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I first caught wind of the buzz around actress Mary-Louise Parker’s new book, Dear Mr. You, when, in an interview, the memoirist and poet Mary Karr, by all accounts a reputable source, told me that it was really, really good. Months later, when I got around to reading Parker’s debut, it became clear that Karr—whose blurb appears on the book’s cover—was totally right.
Like its author, Dear Mr. You plays by its own rules. Parker’s book comprises a series of letters that she’s written to men—some real, some imagined, some close to her heart, some virtual strangers. “Dear Big Feet” is for a boy Parker noticed while visiting her father in the hospital, a terminally sick child whose gangly feet stuck out from under his bedsheet and whose mother sat vigil, hopelessly, at his side. “Dear Cerberus” is written to a medley of beastly ex-boyfriends, a three-headed monster of loves turned sour. The heartrending “Dear Oyster Picker” is about the death of Parker’s beloved dad, a vet who overcame his demons and the emotional trauma of war to become an exceptional father and grandfather. Equally stirring is “Dear Mr. Cabdriver,” a missive to the New York cabbie who bore the brunt of Parker’s sadness and frustration when she was pregnant, scared, and alone.
It’s the last letter that’s garnering the most attention for its oblique yet recognizable reference to the period in the author’s life when, seven months into her pregnancy with their son, Parker’s longtime partner, Billy Crudup, left her for Claire Danes. But generally speaking, the author obstinately resists anything that smacks of a typical celebrity tell-all. And while Parker keeps some things vague—names, identifying details—she’s also wonderfully specific as a chronicler of observations and emotions. What emerges is a bit of literary nonfiction that’s lyrical, enduring, sometimes hilarious, and, at the level of the sentence, alarmingly well crafted.
“It won’t be for some people,” Parker told me candidly by phone. “They’ll be very disappointed when they open my book. They’ll be quickly turned off, I think.”
And to that, we say: Their loss! Read on for more from our conversation with the actress and author about reading, writing, and her cosmic weekend plans.
How did you end up writing a book of letters?
It was an idea from a piece I had done for Esquire. They asked me to write something about men in general, and it came out in letter form. I enjoyed the random rhythm of it.
Did you immediately think: I want to get a book contract from this?
People had approached me for a while, since I had been writing for Esquire, to write a more traditional kind of book. But I wasn’t particularly interested. I was working on a children’s book and some short stories, but I kept coming back to that letter, and then Esquire asked me to write about my dad, and it came out like a letter. I ended up changing it for the magazine. But it inspired me to write another one to my accountant. I met a few literary agents and didn’t really connect. And I met [my agent] Eric Simonoff one day at this café. He rolled up on his bicycle. I just thought: I would pretty much trust anything he told me. I started sending him pieces and he helped me clarify it. I don’t think there would be a book without him.
Had you always been someone who wrote?
I’d written a couple things for little magazines here and there. People were always very nice to me about it. But I had acting, and children, so I didn’t have so much time to pursue it, except the way I’d always written my whole life: poetry and these short stories. I had a kind of crappy public school education. I wasn’t such a star at anything. But I could put a sentence together. I remember my mother always saying, “I think you’re going to be a writer!” She said it the other day, she was like, “My prophecy came true!” My father loved books and encouraged me and loved my writing. We shared poems with each other.
You’ve said that you were always a big reader. Are there books that made a major impression on young Mary-Louise Parker, ones that made you think you wanted to pursue this someday?
I certainly wasn’t some kid who was reading way above my level, lugging around Turgenev or something. I was reading the normal Little House on the Prairie type stuff. But I loved to read. I got Anne Sexton’s complete book of poems and my brain pretty much exploded. I was writing a lot of poetry for myself. Then I just started to read more. Kenneth Koch, Richard Brautigan, those kinds of poets. Then Elizabeth Bishop, Sharon Olds. Now Mark Strand is my favorite. And Wallace Stevens. Linda Gregg and Kevin Young. I love poetry. That’s what I do at night. That’s what is kind of exciting for me. I get in bed with my tea and read my poetry. I put my readers on. I might as well be 80 years old. Honestly, it could not be any less sexy.
This is a book of letters to men. I read an interview in which you said that you operate in the world like a man in some ways. What did you mean by that?
I do remember saying that, but I don’t remember what I was talking about. Because in some ways, I’m so distinctly and unmistakably female. Almost terminally so. Tragically so. But at work, really, I don’t have any pretense about trying to win a popularity contest. I love actors. But I don’t feel when I’m playing a character that I worry so much about what’s going to make that character super-likable. I don’t care if people don’t want to stay and do a bunch of extra takes. Unless somebody has a sick child, I want to stay until I’m done working. Which sometimes people really admire in a man, and they roll their eyes at in a woman.
Have you sent any of these letters since writing them?
Some of them. Or I gave them to people. I’m waiting for someone to come out and say, “That was about me, and that was not how it happened!” That’s going to be so funny. I can’t imagine who it’s going to be, but it kind of has to happen, right?
That or someone’s going to write the piece where he decodes your letters . . .
I don’t think it’s possible. They would have done it by now. They would have to be super-duper clever. I had a freedom when I was writing, because I never considered myself to be writing any kind of memoir. I always thought it was creative nonfiction. I bristled at memoir: that brought to mind images of me standing around craft service with famous people or going to the Golden Globes with so-and-so.
Are there people in your life who make you nervous to imagine reading the book?
No. If there are, they’re probably not in my life anymore. I wanted to write a positive book about loving men and celebrating that. It was a “yay, men!” book. The world doesn’t need another mean, negative book, slamming this person or exposing this person. It’s about the people who haunt me. It’s not this movie star; it’s this guy who was lying in bed in a hospital and I never knew his name who moves me.
I read that letter to the boy in the hospital on the train last night, and it made me cry.
You never know who is going to stick with you. I’m 51 years old. Somebody broke your heart, and it seemed so important. You think you’re going to remember this forever. But for some reason this kid haunts me so much. I couldn’t even see the whole of his face. You just don’t know who’s going to remain when the rest of it falls away.
Would you ever want to publish a collection of your poetry?
If I had enough poems I felt good about. But there’s me and 12 other people in the world who love poetry.
I love poetry . . .
Well, that’s good! If you find somebody else, it’s kind of exciting.
So what’s the one cultural thing you’re hoping to accomplish this weekend?
I was planning to go to the bookstore to get Edna O’Brien’s new book. And then I just suggested to my kids this morning that we have a little bit of a Cosmos marathon, maybe make some star-shaped cookies and watch a bunch of episodes of Cosmos. I’m obsessed with that show. I love it so much.
Did your love of Cosmos influence your letter to NASA?
I think I hadn’t seen very much of it when I wrote NASA. I just love that Neil deGrasse Tyson and his sweaters. He’s so cute and earnest and brilliant. That voice! And he’s standing there on those crazy sets. He’s probably just in front of a big green screen, but to me I really feel like he’s actually standing on the moon. I just want to say, “Neil! There’s a comet coming! Look out!” He was at a Christmas party at someone’s house we know. He came with a Christmas sweater. My daughter went up to him and asked him for a playdate.
It would be cool if you invited him over for your Cosmos marathon.
Can you imagine? While we’re watching Cosmos, he’s standing next to the window and some dwarf star rolls up and, like, blows through our wall.
Sounds like a great weekend!
Thanks! I thought it was going to sound super-boring.
This interview has been condensed and edited.