Dear Wags,

1985. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.

Don’t worry, I’m not subjecting you to old yearbook pictures. I’ve been thinking about that cinematic classic, The Wedding Singer, starring Adam Sandler and somebody who really annoyed striking writers (hurrah, it looks like we have a deal).

There’s a scene where Sandler’s character, Robbie, drowns his sorrows at a bar with his pal Sammy, a player with a pompadour. Robbie reveals he’s tormented by his feelings for Julia, the goodhearted waitress. “I think I’m in love with her, but I gotta get that out of my head,” he tells his friend, who is rocking a killer red leather jacket. “Starting right now you and me are going to be free and happy.”

Sammy’s response: “I’m not happy. I’m miserable.”

Love My Way by the Psychedelic Furs is playing in the background as Sammy explains that playing the field—like Fonzie and Vinnie Babarino—isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. In that glorious tenor, Richard Butler rasps, You can never win or lose if you don't run the race. It’s one of the sweetest rom-com moments, ever. Take that leap, Robbie!

I’m not happy. I’m miserable describes a lot of writers. Whatever they have achieved, it can never be enough. They may be obscure or award-winning, but they can’t be happy unless some stranger is telling them they are awesome.

It’s foolish to anesthetize disappointment by chasing phantoms. If you’re unhappy, creatively or otherwise, momentary praise won’t cure you. I’ve been that needy writer, yearning for approval. When you keep asking Is it good? Yes! It’s terrific! is the only dopamine hit that will do. What a fleeting high.

After I published a memoir, I was forced to recalibrate. I don’t know if it was meditation, therapy, or exercise, but I became healthily detached from my work. I no longer live or die by random approval. Plenty of people, including at least one reviewer, don’t approve. I’m still standing.

My book isn’t perfect. I’m grateful when I get messages from readers who find something meaningful in it. It’s especially lovely when I get praise from other writers. But I don’t bank on applause — or wallow in sadness when the wind blows the wrong way. What matters is that, like Robbie, I took a chance on happiness. You can, too.

Yours ever,

BKP

Devil Makes Three by Ben Fountain

Welcome to Haiti in 1991: President Aristide has been overthrown and things are even more precarious than usual. An American expat who runs a scuba shop and his socially connected partner scheme to reap a windfall from chaos, but Audrey, a CIA operative, may throw a wrench into their plans. Fountain (Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk) makes these antics hilarious without trivializing a volatile place. Things move at a clip, with compelling characters and a plot liberated from predictable chase scenes. Along the way, the author deftly examines how American foreign policy has had unintended and often grim consequences for Haiti.

Land of Milk and Honey by C. Pam Zhang

If you were a master chef marooned in London while the world was ending, and someone offered you a last chance to cook with ingredients that no longer exist anywhere else on the planet, what would you do? The narrator of Zhang’s mouth-watering second novel accepts a mysterious magnate’s invitation to cook in his bunker deep in the Italian mountains. She survives hazards to swoon over strawberries and prepare meals for the compound’s strange guests. But when the mogul’s daughter leads the chef deeper into the hideaway, sinister secrets are revealed. It’s a beguiling tale of how environmental destruction changes our palates and desires. What happens when sensual pleasure is reduced to meager, flavorless crumbs?

The Museum of Failures by Thrity Umrigar

Everything Umrigar writes centers on family, and she has a huge amount of material at her disposal. In nine novels, the Ohio-based author has explored the Indian diaspora from every vantage. Her latest book follows characters back to the old country where they have complicated ties. Remy and his wife Kathy hope to adopt a baby from his home city of Bombay, but when the arrangement falls apart, he remains to take care of his ailing mother. A surprise discovery in her apartment calls everything he believes about his past into question. It makes for a story of parental failure and a meditation on forgiveness.

Thicker than Water by Kerry Washington

This isn’t your average celebrity memoir, but then Washington isn’t your average celebrity. When she was cast in ABC’s Scandal in 2012, she became the first Black woman to star be the lead in a network TV series since 1974. Work in films such as Django Unchained and The Last King of Scotland won her praise, and she has become a successful producer and activist. Washington’s book begins with a text message revelation that challenges her notions of family, then sifts through a complicated childhood and takes us on a journey to self-discovery. It’s an unflinchingly honest, well-told tale of identity and belonging.

Penance by Eliza Clark

Love or hate this inventive novel from a hugely talented young British author, you must concede she’s nailed our fascination with true crime. Penance purports to be a book by Alec Carelli, a journalist investigating the grisly murder of teenaged Joan Wilson by three of her high school friends in the bleak town of Crow-on-Sea. From the appalling crime itself to an exploration of creepy corners of the internet (the book is sprinkled with “excerpts” from podcasts, fan fiction, and digital posts), Clark aims the lens at the audience, forcing us to ask why we revel in lurid details and care far less about actual justice.