I have an interview to share with you today!  A master of the essay, his book Snobbery: The American Version was on the New York Times bestseller list. He is a teacher in the creative writing program at Northwestern University (where he taught at least two other Zulkey.com interviewees) and is a contributor to Commentary, The New Yorker, Harper's, New Republic, New York Review of Books and The National Standard.  His story collection, The Goldin Boys, won the title of "Notable Book of the Year" from the New York Times Review of Books in 1992.  He is also some combination of the qualities of fabulousness, smallness and Jewishness.

The Joseph Epstein Interview: Just About Twenty Questions

One of your trademarks is the perfectly dropped relevant quotation, often from savants and philosophers like Mencken, Santayana.  How do you keep track of quotes you think are or will prove to be gems? Index cards?  What's the filing system like? 
I donít, really. They seem to be there when I need them. As do anecdotes, memories. This is known ñ at least by me ñ as  exceptional writerís luck.

You're considered to be a conservative. Would you say you are politically conservative, culturally conservative, aesthetically conservative, economically conservative?
I donít think of myself as a very political character. I did have an anti-left phrase during the late sixties and early 1970s, because I thought the people on the left in universities did not mean them any good. I still continue to think the 1960s a bad time for the country, in many ways. I think capitalism the best of all bad economic systems. I tend to be a traditionalist in culture.  In the eyes of many people, I realize, these things would make me a conservative. But I find that, as with my great beauty and astonishing athletic prowess, I could I can live with it.

You have written books entitled Ambition, Snobbery and Envy. Which of those traits do you deplore the most?  Which are you most guilty of?
I donít deplore ambition at all, unless it is empty or vicious ambition.  Such envy as Iíve known in my lifetime has much decreased. Iím still capable of amazingly snobbish thoughts, but, I hope, thoughts only. As snobs go, Iím a secret or Walter Mitty kind of snob ñ which is to say I never, if I can help it, act on my pathetic little snobberies.

Envy is part of a series on the seven deadly sins. Do you think envy deserves to be counted as a deadly sin or is it just part of the human condition?
As a secular person, Iím not sure I think any of the sins are truly deadly. But they are a great pain in the neck to those who are in thrall to any of them. Of these sins, I do think Envy and Pride come closest to being part of the human condition. Lust may also qualify, but the license on lust runs out at a certain age ñ not, of course, that Iíve anywhere near close to reaching that age.

In contrast, according to your bio on Houghton Mifflin Booksí site, you are currently working on a book on friendship. What are some of the facets of friendship that have piqued you the most as you write?
Iím knee deep in the Big Muddy of this book, whose subject I find immensely complex. The first thing I would note about it, though, is that friendship is an ideal, and, as with most ideals, reality frequently doesnít live up to it. We all have perfect friends in mind, but most of us donít always ask if we qualify as such a friend ourselves.

Have there been any topics that you tried to tackle, unsuccessfully? Why have they eluded you?
Iíve written stories that donít come off. Iíve been trying to write a story about a man who attempts to leave a woman, his wife, because she is genuinely too good, and he finds living with so truly virtuous a person gets on his nerves. But thus far I donít think it a successful story.

In your two books of short stories, The Goldin Boys and Fabulous Small Jews, Chicago and its environs play a major role.  How important is it to incorporate setting in your stories and how do you think it expands the understanding or empathy of your readers?
I think the Chicago setting has been very important to my stories. With the exception of the few years that I lived in New York, and a few more in the Army, and then in Little Rock, Arkansas, the remainder of my life has been lived here. When I see someone driving away, in my mind he is always driving down a Chicago street or eating in a Chicago restaurant or confronting a Chicago wise-guy.

Do you think the Chicago setting can be somewhat exclusionary for out-of-towners? Itís not as universal, for instance, as New York or London.
Thus far it hasnít been a complaint Iíve heard from readers. Some excellent writers, after all, have used Chicago as their setting: Theodore Dreiser, James T. Farrell, Saul Bellow, to name just three. I also happen to believe there is a certain literary magic in Chicago. Name two Chicago streets ñ Kedzie and Lawrence, Devon and Western, 71^st and Jeffrey ñ even those whoíve never been in Chicago seem to get a rough sense of them, Just as people whoíve never been to London or Paris have no trouble with Dickens or Balzacís naming of streets and places.

Youíve discussed how snobbery doesnít really work in Chicago. Do you think this is one of the reasons why Chicago is known as The Second City, or do you think it is one of the cityís strengths?
I think one of the strengths  of Chicago is that the more interesting people in this city are not overly impressed by culture. They pride themselves instead on their grasp of reality and on being unconnable. (Whether they have this grasp and cannot be conned is another question.)  In New York, I could probably have a fairly full literary-social life ñ lots of dinner parties, readings, and the rest of it ñ but here I am always surprised (and not a little pleased) to come up someone who knows about me through my writing. It is better for my character, and for my scribbling, not to be well known.

There was a somewhat depressing feature on NPR here recently called ìShould I stay or should I go,î debating whether local artists ought to strike out to New York or LA in order to further their careers, or whether they can make it big here. It was surprising to me that even the writers felt that you couldnít really make something of yourself in Chicago, whereas I thought you could write anywhere, unlike being a film actor. Do you agree?
I suppose it depends on what kind of writing one does. What Chicago doesnít have that New York has is what might be called a literary infrastructure: lots of magazine and publishing and culture-institution jobs to offer young (and sometimes not-so-young) writers who cannot live off their scribbling.

Do you have any favorite artists who continue to create in their home town, like John Waters in Baltimore, for instance?
Iím ashamed to say that Iíve not hitherto heard of John Waters. No, I donít have any such artists. But what  has long surprised me is that we donít have lots of good novels and stories written with Cleveland, St. Louis, St. Paul, and other major cities as a background.

Speaking of Chicago, youíve made your home in my home town, Evanston, for a while. For people who arenít familiar with the town, how does it differ, in your opinion, from what the popular image of a ësuburbí or ëcollege towní is?
Northwestern doesnít, it seems to me, have much effect on Evanston, which is a town of more than 80,000 people and very widely spread out. Most people in Evanston, as you know, are ticked that Northwestern University long ago made a deal with the town not to pay taxes, which makes things lots more expensive for the rest of us.

You teach at Northwestern but attended the University of Chicago.  For those college applicants, what are some major differences between the two schools?
The University of Chicago is still, for undergraduates at least, the better school, the more serious, the one with more character (because of its seriousness). What Northwestern chiefly has is a continuing influx of good kids who come to school here, a number of whom showed up in my courses.

Youíve defined yourself as ëbookishí on several occasions. What exactly do you think it means?
I use it to mean that books have long been a central part of my life. That I consider reading not a hobby or work-connected, but a form of experience, of learning about the world, in its own right. If I had a choice between not reading and not eating  (being fed, presumably, through a tube), I should choose the latter, though I hope to get off the planet without ever having to make such a choice.

You say in an interview with Robert Birnbaum, ìWell, I've never written a novel. But I don't think I need to write a novel.î Have you ever attempted to write one? Do you think some people just have an easier time with short form or anyone can write a novel, itís just up to the time they put in?
Iíve not yet found a subject that felt  to me novel-worthy. I also happen to have a weakness for longish, family chronicle novels. (An example of a fine one I read last year is Joseph Rothís The Radetsky March.) A great many 226 to 258 page novels I find are really short stories with helium added.

Whatís the difference between an essay and creative nonfiction, if there is one?
Iím not sure I know. I do know, though, that I think the phrase ìcreative nonfictionî is not a word that absorbs a lot of truthfulness. The word ìcreativeî itself is always accompanied by too much self-congratulation.

Why did you choose ìAristidesî as your moniker when contributing to American Scholar?
Because I thought it would be amusing. I first came across the reference to Aristides the Just (he was an Athenian  leader) in Plutarch, who reports that some Athenians thought he was ostracized (which he eventually was) because people grew tired of always hearing from him referred to as the Just. I was fired from the American Scholar for reasons of political correctness, which I prefer to think of as because I,  too, was too Just.

How much do your editors influence the finished work?
In my book-length work, very little. But I have had some very intelligent (and thereby useful) editing over the years. Iíve also had some fact-checkers who have saved me from huge embarrassment. Iím someone who is pleased to get all the help available to him.

For those unfamiliar with the story from your essays, how did you come to be Chicagoís city tennis champion? 
I have to deflate my reputation in the realms of sports, ballroom dancing, or romance, but I was merely a city public high-school doubles champion at a time when the best junior players lived in the suburbs. But I hope you wonít tell anyone about this.

How does it feel to have the 89^th person interviewed for Zulkey.com?
What I feel is shock and awe ñ and also some genuine pleasure at your amusing questions.