Ah, the Book Fair. I wish I could say that it was an occasion for me to shut up and actually listen, but I can’t. If it’s a reading I’m interested in, chances are I’ve already read the book. If it’s a writer I’m interested in, my interest is in what she or he has written. Not that I’m not interested in what they have to say, mind you. It’s just that I’m mostly interested in what they have to say to me.

Call me a fathead (I do), but for better or worse that’s how I play it. Which is why I was so delighted to breakfast at the Four Seasons with Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist Richard Russo.

If you’ve been anywhere near a bookstore in the last two decades or so, you know the man’s books: Mohawk, The Risk Pool, Nobody’s Fool, Straight Man, the Pulitzer Prized Empire Falls, The Whore’s Son (a book of shorts) and the latest, Bridge of Sighs, which is still riding high on the New York Times bestseller list.

If you’ve been anywhere near a cinema or a television, you know how his books have been lensed: the Oscar-nominated Nobody’s Fool by Robert Benton and the Emmy-winning Empire Falls by Fred Schepisi (both starring Paul Newman). You might also know how he scripts: Twilight with and for Robert Benton; The Ice Harvest (again with Benton) for Harold Ramis.

Mostly, though, you’ll know Russo’s landscape: the Northern industrial small town that has seen better days; the men and the women who might’ve lived better lives. You’ll know we’re both victim and hero to our own destiny, that we live as we do because we’re meant to. You’ll know that his is an Americana that is panoramically nuanced, full of vast generational shifts of fate and, best of all, you’ll know that there is still such a thing as the Great American Novel.

What you might not know — but would suspect — is that the cat’s a gentleman. Unlike me, he listens, and, unlike me, he speaks of things other than himself, despite the constant grilling of a book tour. He laughs readily, he sparks keenly and he’s disarmingly open, even on the other side of the table from a bigmouth like me.

Listen in:

This is not gonna be very literary.… First off, I’ve read takes by a million better-read critics and I doubt I could offer anything new; second, I wanna spare you having to answer the same questions all over again.…

I always tell interviewers, I don’t mind answering the same questions if you don’t mind getting the same answers.

That’s good. Well, hopefully we can avoid that kind of consistency.

Thanks.

Speaking of interviewers — and reviewers — I’ve seen everybody mention Lou C. Lynch and the burden of forever being known as “Lucy,” but I’ve not seen anyone mention “A Boy Named Sue.”

That’s right … you gotta get tough or die. One or two people may have mentioned it, but they mentioned it across the table like this. Never in print.

Another I’ve not noted is Robin Trower’s album Bridge of Sighs.

Oh, I do get asked about that.

Were you a fan?

No, but when I used to log on to Amazon, his album always came up first. Then, at about the six-month mark of my listing, I came up on top. It was a milestone.

Good for you. But to be fair to Mr. Trower, his record has been out for 35 years.

(Laughs) Yeah, let’s see where my book comes up in whatever the Amazon in 35 years is.

Oh, I didn’t see anyone mention Dr. Pangloss either; to me Big Lou is incredibly Panglossian…

That hadn’t occurred to me, but of course, the optimism … everything is how it should be.

Isn’t that extremely Panglossian?

Now that you mentioned it, yes. One odd thing came up in The New Yorker — did you happen to see it?

No, who wrote it?

Louis Menand.

I love him; The Metaphysical Club is one of my favorite books.

Right, which is why this was so odd. I mean, this is a book that features a middle-aged black man befriending a young white boy and they actually have a fence-painting scene together.

Twain …

Right, but Menand says the template for Bridge of Sighs was Ulysses.

(Pause) Where the hell did he get that?

That was my thought. He said the template was Ulysses, and it was unattributed. I’m thinking, so I should attribute something that occurs to you but not to me?

How dare you?

(Laughs) I don’t mind being called a thief but I want them to know who I’m stealing from.

That’s a good point. Maybe I should mention that you didn’t attribute this book to Johnny Cash.

(Laughs) That’s true. Or Robin Trower.

Funny. Do you read all your reviews?

I do. One thing I never read is interviews, because then I’m just listening to myself and I’m crazy enough without doing that. I don’t read every line of every review but I do read reviews, because every now and then I learn something. Especially when I’m hoping I wrote something no one would notice and they call me out.

Like a mistake, a sly hint?

Or a little sleight of hand.

Well, we’ll have to come back to that.… I did wanna ask: Is there a cure for what you call “the tug of the past”?

Death.

Wow, that was quick. Have you been asked that before?

No. That was fast, though, wasn’t it?

How ’bout this one: Is “a small good thing” ever enough?

I think it’s enough for Lucy [the shopkeeper], it’s almost enough for Sarah [his wife] and it’s not close to being enough for Bobby [the cat who left town].

Do you think about these characters, their arcs, before you write?

I don’t write to tell people what I think; I write to find out what I think.

Well, I think Bridge of Sighs is terrific.

Thanks.

And you were terrific to endure this. …

No, it was fun.

Now I see why you’re such a good storyteller. …

(Laughs)