Alix, tell us a bit about how you got into writing.
I’m a born and raised in New York City kid through and through. I had originally started as an actor, and I started writing in my mid-twenties. I wrote a play because there weren’t great plays for women at the time. So I wrote one that had to do with all these women, and it was so clear that I was a better writer than I was an actor. I didn’t want to be in the play. I wanted to watch the play come together. Then I started on a novel and started writing articles, and then once you’re on book tour, it really is like a performance. I never went back.
You’ve spent decades observing New York and its people. How has the city changed, and has it affected your work?
New York is a beautiful beast. I think people have long been inspired and written about the city and used it for inspiration. I think it has a strong presence in 90 percent of what I do. I do think you have to write about what you know. You can do an enormous amount of research and visit places, but you have to really be able to go in and get a feel for a very specific place. Since COVID, New York became so sad and angry and heartbroken. It shifted and it’s hard when you watch something you love shift. I think that affects you, at least as a writer and a person who studies human behavior and culture and trends and all the other things I write about.
Six years after the pandemic, we’re still dealing with the fallout. Do you think that has permanently altered how we connect today?
I understand that all these devices, social media, Zoom, and everything became a life force for us, but I think we’ve forgotten how to connect. I just read an article about how scientists feel we are speaking a tremendous amount less to other people than we have in the past because we’re so used to now texting or DMing. I’m concerned that it’s a damage to all of us, and we’re desperate for in-person connection.
Tell us about your live appearances, some of which take place in cemeteries and funeral homes.
When my book The Joy of Funerals originally came out, it was still a taboo subject. I didn’t think anybody was going to do a book party at a funeral home, but I knew that in order to get some attention for it, I had to think outside the box. The worst anybody can say to me is no. So I went to Frank E. Campbell’s funeral home and ask them if they would do a book party with me. They said, yes, and that was a highlight for me. Then it was time for the 20th-anniversary edition, which is what I’m on tour with now. I went back to Campbell’s and aid, “Would you do this again?” Again, they said yes. We wanted to do it up, so we had an obituary cake and flowers, and we asked everyone to come dressed in funeral attire.
And so it’s been really wonderful and fascinating. It goes back to that we all want to connect; I think so many of us are lonely. You can be married, you can be single, you could have children, lots of friends and family, but we’re desperately trying to connect with each other in a more thoughtful way. I think whether you’re going to a funeral home or a cemetery, this gives people a different opportunity to have an experience and to still feel part of something bigger than themselves.
What role does the Hamptons play in your life?
My relationship with the Hamptons started like everyone in their twenties from New York does—where you have a share with a bunch of people you don’t know. You just always hoped your bed was still there and that somebody had changed the sheets or you had to bring your own sheets from home. You just also hoped everyone in the house was somewhat not psychotic. It’s changed now. There are some wonderful hotels that are out there. I have a lot of friends, so I’m fortunate that they also have lovely houses and they invite me out. So I have a love affair with the Hamptons. My goal is to own a house one day. It would be lovely to be able to say, “Why don’t you come out and visit me at my beautiful Hamptons house?” I’m still waiting for that, but it’s on my goal list.
How would you say the Hamptons differ from NYC?
New York is awake 24/7. I can literally walk across the street and I’m at my bodega, which has got overpriced gum and candy and an ice cream that has sort of melted, but then it reconfigured itself, and it’s sort of hard again, but you know that it’s not very good, but you want it at three in the morning. That doesn’t happen in the Hamptons. I think you do absolutely have space and greenery, but it’s a different kind of greenery than Central Park.
What advice do you have for someone who’s starting out in today’s crowded media market?
I really do believe you’re your own best investment. For all the people who don’t like to pick up the phone or the people who don’t like to write the e-mails or the people who are afraid to put themselves out there, you unfortunately have to get over that. I hear constantly from writers, they weren’t programmed to be marketing people. They just wanted to write, and now we don’t have that luxury. We have to be more than just strong in one aspect.
What are you working on right now?
I’m in the middle of a reissue next year of my second novel. I’m still working as a contributor to The New York Times, which has been wonderful. I have a new novel on top of that. I’m also working on a fascinating true crime that we’re in the middle of pitching for a documentary. As for The Joy of Funerals, we like to call this the book tour that never died!
Rob Asher
