Jennifer Weiner talks about ‘That Summer,’ a #MeToo story that stretches from Cape Cod to the Main Line
We spoke with the best-selling author about doubling down on summer, how her daughters influenced her new book, and about one character’s foray into mouse taxidermy.
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For Jennifer Weiner fans, summer arrives on Tuesday with the publication of the Queen Village-based author’s latest book.
In That Summer (Atria, $28), the best-selling writer returns to Cape Cod, where she vacationed as a child and now owns a home, for a story about two women named Diana who come together over some apparently misdirected emails. One lives on the Main Line, but it’s a long-ago event on the Cape that causes their lives to intersect. The Instagram-worthy beaches of Weiner’s 2020 novel Big Summer can still be glimpsed, but they’re now the backdrop for a story about sexual assault and its consequences.
We spoke with Weiner about doubling down on summer, how her daughters influenced her new book, and the troubling aftermath when assault allegations are made against powerful men. This interview has been edited and condensed.
“That Summer” follows “Big Summer,” Is it true you’re planning a Cape Cod trilogy?
It’s true. I’m like a quarter of the way into the third book. And then I’m saying goodbye to summer. I’m going to have to pick a new season.
» READ MORE: Jennifer Weiner talks about "Big Summer," the book she hopes will bring the beach to you
But other than the fact that they both take place at least partly on Cape Cod, and that the new book briefly alludes to some of the events of “Big Summer,” they seem to be very different.
The working title for That Summer was The Two Dianas. In my head, that was always what the book was called. And then when I turned in the draft, they were like, “We love it. But we want a more summery title.” I can’t complain. The marketing people know much more than I do about what’s actually going to sell. But, yeah, they’re different books.
“Big Summer” was, as you’ve said yourself, one of your lighter books, even if it involved murder. And “That Summer” is evocative enough of a Cape Cod summer to have me checking out Airbnbs in Truro.
Oh, then I’ve done my job.
But the subject matter isn’t quite as escapist. Were you in a different head space writing this?
This book was written, start to finish, during the pandemic. I think I definitely was in a different headspace. I think everyone was in a different headspace.
But I think, honestly, what’s going on is that my older daughter is going to college in the fall. Did I give her the tools to be OK in the world? Which got me thinking about what the world is like, and whether it’s changed enough since I was a young woman and leaving my hometown to go to college.
Any conclusions?
I think I’ve done my best. But I think the world is the world, and it’s still a place where young women get chewed up and spit out regularly. I hope that I’ve taught my daughter everything that she needs. I hope that she’s self-possessed enough and self-aware enough to navigate the obstacles that she’ll have to navigate. But I’ve thought a lot about why — why are they all still there?
One woman receiving emails that appear to be meant for another is the kind of situation that could have taken you in any number of directions. Which came first, that idea, or the decision to tackle #MeToo and the consequences of sexual assault?
The email thing had been kind of bouncing around in my head for a while because there are other Jennifer Weiners out there in the world, and I do occasionally get their emails. This one woman, she must’ve been an avid tennis player because she was constantly [receiving emails], “Hey, there’s a tournament!” or “There’s a round-robin!” or a dinner party, and I was just like, boy, I wonder what her life is like.
I knew that I wanted to write about a woman who was where I am, generationally. You’ve got aging parents, you’ve got kids leaving the nest, you’ve got the obligations of your own life. There was that article that went viral about why Gen X women can’t sleep and I thought about that a lot, about the way things have shaken out for Gen X women and where we find ourselves. And it all just kind of bounced around until it coalesced.
The closest thing you have to a romantic hero in this book is Michael, who’s not only emotionally supportive, but who builds things. And one of the most memorable characters, Beatrice, is a teenager who’s into needle-felting, knitting, and mouse taxidermy. Is there something about the times we’re living in that makes working with our hands particularly appealing?
I think so. So much of what we do now is virtual, and that was even before the pandemic. All of the social media, the ways that we’re interacting now, it’s all intensely virtual. And I think there really is something grounding about carpentry or gardening or knitting or sewing or needle-felting.
When I was writing Beatrice, I talked to my daughters. What should she be into? I want to give her something specific, with comic possibilities. And they were both like, “Make her cottagecore.” And they showed me. This is like a teenage girl back-to-the-land movement type of thing, in a very gauzy, romantic way. It just interested me.
Do you know of anyone who’s actually practicing taxidermy on mice? Because I’ll admit I was stunned, after reading your book, to discover that it’s a whole thing on Etsy.
It is a whole thing. Truth really is stranger than fiction in most cases.
Did you pick up any new hobbies during the pandemic?
I went back to old hobbies, really. Like I started riding my bike again. All the gyms were closed. I started taking piano lessons again a couple of years ago, so I did a lot more practicing. And I baked, but I always baked.
I started gardening. I’d never really gardened, and I got a bunch of seeds from Amazon and I grew my own vegetables last summer, and I’m attempting to do it again.
Have your daughters read this? Do you run things by them when you’re writing about present-day teenagers?
I made them read the Beatrice chapters, to make sure I got it right. But they tend to stay away from my fiction because, I think, the sex scenes upset them. It’s fine. I think it works out better for everyone.
Brett Kavanaugh’s name is never mentioned in this book, but the accusations against him and many other prominent men are. Is there a legal or practical reason for not naming names?
There’s no legal reason. I think, though, that if I made it specific, I don’t know in 10 years, or 20 years, if it’s still going to resonate.
One of your characters mentions the idea of atonement. Do you have ideas about what atonement should look like for offenders who, for one reason or another, are beyond the law’s reach?
That is something that I’ve thought a lot about, and especially with, like, Louis C.K. There were these [sexual-harassment] accusations and everyone found them to be quite credible and he sort of slunk off in disgrace for about a year. And then he just came back, as if nothing had happened, and didn’t address it, didn’t try to do any kind of work to repair the careers of women he’d derailed, didn’t try to improve things for the women who are coming up on the comedy circuit now. It was just sort of, “Well, I’ve spent my time in purgatory, and now I’m back.”
I don’t know what atonement looks like, but I know it doesn’t look like that.
I think that we’re going to have to figure it out. I feel like the #MeToo movement isn’t over. I think the hits will keep on coming. It seems like right now it’s either [we] quote-unquote cancel them forever, or we just act like nothing ever happened. I don’t think either of those is particularly helpful in terms of moving the conversation forward or changing the world so that men don’t act that way anymore.