Maud Newton is a peach. In person she is lovely, gracious, soft-spoken, petite, bookish, and adorable in round glasses. Her skin is porcelain. She reminds me of a silent movie star—moon-faced, brunette, demure. And she’s so gosh darn nice.
As I drove to hear her address the MFA students in the Butler University Efroymson Center for Creative Writing the other evening, I formed a question to ask during Q&A. I can never think of an original question at these things or have burning curiosity about anything I haven’t already read about an author in an interview, but there was one thing I really wanted to know from this Rebecca “Maud” Newton, who has been a champion literary blogger since before blogging was even a word. What I wanted to ask her was,
“You have reached a level of writerly acclaim I can’t even imagine aspiring to. You’re prolifically published, religiously followed and emulated. The Paris Review even calls you ‘Necessary Reading.’ My question is this: How are you not a d-bag?”
But as Maud spoke, and from the moment she greeted me in the entryway with a warm smile, firm handshake and sincere “Thank you for coming!” the answer became apparent, negating my need to ask. She’s just naturally, well, nice.
Maud Newton is one of the good guys, and why is this trait so surprising? It may be the prevailing tone of snark sweeping the lit-mag-osphere, or the soaring popularity of wittily written, if profane, blogs that are equal parts hilarious and mean-spirited that make a writer think, “Well, I’d better get busy cussing and jabbing others with clever jokes at their expense if I want to find success in the literary realm.”
Another reason “nice” strikes me as such an anomaly may be that I’ve experienced enough visiting writers to be jaded by the colossal egos. Oh excuse me, Lorrie Moore, but you could take a lesson from Ms. Newton in the art of graceful celebrity. And, b-t-dub, you’re not as widely read or admired as you think you are. And, Walter Mosley, you are a tres debonair, wildly articulate, killer crime novelist, but take some notes from Maud Newton on humility. And did Paris Review ever recommend either of you people as necessary reading? I think not.[Which reminds me of an important piece of advice Ms. Newton offered bloggers, namely to be really sure of what you want to say before you say it; consider your message and be careful what you put out into cyberspace, because once your words are out there, you can’t get them back.] Well, Maud, I have looked within, and I am sure. I don’t need those words back. Even if they do border on snarky.
Highlights and Quotes from an Evening with Maud Newton
On reviewing books:
Stop blogging, Maud, because I can’t wait to read your novel. I’m a selfish reader too. If only I were as nice as you.ASIDE: The sunny spring evening of Ms. Newton’s visit marked the death of two other literary giants: Adrienne Rich and Newton’s mentor, Harry Crews—a blow that rattled me with the realization that my writing mentors might one day perish. Sincere condolences to you, Maud.