Excerpt from The Vixen by Francine Prose, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Even the lowliest job at Landry, Landry and Bartlett carried a certain cachet. Within days of taking the job, I began to receive, in my office mailbox, invitations to Upper East Side literary parties, where stylish young women grew more interested in me when they learned where I worked. I didn't want to be liked because I'd been brought in to tackle the flood of unsolicited manuscripts inundating the mail room. But I welcomed the attention. Once again I was content to let people believe what they wanted about who I was and where I came from, though I did mention Harvard quite often. I tried not to dwell on the idea that encouraging a misunderstanding was first cousin to a lie. I felt disloyal to my parents, ungrateful for their love and care, but I told myself that they would approve of my need—it was time, after all—to separate my history from theirs.

I affected the carefree air of a recent Ivy League graduate, Simon Putnam, a literary aristocrat born for the job he'd rightfully inherited. The people I met at parties were eager to assume that I was the real thing, perhaps because they were the genuine article, or because they wanted to be. I never talked about my childhood. When strangers asked where I came from, I said, "New York," which was, strictly speaking, true. I tried to seem mysterious and enigmatic. At that time, in that world, any man who didn't talk nonstop about himself and his ideas was thought to be hiding something. Which, I suppose, I was.

Excerpted from The Vixen by Francine Prose. Copyright © 2021 by Francine Prose. Excerpted by permission of Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.