Jami Attenberg, whose mother once dated Jonathan Safran Foer’s father, envisions an alternate universe in which she “could have been Jami Schwartz Foer.” Barring that, she compares Foer’s successes and accolades to her own possible career trajectory:
Foer had his first book published at the tender age of 25.
If everything works out, I may see my book in the remainder bins by the age of 34. (But who’s counting? No, seriously, whoever is doing that, please stop immediately.)
In the article Solomon calls Foer “dauntingly literary” and notes the novel was “widely acclaimed.”
It’s been suggested I bill my book as “chick lit for smart girls,” even though I had tried my damndest to make it dirty enough to push it out of that territory. (“Don’t worry,” a friend had soothed me. “By the time it’s released maybe they’ll be saying things like ‘post-chick lit’.”)
Foer famously returned a $70,000 fellowship to PEN.
Were I to sell my book, I would keep every red cent so that I could do things like pay my rent. (And let us not forget about two major credit card companies who are incredibly supportive of my desire to follow my dreams.)