Photograph by Ulf Andersen / Getty

Your new novella, “This Is Pleasure,” feels like a direct (or indirect) response to the many #MeToo incidents of the past couple of years, in which men were accused of workplace harassment and lost their jobs or careers. What prompted you to address those incidents in fiction?

It was the only way that I could imagine addressing it. The essay form is best for making an argument that is more or less rational, and my feelings on the subject are too complicated and contradictory for that.

The narrative alternates between the voice of Quin—a book editor who is accused of harassment by multiple women in his field—and his friend Margot, who tries to come to terms with, or understand, or somehow justify Quin’s behavior. Why are her feelings so ambivalent?

Because she loves Quin as a friend. He has been deeply kind to her, especially at a moment when she felt very alone. It is hard for anyone to forget kindness on that level. Also, because she is of his generation and came of age when actions that are now called “inappropriate touching” or even “assault,” as that word is used to describe aggressively grabbing a person’s body, were considered flirtatious or, at worst, rude and irritating. And, lastly, because the one time that Quin tried to touch her rudely and inappropriately she was able to stop him easily. So she can’t fully understand why other women couldn’t or didn’t do that. At the same time, she’s aware that such situations are sometimes subtle and subjective, and that things can happen quickly, before you know how to react; she eventually acknowledges that about herself.

Margot talks about being angry with Quin even before hearing the full extent of what he’s done. What is it about him that angers her?

The answer to that can be seen in the story’s first anecdote, about the woman Quin meets in Central Park. On the face of it, the incident is harmless and a little ridiculous. But Margot is correct in perceiving a very subtle cruelty in what Quin does; her awareness of and anger about this cruelty grow with time and repetition. During a later conversation, she says to him, “You delectate pain,” meaning other people’s pain. You and I had a discussion about that line during the editing process: we talked about changing the phrase to “you relish discomfort”; I wanted to stick with “delectate pain” because the idea is more pronounced and accurate. Discomfort is one thing—comedians and gadflies and politicians make people uncomfortable; art makes people uncomfortable sometimes. Discomfort can be revelatory. But pain is something else. Pain can be revelatory, too, now that I think of it. But nobody has the right to purposely put another person through that.

Quin would say that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and, in reality, although the woman in the anecdote may be disappointed, she hasn’t really been hurt; Quin’s cruel impulse is very sublimated and civilized. Which, in a way, makes it more maddening for Margot, because she imagines that the woman can’t see clearly what she is sensing.

Do you think that Quin’s behavior with the younger women in the story is abusive? Damaging to them? Do you think they benefit from it on any level?

If the women worked for him and they felt that they had to tolerate certain behavior from him or else lose their jobs, yes, that is abuse. However, in most of the instances I describe (and some are offstage, implied rather than described), I would say that his actions are more annoying and kooky than actually abusive: for example, sending a “spanking video” to an employee, Caitlin. That sounds awful as an abstract anecdote, but then Margot learns that Caitlin actually told him, unsolicited, that she liked spanking. I agree with Margot: sending the video is still rude. I wouldn’t like it if I were Caitlin. But, given what she willingly told him, I can’t call it abuse. If he asked her into his office and showed it to her while they were alone in the building, that would be different, frightening to the point of abusive. But he didn’t do that.

How damaging behavior like Quin’s can be varies. To some women, especially women with a history of ill treatment, what he does could be hurtful or just crazy-making. Others might find it easy to brush off or even learn from. I’m not saying that either of these is the “correct” response.

I don’t think that the women benefit from it in general, but that could also be subjective. One of them, after all, the one who destroys him, actually does get a job through him! Though she might say that it wasn’t worth it, nonetheless, there she is, at this good job. Hortense, the one he goes shopping with, whom he touches “inappropriately” in the dressing room—she does not complain about him, and, in fact, sends him a supportive note. You could say that she does benefit in the sense that she enjoys the moment, and feels flattered by it. I’m sure that that idea would make some people mad, but I have known women who feel that that kind of attention makes them powerful as women.

To what degree do you think Quin misreads the women’s response to him? Is he deluding himself?

Sometimes, sometimes not. He reads Hortense correctly, but Caitlin, no, he’s very mistaken about her, mistaken to think that anybody would want to be told to “flirt with me more.” Sometimes he’s half right. The girl he swats with a, um, butter knife? Or a spoon? If she says that she thinks he should “punish” her and uses the word “spanking” and then bends over, I don’t see how it’s delusional of Quin to think that she is inviting him to do something. I also don’t blame her. His initial suggestion is outrageous enough that, in my mind, she assumes he’s joking, and is very surprised when he’s not. That scene is another one that sounds horrible, but it’s more an unfortunate misunderstanding than anything else. Maybe delusional of both people, really, to think that there wouldn’t be some kind of negative aftermath. Maybe more his delusion to assume that whatever that aftermath was would be on her, because she was, after all, the one bending over. But, at the same time, I understand both of them, responding in the moment without thinking too much about what might happen.

Some people will see this story as a defense of a serial harasser; some will see it as a dismissal of women’s abuse accusations. I know you intend neither of those things; the portraits here are much more nuanced. But do you worry about readers’ responses or potential misreadings of the story?

Actually, it is a defense of the male character, to some extent. He’s someone who, for all his life, has acted in a way that’s now called “harassment,” and not only was it tolerated but he did very well, is a great success, socially and professionally. So why would he realize how offensive his behavior now seems to many people? I don’t intend the story as an exoneration; I don’t see this character as innocent or completely harmless. But, really, who is? Quin is flawed, but he’s essentially a good man who is being punished beyond the scope of his “sins.” The women in the story have the right to express anger at him. If his employer feels it necessary to fire him because he’s become a liability, that is the employer’s right, too. But to behave as if he were a monster, equivalent to a rapist, and to circulate petitions threatening to boycott anyone who would dare to hire him, to create a situation where he can’t work—that is, to me, absurd and even cruel. Especially given the real, powerful monstrousness that is upon us right now, about which there is nothing subtle or sublimated, and which we cannot stop with words or hand gestures.