The Plot Jean Korelitz (drm ebook reader TXT) 📖

writer’s conference. There was, it turned out, a stunning variety of stuff to discuss beyond the writing world: politics, things to eat, interesting people and what they’d done in the world, and the golden ages of comedy, television, food trucks, and activism that were currently underway, all around him, and which he’d been only peripherally aware of till now.

He noticed, as his own writer friends began to meet her for a second or third time, that they greeted her with warmth, sometimes reaching for her with a kiss or a hug even before they turned to him. Anna remembered their names, their partners’ names, their pets’ names (and species), their jobs and their complaints about their jobs, and she asked about everything, even as Jake looked on, smiling tightly, wondering how she’d managed to find out so much about them in so short a time.

Because she’d asked, it only belatedly occurred to him.

With his mother and father they established a monthly brunch in the city, following an Adam Platt review to a dim sum restaurant nestled beneath the Manhattan Bridge which then became their regular destination. He was seeing more of his parents now, with Anna, than he had when he’d been single and theoretically unencumbered by another person’s schedule and commitments. As the winter months passed, he watched her forge a deep familiarity with the two of them, his mother’s work at the high school, his father’s travails with a partner in his firm, the sad saga of the neighbors two houses down on the other side of the street, whose teenage twins were both in freefall and taking the rest of the family down with them. Anna wanted to go yard sale shopping with Jake’s mother (an activity he himself had taken pains to avoid since he was a child) when the weather got warmer, and she shared his father’s long-held penchant for Emmylou Harris (before his very eyes the two of them looked up Harris’s tour schedule and made plans to see her that summer at the Nassau Coliseum). In Anna’s presence his parents talked more about themselves, their health, and even their feelings about Jake’s success, than they ever had when he’d been alone with them, which unsettled him even as he understood that this was good, a good thing for them all. He had always accepted the bald fact that they loved him, but it was more of a default position than an expression of organic preference. He was their child, ergo, and later, when he gave them such unmistakable reasons to be proud, that position was understandably substantiated. But Anna, who was not their child, and who was not a bestselling author of worldwide stature, they liked—no, loved—for herself.

One Sunday at the end of January, after their regular dim sum feast, his father pulled him aside on Mott Street and asked what his intentions were.

“Isn’t it the girl’s father who’s supposed to ask that?”

“Well, maybe I’m asking on behalf of Anna’s father.”

“Oh. That’s funny. Well, what should they be?”

His father shook his head. “Are you serious? This girl is fantastic. She’s beautiful and kind and she’s crazy about you. If I was her dad I’d give you a kick in the pants.”

“You mean, grab her before she changes her mind.”

“Well, no,” his father said. “More like, what are you waiting for? Why would she change her mind?”

Jake couldn’t say why, not out loud, obviously not to his father, but he was thinking about it every single day as @TalentedTom continued to hurl contempt into the void. Jake spent each morning toggling through his Google alerts and torturing himself with new word combinations to cast over the internet: “Evan+Parker+writer,” “Evan+Parker+Bonner,” “Crib+Bonner+thief,” “Parker+Bonner+plagiarize.” He was like an obsessive-compulsive at the mercy of his cleaning rituals, or unable to leave his apartment until he had checked the stove exactly twenty-one times, and it took longer and longer each day to feel safe enough, and then calm enough, to work on the new novel.

Who thinks it’s okay for @JacobFinchBonner to steal another writer’s book?

Why is @MacmillanBooks still selling #Crib, a novel its author lifted from another writer?

Why would she change her mind?

Because of this. Obviously.

Since that day in Seattle and especially since Anna had crossed the country to join him in New York, Jake had been bracing himself for the day his girlfriend finally mentioned the Twitter posts, perhaps with an entirely understandable demand to know why he hadn’t already told her about them. Anna was no Luddite, obviously—she worked in media!—but having established her Facebook and Instagram outposts as a way for her missing sister and aunt to reach her, those two accounts had pretty much ossified from lack of use. The Facebook profile listed about twenty friends, a link to Anna’s University of Washington class page, and a pinned endorsement for Rick Larson’s 2016 congressional run. The Instagram account’s first and only post dated to 2015 and featured—ah, the cliché of it—a latte art pine tree. One of her jobs at the podcast studio was to manage its own Instagram account, posting photographs of the various hosts and guests using the facility, but she apparently had no wish to chase personal likes, shares, retweets, or followers, and she certainly wasn’t monitoring the peaks and valleys of his online reputation. Anna, it was obvious, preferred the real world, and the real-life face-to-face interactions that took place in it: eating good food, drinking good wine, sweating on a yoga mat in a room crowded with physical bodies.

Still, there was always the uncomfortable possibility that someone, knowing she lived with the author of Crib, might mention an accusation or an attack they’d seen floating by on their own feed, or politely ask how Jake was holding up given, you know, that thing that was happening. Every day might be a day the infection of @TalentedTom crossed the membrane into his actual life and his actual relationship. Every night might be a night she suddenly said: “Oh hey, somebody sent