Questions to Ask an Author About Their Book
For anyone who gets to question the author of a book they have read: a book club with the writer on the call or in the room, a festival or bookshop interview, a classroom visit, the audience questions at a signing. The opening questions stay on the book itself: the ending, the character everybody judged, and the readings the author thinks are wrong. Later ones turn to how it got written, from the outline and what was cut to the editor's notes and what writing it cost. Anyone who finished the book can ask them, with no craft vocabulary required.
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The questions
Each question, and why to ask it
Where were you when the idea arrived, and what was the first thing you wrote down?
Why ask it
Asking where they were, rather than what inspired them, gets a scene instead of a summary. The first note is usually nothing like the finished book, which is the interesting part: a line of dialogue, an image, a question they could not answer.
What did you hope a group like ours would end up arguing about?
Why ask it
It tells the room where the author thinks the fault lines are, which saves ten minutes of polite circling. If your group argued about something else entirely, say so and watch what happens.
Which character do readers judge most harshly, and do you think they are right?
Why ask it
Book club talk organises itself around one disliked character, and the author has heard every version of that verdict. The second half of the question is what makes the answer honest.
Who in the book do you have the most sympathy for, and does it show?
Why ask it
Writers are often fonder of a minor figure than readers realise, and hearing it changes how the group reads them. Asking whether it shows invites a real answer rather than a diplomatic one.
Is there a moment in the book you expect us to disagree about?
Why ask it
It lets the author name the ambiguity instead of defending it, which gives everyone permission to keep a different reading. The passage they name is usually worth reading aloud.
How much of the ending is settled, and how much is left open on purpose?
Why ask it
Most groups are still arguing about this when the author arrives, and it is a fair thing to ask directly. Writers will usually tell you where they deliberately stopped short.
Which scene were you most nervous about?
Why ask it
Nerves point at sex, violence, grief, a real event, a community they do not belong to, or a relative who would certainly read it. This gets at what the book risked, which is more revealing than asking about its themes.
Which part of the book do you think most of us skimmed?
Why ask it
A self-deprecating question that authors enjoy, and the answer often points at the section the group underrated. Expect the middle of the book, and expect to be told why it earns its place.
Where did you deliberately depart from the facts?
Why ask it
Books built on real events involve considered divergence rather than carelessness. Asking about it this way signals that you know the difference between an error and a decision, which tends to get you a much fuller answer.
If somebody in the group had given up, where do you think they stopped?
Why ask it
Every book has a place where readers fall away, and authors know theirs. It is a kinder way of raising a slow stretch than announcing that half the group struggled.
What did you leave in that you expected to be told to take out?
Why ask it
It gets at the risk the author took without turning the evening into a discussion of the publishing process. Whatever survived the argument tends to be the part they care about most.
Was the title yours?
Why ask it
Titles are frequently changed by publishers, and authors are often ambivalent about the result. A small question that reliably opens up the larger subject of what the writer controlled and what they did not.
Did you know the ending before you wrote it?
Why ask it
Separates writers who plan from writers who discover, and both have specifics to offer. If they did know, ask whether it survived, because endings settled in advance change more often than people expect.
What has a reader said about this book that you have never forgotten?
Why ask it
Invites a specific story rather than a general reflection, and those stories are what a group remembers afterwards. It also moves the conversation to what the book has done in the world.
Has anyone read it in a way you disagree with?
Why ask it
Better than asking whether readers understood it, because it lets them describe a reading they think is wrong without dismissing readers generally. The most interesting answers concede that the misreading was earned by the text.
Was there a sentence or a scene that opened up the rest of it?
Why ask it
Books often turn on one small solved problem: a line that established the voice, a scene moved to the front, a change of tense. Writers recall these exactly, and it is usually the most useful thing another writer in the room could hear.
How do you feel about it now, reading it back?
Why ask it
An author's relationship with their own book shifts over time, and this gives them permission to be unromantic. Answers range from being unable to open it at all to finding it better than they remembered.
Is there a line you would point us to if we only had time for one?
Why ask it
Ends the discussion on the text itself, which is where a book club is happiest. Ask someone to read it out before the author explains why they chose it.
Is there a book you would want us to read next because of this one?
Why ask it
Book clubs need a next title, and an author who has just spent an hour with your group will give a better recommendation than a list will. It also shows what they think their book is in conversation with.
What should we ask you that book clubs never do?
Why ask it
Authors visit a lot of book clubs and hear a lot of the same questions. Handing them the floor at the end usually produces the part of the evening people quote later.
How long did it take, and how much of that was before you started writing?
Why ask it
The gap between the two numbers is where most of the work happens: reading, note-taking, abandoning an earlier version. It also corrects the assumption that a book takes as long as the drafting did.
How different is the finished book from the one you set out to write?
Why ask it
Nearly always very different, and the specifics are the interesting part: a subplot that took over, a narrator who was originally minor, an ending that reversed. Authors who say it came out exactly as planned are usually describing a proposal rather than a draft.
How did you decide where to begin?
Why ask it
Opening chapters are frequently written last or cut entirely, and asking about it gets a technical answer about how much a reader needs before they will follow you. Ask what the original first chapter was.
Did you outline, and did the outline survive contact with the draft?
Why ask it
The second half is the useful half, since almost everyone plans and almost every plan bends. It gets past the tired argument about plotting against improvising.
Which chapter fought back hardest?
Why ask it
A specific, physical way of asking about difficulty, and it gets a specific answer. What made it hard is usually structural rather than emotional: a scene where two things had to happen at once, or a passage of necessary information.
What got cut that you still miss?
Why ask it
Authors remember these in detail, and the reason it went is instructive: it slowed the middle, it belonged to a different book, an editor was right about it. This is one of the few questions that reliably produces something they have not said elsewhere.
Was there a day you nearly gave up on it?
Why ask it
Personal without being intrusive, and almost every author has a story ready. Keep it to the one question and let them decide how much to say.
What did you do on the days it would not come?
Why ask it
Practical and specific, and the answers range from walking to switching scenes to simply sitting there. Anyone stuck in a draft can use whatever they hear.
Was it fun to write, or was it work?
Why ask it
A short question with a genuinely open answer, and writers rarely get asked it. It also gives a nervous asker an easy second line either way.
How did you know a draft was finished rather than abandoned?
Why ask it
This is the question writers cannot answer for themselves and love being asked. Expect something about diminishing returns rather than a moment of certainty.
Why this voice, and did you try it another way?
Why ask it
Point of view is usually the largest decision in a book and often the last one to settle. Ask what the abandoned version sounded like, because the comparison explains what the final choice bought them.
Which character surprised you?
Why ask it
Avoids asking which is their favourite, which gets a diplomatic answer. Surprise points at a character who resisted their plan, and that resistance usually explains something about the book's shape.
How did you build the characters, or organize the argument?
Why ask it
Offering both halves lets the question fit whatever they write. Novelists usually answer with voice, non-fiction writers with structure, and that difference tells you where their attention goes.
Who in the book is most like you?
Why ask it
Authors have an answer ready and it is rarely the obvious character. Works even if you have only met half the cast so far.
Did you name anyone after a real person?
Why ask it
Light, quick, and almost always yes. It is the kind of thing readers repeat to whoever they came with.
If any of this is close to your own life, how did you handle that?
Why ask it
Phrased so they can decline it, which matters, because the alternative version of this question puts an author on the spot about family. What you learn is how they think about writing people who did not consent to being written.
What research went in, and what did you have to leave out?
Why ask it
The second half is the craft question. Almost every author over-researches and then has to sacrifice material they found fascinating, and how they decided what stayed shows their judgement about pace.
What were you reading while you wrote this, and did any of it get in?
Why ask it
More specific than asking about influences, which produces a list of the respectable dead. What was on the desk during those months usually shows up in the sentences.
Who read it before your publisher did, and what did they change your mind about?
Why ask it
Asking what changed their mind gets past a polite thank-you to your editor and lands on a specific revision, which is where the craft conversation actually starts.
What did your editor push you on?
Why ask it
Concrete and answerable, and it shows what the book needed rather than what it has. Ask which push they resisted first, because the answer they came round to is generally the most useful thing they learned.
Did you have any say in the cover?
Why ask it
Most authors have less control than readers assume, and the ones who dislike their cover are often relieved to be asked. It also opens up how differently the book was packaged in other markets.
What part of publishing did nobody warn you about?
Why ask it
Opens up contracts, publicity schedules, and the long dead months between delivery and release. Especially useful if anyone in the room is hoping to publish a first book.
What did you get right by accident?
Why ask it
Almost nobody is asked this and most authors have an example: a detail planted early that turned out to matter, a repetition they did not notice until a copyeditor pointed at it. It is an honest counterweight to the impression of total design.
Is there a bit you are proudest of?
Why ask it
Lets the author choose the ground, which is the polite thing to do when you are holding up a queue. They will usually keep it vague enough not to spoil anything.
What would you change if you could open it again now?
Why ask it
Ask it plainly and most authors will answer, often about a chapter length or a character they now think is thin. An author who says nothing at all would change it either finished recently or is on a difficult publicity day.
What did writing it cost you?
Why ask it
Best asked late in a conversation and best asked quietly. Answers range from years of income to a relationship with the subject matter, and the question makes room for something more truthful than an account of discipline.
What did writing this one teach you that you took into the next?
Why ask it
Authors are usually more candid about a finished book's failures once they have started another, since the lesson implies the flaw. Vague answers here often mean the next book is not going well, so read the room.
Who did you picture reading this?
Why ask it
An author who can describe one specific reader has usually written a focused book. An answer of anyone and everyone often means the book lacks a center, and the reviews will have said so.
Who did you most want to like it?
Why ask it
Short, personal, and the answer is often a parent, a teacher or a friend rather than a critic. Nothing in it gives away a word of the plot.
What do you hope someone is left with after the last page?
Why ask it
Works better as a closer than an opener, because by then the answer is grounded in everything already said. Some authors will refuse on the grounds that it is not theirs to decide, which is a real position.
What is next, and does it come out of this book or away from it?
Why ask it
The second clause turns a routine question into something worth answering. Writers often describe the next book as a reaction against the one just finished, which tells you what the last few years felt like.
Running the conversation
Practical guidance for the conversation itself
For a book club
Send two or three questions ahead if the author is joining
A visiting author has limited time and no idea what your group found interesting. Questions in advance mean they arrive prepared for your reading of the book rather than delivering the same talk they gave last week.
Ask about a page, not about the whole book
Naming a chapter or quoting a line changes the register of the answer immediately. It shows the book was actually read, and it gives the author something concrete to think with instead of a theme to summarise.
Let disagreement into the room
The best sessions include readers who disliked something. Put it as a question about a decision, for instance why the second half changes narrator, rather than as a verdict, and most authors will engage with it willingly.
Nominate who speaks first
One person with a prepared opening question prevents the silence that leaves an author filling twenty minutes unprompted. After the first exchange the conversation almost always finds its own footing.
At a public event or signing
In the audience question queue
You get one question and the room has limited patience. One sentence, no preamble about your own writing, and something specific to this book rather than to writing in general.
In the signing line
Thirty seconds, and they have been talking for an hour. A short observation about one moment in the book is more welcome than a question that needs a considered answer with forty people waiting.
If you are hosting or moderating
Your job is to open a space, not to display your reading. Prepare six questions, use three, keep your own comments under fifteen seconds, and step in when an audience member starts summarising the plot.
If you are interviewing them for something published
Read the previous three interviews first so you do not spend your slot on questions already in print. Ask for one new thing rather than a full account of the book, and confirm names and titles in the room.
What not to ask
- Do not reveal a twist in a room where anyone may not have finished. Ask the author whether spoilers are allowed before you start.
- Avoid asking whether the narrator is really them, especially with a first novel. Ask how close they let the narrator get instead.
- Do not ask about the advance, the sales figures, the review scores or the prize they did not win.
- Avoid asking a novelist to explain what the book means. Ask about a decision and let the meaning arrive inside the answer.
- Do not pitch your own manuscript or ask them to read it. It is the request they receive most often, and in public it is impossible to refuse gracefully.
- Do not compare the book unfavourably to their earlier one as an opening move. If the comparison is your real question, ask what they were trying to do differently.