Goodbye to all that

On September 30, 2025, the blog that started it all for me will cease to exist.

Typepad sent out an email to its user base earlier this month that it was closing all operations. On the last day of September, The Elegant Variation will join so much internet dust and live on mostly in memory. 

I launched the blog in a fit of boredom in September 2003. My first marriage was unwinding, and I’d become aware of this thing called “blogs,” having found Maud Newton and a few others. There was a smart conversation about books unfolding and I wanted to horn in on it. I thought the Los Angeles book scene was underrepresented, so I signed up for a Typepad account and got posting.

I didn’t really think all that much of it. By the end of a week or two, I had like eleven hits. So I just decided to do my thing, say whatever I felt like saying in my inimitable, uncensored fashion since absolutely no one was listening anyway. I suspect it was that weird feeling of liberty that contributed to TEV’s later success.

I had a few basic rules: I posted very consistently (sometimes a bit too much – as many as ten posts a day!), I tried to be funny and smart, I tried to post about something other than the usual books, the usual names; and I tended to keep the personal stuff to a minimum (though these were, weirdly, among my most popular posts). Over time, the blog delivered a reliable mix of literary links, rants, and jokes (I would often link to James Wood’s latest review under the headline MORNING WOOD, that kind of thing), all underscored by a passion for serious fiction. I also began to create bespoke content; it all began with this 2004 interview with Andrew Sean Greer and grew from there. I did weeklong deep dives into a single book. I diligently attended most LA book events and wrote them up for my readers.

At its height, the blog was receiving 50,000 unique visitors a day. I went from having to explain to publicists at Book Expo America what a blog was to receiving close to a hundred galleys a week. I took a special bit of pride in being the biggest books blog with an open comments policy, which I kept to the end, despite the headaches it could cause. 

I have always been fond of saying this was literally the only time in my life I had been in the right place at the right time. I was part of the first big wave of media coverage, which saw TEV written up everywhere. I was, I suppose, briefly “famous” in a very small-scale, literary kind of way. I recall Philip Gourevitch looking askance at me at some party and asking if I was the one who’d called the Paris Review interview series “crack.” I was; I meant it as high praise. He nodded and moved on. My favorite accolade came from Karen Grigsby Bates at NPR who, writing of my penchant for speaking my mind, said I was “really brave … or really stupid.” (That became the TEV tagline.)

Now, as it teeters on extinction, what I think mostly about are the (mostly) wonderful people I’ve met. I have lifelong friendships (Hi Maud!) thanks to that blog, even a few foes-turned-friends. (I had my share of straight-up foes as well, though I’m too old and mellow for that shit now and wish them all peace.) I became friends with editors, agents, writers, people who remain important parts of my life to this day.

TEV also inarguably helped my writing career, though it was not created with that purpose in mind. But I got my first professional book reviewing assignment when Frank Wilson, books editor at the Philadelphia Inquirer, read a post I’d written on Sheila Heti’s Ticknor and asked me to review it for him. And Sam Tanenhaus gave me a chance at the Times Book Review after I’d written an open letter criticizing some of his reviewing choices. (He invited me to his office for a meeting and ended up having me review James Wilcox’s Hunk City. Perhaps he was being strategic and keeping his enemies close; but it didn’t feel that way.)

I remember that early excitement of posting, an irreplaceable and, yes, addictive, feeling of pressing the button, seeing the words appear out there and waiting for the conversation to start up. The growing realization that – for good or bad – people did, in fact, read what I was saying. (I was often called “combative” - fair enough - and there are plenty of swipes and gibes that I regret.) I’m so grateful to the thousands of readers who allowed me to be a part of their reading lives.

I’ve spent a few nostalgic hours over the last week peeking through the archives, which has been fun but which has also reminded me that although it represents untold hours of work, it’s just a snapshot in time. There are plenty of hot takes in there that do not hold up, believe me. Ultimately, for all the joy and opportunity it has given me, I view it as ephemera, and while I’m slightly sad to see it go, I really am mostly fine with it. And I have downloaded a pretty unreadable text archive, so it will be preserved in some form, if only in my Dropbox.

If you were a regular TEV reader in the day, you might want to spend a few days browsing before the lights go out. Here’s a sampling of some of my favorite and/or more popular entries:

My lengthy interview with John Banville. (I sometimes wondered if the whole blog wasn’t merely an excuse to meet him; and the interview made the papers!) Also Banville related, comparing his marginalia to mine.

A remembrance of my friend and writing teacher, Steven Corbin.

My struggles to obtain some brioche from France.

Notes on the passing of my father.

My appreciation of Tim Krabbé’s cycling novella The Rider.

That time Dave Shields guest-blogged for me about the Tour de France.

And the unfolding, from first draft to international sales, of my debut novel.

I’m one of those odd creatures who is terrible at saying goodbye, so I will settle for this expression of gratitude. It was a fantastic ride and I am grateful for it. And for you.

See you around the sandbox soon.