A Profile on New Yorker Profiles

Essays by James Patterson
A Profile on New Yorker Profiles

A few years ago, I spent an afternoon at my home upstate with a young staff writer from The New Yorker.

I gave him a tour. Introduced him to my wife. Answered his questions.

Then he wrote 850 words about me.

He said some nice things. He took some subtle jabs. His tone was a little snarky.

I didn’t hate the piece. I didn’t love it.

By the next day, I’d forgotten all about it. I’d completely moved on.

And so had everyone else.

That’s the typical shelf-life of the typical author profile. Even those published in TheNew Yorker.

With one notable exception.

Seventy-five years ago, the magazine ran a profile of Ernest Hemingway, written by the legendary journalist Lillian Ross.

The piece made such a splash, the literary world is still talking about it.

And The New Yorker is still writing about it.

A recent article by Adam Gopnik looks back at that profile and the impact it had on Hemingway’s public image. It’s well written and worth a read.

But what struck me most are its insights about good profile-writing in general. Insights, I think, that apply to all writing in general. Fiction included.

From the moment it first hit newsstands in May of 1950, Ross’s piece was considered “a shock and a scandal.”

For good reason.

Hemingway was already a literary titan. He was already well known for his brusque personality and macho persona.

But in the profile, he comes across much worse. Self-absorbed. Self-conscious. Self-aggrandizing. Self-destructive.

Today, we’ve all become used to “celebrities” acting in extreme, obnoxious ways. Especially on social media, where controversy is currency and brazen attention-seeking is the norm.

The 1950s were a different era. Hemingway’s antics might seem quaint to us by comparison—like when he irritates a clothing store clerk by showing off his abs, or pretends to shoot pigeons on Fifth Avenue.

But it was enough to do real damage to his image and reputation.

For years.

Many say the profile “devastated” and “destroyed” him. Even Hemingway himself, in a letter he later wrote to Ross, acknowledged it might make him look like “a conceited son of a bitch.”

Here’s one big question Gopnik asks.

Did the profile capture the “real” Hemingway? Or was the famous author performing? Hamming it up, like a midcentury TikTok star, desperate for likes?

Probably somewhere in between. At least that’s my conclusion.

Here’s another question.

What role did Ross play? Did she report on Hemingway with total objectivity? Or did she pick and choose the juiciest moments from the many days she spent with him to paint a more interesting picture?

Again, I think the truth is probably somewhere in the middle.

And to me, that’s what good writing is all about.

Every author needs a point of view. An authentic perspective through which to tell a story—any story—whether its fiction or non. Always.

I don’t know that any of us has the power to be purely impartial.

I don’t know that I’d want to read something written that way anyway.

Every author also needs to distill their story down to its most exciting essential beats. Always.

Those are the building blocks of a great narrative. That’s the great secret. Lose the fluff. Get to the good parts. It sounds so simple. But it’s shocking how many writers don’t understand that.

Gopnik has a great line in his piece that sums this up perfectly:

“What writers want, and what editors celebrate when writers land them, are scenes, memorable moments, unguarded little cinematic explosions.”

That’s exactly how I think, every time I sit down to write.

I’m never interested in flowery monologues or endless description.

I think in scenes. Tight, dramatic, powerful scenes. One after another.

If they reveal something about the characters, great.

If they shock the reader and get them to turn the page, even better.

I’m sure Ernest Hemingway said and did plenty of boring things in front of his profiler. What made Ross talented—and her piece great—is that she didn’t print any of them. She knew which scenes to keep. Which to cut.

Here’s a final look behind the scenes. I’ll admit something.

Alex Cross, Michael Bennett, and Lindsay Boxer all have their occasional dull moments too.

But you’ll never see any of them.

—James Patterson

For more of my essays, please visit my Substack.