obstacles to love stories; in lockdown, there were.

As one of your characters points out, the hotels were shut…

It was impossible to have an affair during Covid! And I thought that was kind of fun: it hugely delayed the consummation of anything.

What drew you back to the Calloways?

I’d been thinking that I wanted to revisit them one last time, when the pandemic happened. There’s always been some catastrophe in the background of these novels – the stock market crash, 9/11, the financial meltdown – and I thought, well, here’s another. But I knew there had to be some sense of completion: I didn’t want to follow these characters any further. They started as a young and glamorous couple and I didn’t want that glamour to fade entirely. But I wasn’t sure how to end it – I almost quit writing this novel a couple of times.

How did you salvage it?

Strangely enough, I had brain surgery in early 2024. I’d smacked my head in the December of 2023 and couldn’t write. I couldn’t type very well and something was clearly wrong with me; I had a subdural haematoma. But about a week after I had the surgery, I just woke up one morning and knew exactly what I needed to do with the novel. I started writing for 10 days straight and finished it very quickly.

What drew you to have your characters talk so witheringly about some of the novels that were published during lockdown?

I’m sure I’ll get some shit for my sometimes less than flattering comments. I mean, Utopia Avenue [by David Mitchell, about a 1960s rock band]: like, seriously, all those rock stars were so nice? Such nice guys: I don’t think so! Honestly, those are the books that were around at the time and I just felt that’s what these bookish characters would be talking about; unless you talked about the latest figures from the Center for Disease Control or, you know, a neighbour who was sick, there just was a lot less to talk about [in the pandemic].

In contrast to the present moment…

In many ways, it’s just a terrible time to be anywhere in the United States of America. No one would accuse me of writing political novels, but you can’t avoid writing about politics: we all think about it. My first draft of this book had a Thanksgiving dinner where [someone] proposes a parlour game – everyone at the table has a device that can erase Donald Trump from the face of the Earth without any consequences for them, and they have to choose whether to push the button. Not long after I wrote that, there was that assassination attempt where Trump got nicked in the ear. My agent called – I’d showed her the draft – and I said: “I bet you’re calling me about the Trump thing.” I agreed to take it out; now I think I should’ve left it in.

Tell us what you’ve been reading lately.

Frank O’Connor’s stories – I’m preparing for a trip to Ireland. He’s amazing; I hadn’t read him in 20 years. I told my kids they had to read him and my daughter wrote back saying: “Dad, did you know my godfather [Julian Barnes] edited the Penguin book of his stories?” I was surprised: I don’t think I’ve ever talked to Julian about O’Connor.

What did you make of Departure(s), Barnes’s latest novel?

It was very Barnesian, in a good way. I’ve talked to him about it since: he finished it quite a while ago but he only published it on his 80th birthday. I liked the book; I just had slightly melancholy feelings about the idea that this is the end of Julian’s adventures in fiction.

Is it true what he says in it about having kept a diary for more than 50 years?

I’ve seen it: not recently, but over the years I’ve seen him writing in these little volumes. I even snuck a look once! I think we’re definitely going to hear more from Julian posthumously. And he still intends to write essays and reviews. But he says he’s done with fiction.

What are you working on now?

I wrote a 400-page memoir in lockdown. There are a lot of legal issues but if we can work those out, that may be the next book. One of my ex-girlfriends, Marla Hanson, is pretty famous: she was a model who was slashed by a spurned lover and then became a tabloid sensation. My second wife [Merry Reymond], I can change her name, but there’s no way I could write about [Hanson] and not use her name. The better-known people in the book aren’t a big problem. Carrie Fisher’s in the book, Tom Cruise is in the book; I think I can say anything I want about them. It’s ex-wives and ex-girlfriends I have to worry about.

You’re not tempted to turn it into a novel?

It’s been suggested [laughs]. We’ll see how we get around it.

See You on the Other Side is published on 14 April by Bloomsbury (£20). Order a copy from The Observer Shop for £18. Delivery charges may apply