‘We had fun’: Interview with writer Anne Bernays

Anne Bernays, born in 1930, is the author of 10 novels, two books of nonfiction with her husband, the Pulitzer-winning author Justin Kaplan, and a highly successful book on the craft of writing with fellow Cambridge author Pamela Painter. Anne, Justin, and their two children moved in 1959 from the Upper West Side of New York to Francis Avenue near Somerville off Kirkland Street. In 2012, she moved to an apartment high-rise overlooking Memorial Drive and the Charles River. She and I chatted about her life in Cambridge then and now.

I would love to know how it’s been to live and write in such a bookish city, surrounded by writers and scholars, bookstores and libraries and, of course, extraordinary universities.

I’m going to disappoint you, Ginny, but Cambridge hasn’t had much of an impact on me as a writer.

There went my entire premise, not just of this interview, but of the series I hope to conduct with Cambridge and Somerville authors here. But as I persisted, Anne relented and began to remember.

My novel, “Professor Romeo,” was one where I actually used Harvard. But before that I was mostly using New York. I could have written about another university, but I wanted to write about professors and their students. I had read a nonfiction book that had to do with a professor who openly used his power over his students to sleep with them. “I’ll give you an A if you go to bed with me,” that sort of thing. When my book came out it did fairly well. It was on the front page of the New York Times Book Review, as a matter of fact, and when it came out, many people came up to me and said, “I know who you’re writing about,” and they’d name someone. But I’d try to explain it was a made-up person, but nobody believed me. When I wrote that book, I had nobody in mind.

I loved that novel.

It was all made up.

I believe you.

But you say Cambridge as a literary center hasn’t really fed you or your work over the years?

I’m very gregarious, as you can tell, and I enjoy meeting people. I love talking to people and when there was no community, I and two other people, we decided to form one here. And soon after that one of them moved away and the other person lost interest, so I was left with founding Pen New England, which I ran for 10 years. I was the head of the board and I had some of my friends on it. Nobody wanted to do it. That’s often how it is, but people came to the panels we put on.

My favorite one was called, “Rejection.” John Updike, who was a friend, I got him to come on. And all these people were there, including Leslie Epstein, talking about rejection. When John Updike talked about rejection there was this gasp from the audience. It was the best thing that could have happened because people came up to me afterwards and said, “John Updike was rejected?” It made the process less awesome, less scary. We had fun.

One our first panels had the editor of The Atlantic Monthly. He had been the head of Time magazine in London and was very erudite, and someone asked him, “Where do you go to eat in Boston?” He answered, “I get on a plane, and I go to New York.”

Anne laughs.

That comment made the paper the next day. Back then there was only one restaurant in Cambridge, Chez Dreyfuss. And one Chinese restaurant. And that was it.

Times have changed. At least we have good options now. How do you compare the literary scene back then to now?

You and I have different attitudes about this. Even though I’ve worked on many literary magazines, I like people who aren’t writers. Also, you have no idea how there was nothing here. No book clubs, writers’ groups. I didn’t know who the writers-in-residence at Harvard were, though, I knew Stratis Haviaras. We were good friends with him. But we weren’t self-conscious about being writers. Most of our friends weren’t writers.

You walk almost every day around Cambridge, but hopefully not today in the 100-degree heat.

I didn’t walk today.

I’m glad to hear it. So, when you take your walks in all weather, you have a keen sense of the neighborhoods. You’ve seen shops come and go. You’ve seen Harvard, MIT and Lesley expand and contract over the years. What do you notice most these days compared to the past?

Certain neighborhoods look exactly the same. Cambridge Street between Union Square and the Courthouse is exactly the same. Central Square was scary when I first got here. Not a place a woman could walk. Now its visibly improved. It’s respectable. It used to be grungy and maybe even dangerous. I remember the Plough & Stars. They were sending arms to Irish rebels. It was dicey and sort of exciting. But you can walk in that part of Cambridge now without looking over your shoulder. Though three or four years ago a man came up to me and said, “Give me all your spare change or I’ll kill you.” I said no and walked away.

Anne laughs.

Weren’t you scared?

[Shrugs] If I went to the police, they’d come and they’d drag him away and that didn’t seem right. He was clearly out of his head.

I had to wonder how I’d handle that moment now or when I’m 94.

But what I love to do is find an entirely new neighborhood. I found a new one the other day down near the river with beautiful homes in very good condition. It’s really nice to go into a neighborhood you’ve never been before.

It’s important to explore, isn’t it?

Who are these people, what do they do? It keeps the mind open.

I was going to ask if the river, the historic buildings or the trees seep into your work and life in some way, but I think you’ve answered it.

One thing that I found very disheartening was after Vietnam when all the banks came into Harvard Square. I wrote a piece for the Times about the disappearance of cafeterias in Harvard Square. There were five of them when we moved in. They all disappeared. It’s a different kind of setup between a cafeteria and a restaurant. You get a tray, and you go down and you pay at the end. It’s very different.

Is it that people have more contact with each other in a cafeteria?

Yes! Joe [her husband, Justin Kaplan] remembered when he was at Harvard in the ’40s people in Harvard Square stayed in the cafeterias overnight. Because it was warm and it smelled good, and they let them do it. It was a place for the homeless people.

It sounds more congenial back then.

The pace, the way people walked, seemed slower then. There was that place they’re now renovating. Where the hippies hung out.

You mean “The Pit” in the middle of Harvard Square?

You know they’re doing it over. Just imagine if you were a parent of a student and you came to see what Harvard looked like and there were all these people with green hair.

Anne laughs.

They weren’t doing any harm, though sometimes they were a little off. And of course, the kiosk in the middle. That bothers me that they’re renovating it.

It’s a tourist center now, where they give you maps and there are people to tell you about the history of Harvard Square, which is good, but also kind of sad. They’ve got a copy of The Boston Phoenix behind plexiglass. It’s become a museum to Harvard Square as opposed to just being The Square.

It’s all changed so much. In one of my books, I said that Harvard is where the ideas are born and New York is where they’re produced and advertised or promoted. I mean, the brainpower here is astounding.

And now you’re tied in with the literary scene here, through Pangyrus, the literary journal, and being friends with other authors.

There was more for me in New York. We used to meet at the White Horse Tavern in the West Village. Norman Mailer was there. But there wasn’t a community like that here, though we did get together with some people in Cambridge: Stratis Haviaras, Tim O’Brien, John Irving. I remember Jayne Anne Phillips coming to a party The Atlantic gave, and she looked ravishing. Long black dress and long black hair. I’d never seen someone so beautiful.

Were bookstores hosting the kind of events they have now, with visiting authors and audiences lining up to have their books signed?

I want to talk about Harvard Bookstore and Frank Kramer. He not only had events, but he closed his shop every month and donated food and drink for us to have our meetings or a party in his store. He lost money doing that, but boy, did he have a lot of friends. He really loved books and authors. Then I invented something called The Annual Picnic, which we had at the Longfellow House. Everyone brought a blanket and basket of food, and we sat and had a party on the lawn. That was really fun. So much fun!

A stronger

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