David McGlynn

David McGlynn's books include the memoirs One Day You'll Thank Me and A Door in the Ocean, and the story collection The End of the Straight and Narrow. His work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, and The American Scholar. He teaches at Lawrence University and lives in Madison, Wisconsin.

McGlynn's debut novel is Everything We Could Do.

Recently I asked the author about what he was reading. His reply:

Everything We Could Do is set in a hospital -- specifically within a small, locked unit inside the hospital. In the neonatal intensive care unit, the premature infants spend weeks and months on end inside climate and temperature controlled incubators, technically called Isolettes. The story's setting is a kind of Russian doll: tiny humans inside of pods inside of pods inside of pods. The people in the story, accordingly, struggle with isolation but also form deep, deep bonds with their other pod mates. A close friend, who teaches Russian literature, quipped that the story is like "Tolstoy in space."

In the course of writing Everything We Could Do, I spent a lot of time diving into books about hospitals as well as stories set in remote places. I grew sort of addicted to them, and several of those books I've read multiple times, cover to cover. The best example is Michael Ruhlman's Walk on Water: The Miracle of Saving Children's Lives. Walk on Water is a nonfiction book written more than 20 years ago, that's set in a pediatric heart surgery center in Cleveland. The doctor at the center of the story is among the most proficient and accomplished surgeons in the world at repairing congenital heart defects in newborn and very small children. But the book is about the surgical center, not just one guy. The stories Ruhlman tell are incredibly harrowing -- with as much drama unfolding in the OR as the best action movies -- and yet the book is tender, precise, and technical. It was the book that got me excited about writing a hospital novel, and whenever I pick it up, I lose several hours reading around in it.

A few weeks ago, I spent two extremely pleasurable weeks reading Kirsten Sundberg Lunstrum's new novel, Elita. I've read Lunstrum for years, since her first book came out, but this book shines above the rest. It's set on a small island in Puget Sound in the 1950s, where a feral child -- a young woman -- is found naked in the woods near a state prison. She can't speak, so she can't say how she got there or how she managed to survive, and it falls to an academic psychologist, Bernadette, to try to solve the mystery. The women who populate the novel are often up against the destructive whims and demands of men, and so must fight to be believed and taken seriously even while fighting for a helpless child. The writing is moody and lyrical and so beautiful. I'm also extremely proud that Elita and Everything We Could Do share a press (TriQuarterly Books). Elita, especially, is evidence that some of the best books lurk among the smaller houses. The diamonds are in the remote corners.

Finally, I am currently reading Michael Deagler's novel, Early Sobrieties. It's a debut book, a first novel, and it also won the PEN / Hemingway Award. The narrator and main character is a young guy who is recently sober. The world seems intent on trying to get him to drink again and to haul him back into darkness, even while he's clawing his way toward goodness and light. But this tension is hilarious. Deagler takes off on hipsters, gentrification, cheesesteaks (Early Sobrieties is set in Philadelphia), and so many more topics. The pieces tumble around and lock together in a way I find so joyful and true and satisfying.

Visit David McGlynn's website.

--Marshal Zeringue