At the Book Birthday

One memoir and ten years later.

Oct 15, 2024

Hello Beloveds,

This morning my mother called me. She’s been dead for six years.

She called me through a friend. I was in my kitchen, making morning tea. I was trying to center myself to go into the big day ahead, my Pub Day for my first book, the beginning, the birth, of my life not as a writer, which I have been since I was seven, but as an author.

I was putting PG Tips in my mug that says Fuck That, which I bought during the pandemic when I was deciding to leave my agent of three years and look for a new agent. That decision, which was terrifying, led me to Julia Lord, who has become more than an agent, more than a champion, more than a brilliant first reader, but a friend. I was looking at social media, at other dear friends, who have been with me over the thirteen years when I’ve been crafting this book, The Mourner’s Bestiary, and the novel, All the Water in the World, that is coming out on January 7, 2025.

I was listening to the little noises of my cats eating breakfast, listening to the election news.

The phone rang. I have my ringer on, a new innovation for me, just in case, because Dex is in college 2000 miles. The phone rang and it was a 413 area code. I know the 413 area code. I lived in the 413 area code, Western Massachusetts, for my entire early life, until Chicago seduced me, and I became a 312 girl. I answered the phone. And there, on the other end, was my mother’s dear friend from her painting days—when she discovered in her retirement that she loved watercolors—Betty.

“Oh, is this Eiren?” She asked. “I think I’ve called by mistake. Is this Nancy Caffall’s daughter?”

I knew—that wasn’t a mistake. Mom hijacked her phone to give me a call, so she could be here with me when my book was born.

“Yeah, I’m Nancy’s daughter. Lovely to hear from you, Betty,” I said. happy to have my mother’s name in my mouth. Nancy. I dedicated The Mourner’s Bestiary to her and to my dad, dead for 24 years now.

“I wonder,” she said, “did I ever send you the book about the three ducks that I wrote based on your mother’s painting?”

“No, Betty,” I said. “But I’d love a copy.”

We didn’t talk for long. She took my address. She asked after my family. I told her about the book. I told her about Dex in college. It was like talking to mom. Betty’s voice was older than when I heard it at my mother’s funeral. It was possible to imagine that my mother had been alive and aging this whole time, watching Dex graduate, watching me sell these books, watching them come into the world, watching Dex leave for school.

“Oh, I’m so glad for this happy accident,” she said. “Blessings to you and your family. Truly. Blessings.”

We hung up and I stood in the kitchen and cried.

Like all authors, I’ve been having a complicated week before book launch. I’ve been busy completing things, getting essays and excerpts ready to go, coordinating events schedules and trying to overcome the kryptonite that is my calendar. I’ve had the classic pre-pub nightmare—all my drafts in a battered, striped, metal suitcase that I carried with me everywhere until I forgot it in a public toilet in a public park.

But last night, before bed and after talking to Dex as he gets ready for midterms, I stepped out onto the back porch and watched thunderheads stacked up over the lake to the east and felt incredibly calm and peaceful, waiting for the weather to come in all senses of that phrase.

I’ve been bathing in waves of love this morning. My current family, the friends who have been with me through this whole wild ride and the whole life before it, have been tagging me on social media with pictures of the book and with selfies where they look at the camera with scarves on, sometimes lipstick, like I tend to do all the time. I am like a cat, unphotographable, just ask Andy, and the only person besides Jacob Hand who can get a good shot of my face is me. And there they are, beaming, and loving me so well and truly. Look for #caffallselfie on Instagram to see their shining faces and you’ll see the community that has saved and loved me all these years. Blessings.

So, Happy Book Birthday to me and to The Mourner’s Bestiary. I am sure I will inundate you with the links to reviews and excerpts and interviews and all the other things. You will be tired of the book after a while. And then, hopefully, you’ll read it and fall in love with it and forgive me all the hype.

Below is a round up. And of course, I want you to run right out and buy the book today from your favorite local indie bookseller. And if they haven’t got it, make a pitch for them to carry it. But, even more important, get yourself to your local library, or login from where you are, and ask them to stock the book. Publisher’s Weekly gave it a star and said it, “deserves a wide readership.” You can tell them that if you like. But what your request will do is make sure that people who can’t afford hardcovers can read this too. Libraries saved me. It is an honor to be read. And here’s how we can work around capitalism together.

I love you all. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading me. Thank you for the blessings.

I’ll write soon.

Love,

Eiren

PS. It is hailing in Chicago. Every big day I have seems to be attended by storms.

Book Roundup:

Read an Excerpt from the Book in Orion Magazine!

Read my Playlist in Largehearted Boy

Read the Review in Foreword

Read my Interview with Anca L. Szilágyi In The Chicago Reader

Come to the Launch at Women and Children First with Megan Stielstra

Read the Starred Review in Publisher’s Weekly