Anne Tyler is an expert on writing about ordinary people - we quizzed her about Three Days In June and the writing process
Our books editor, Zoe West, talks to Anne Tyler about her novel, Three Days In June
Few writers have captured the intricacies of everyday life quite like Anne Tyler. With a career spanning decades and 25 novels, she has become a master of exploring family, marriage. From her Pulitzer Prize-winning Breathing Lessons to the much-loved The Accidental Tourist, Tyler’s work has earned both critical acclaim and a deeply devoted readership.
Her latest novel, Three Days in June, is no exception. Set on the three days surrounding Gail's daughter’s wedding, the novel unravels the tensions, tenderness, and long-held secrets that exist within families, offering a story that is as humorous as it is profound. It’s already a must-read book for this month and a reminder of Tyler’s rare ability to find extraordinary meanings in the ordinary
We were lucky enough to sit down with her to talk about the new book, her writing life, and the stories that have stayed with her. Our books editor, Zoe West, asked all the questions you’ll want answered.
Tell us a little bit more about Three Days In June...
Anne Tyler has always had a gift for distilling big emotions into small, contained moments and Three Days in June is perhaps her most precise expression of that yet. Set across just a few days surrounding a wedding, the novel unfolds in a tightly held timeframe, something Tyler admits she relished. She’s long been drawn to the challenge of compression, even musing that she’d love to one day write a novel that takes place over the course of a single hour. Here, that instinct serves the story beautifully, allowing every glance, silence, and misstep to carry weight.
Tyler explains an instrumental conversation in shaping part of the conception of Three Days In June. " I invited a neighbour over for coffee. I served it and brought out the cream and sugar. She said, "Oh, I should have told you, you didn't have to bring out cream. I don't have cream." And I thought, "well, I do!"" Tyler elaborates on how she " found it fascinating that she thought I shouldn't have brought cream if she wasn't going to use it. That moment stuck with me and revealed, in a way, who my character Gail was." You'll notice the scene depicted in the book too.
At the centre is Gail, the mother of the bride who is reserved, observant, and, in Tyler’s words, someone who “misses so many clues.” Tyler is quick to say "I'm happy to say I am not like Gail, the mother of the bride, but I enjoyed being her." She adds "my characters surprise me. They'll say something and I think, "Oh, that's who she is," Gail says to us, "I'm not the kind of person who dreams of doing things." And she isn't talkative, which is why this book couldn't be over many years."
You can tell from the way that Tyler talks about Gail that she delights in writing her. As with many of her characters, Gail reveals herself gradually, through unexpected lines of dialogue and contradictions. She’s not someone articulates her feelings easily, which is precisely what makes her so compelling. Opposite her is Max, her ex-husband, a character Tyler describes with real affection, as she explains that he "is very dear to my heart." His presence adds a layer of emotional complexity that keeps the novel delicately poised and his relationship to Gail forms the "pivotal moment" in the book, as Tyler describes it.
Tyler admits she didn’t know how the story would end as she was writing it. She even confesses that "the book could have gone two ways." What anchors it, though, is a recurring idea she’s returned to over the years: that who we are with someone can matter more than who that person is. Tyler explains "I have a box of snippets of ideas and conversations. Usually, when I use one, I throw it away, but that idea of who a person is was one I keep returning to in my books...Gail was perfect for Max, but one day she wasn't, and that's what she's dealing with. I like exploring what's happening between people and why they are who they are with each other."
Tell us some more about your writing process...
For Anne Tyler, writing has always begun with the quiet, inescapable tensions of family life. “I’m drawn to writing about families because they can’t easily escape each other,” she explains. “You can leave your partner, but family usually stays. That tension brings out so much in characters and it’s a dynamic I could keep exploring endlessly.” It’s a perspective that has shaped her entire body of work, those intimate, often unspoken dynamics that reveal who we are when we’re most ourselves, and most confined.
That instinct to keep exploring is what continues to bring her back to the page, even now. “I have no hobbies, so I’m writing another book,” she says, wryly. Living in a retirement community, she’s aware of the contrast between her own routine and those around her. “I think that I’m the only one who still ‘goes to work’ every day.” There’s a sense of both discipline and inevitability in the way she describes her process.
And yet, there’s a surprising ambivalence beneath it all. “I don’t think the world needs another one of my books,” she admits, candidly. “Part of me would like to finish this one and put it away. I dislike the exposure.” Reflecting on her long career, she adds, “Sometimes I see the long lists at the front of other authors’ novels, 50 or 60 titles, and feel overwhelmed. Now I’m neatly there myself. I wish I’d written three, one amazing, two okay.” It’s a disarmingly honest glimpse into a writer who, despite decades of success, still approaches her work with humility.
What motivates your writing and keeps you interested?
At the heart of Anne Tyler’s writing is a deep, almost restless curiosity about other people. “I suppose it boils down to why I want to know what it’s like to be someone else,” she reflects. “It’s greed, I suppose. I am me, yet why can’t I be the six other people walking down the street?” It’s this quiet, observant instinct, less about drama, more about interior lives, that has long defined her work, allowing her to slip so convincingly into the minds of her characters.
For Tyler, the fascination isn’t with status or spectacle, but with the subtleties of personality. “What fascinates me is inhabiting someone’s personality, not their role in life,” she explains. It’s a distinction that feels central to her novels, where ordinary people are given extraordinary depth, and where the smallest behaviours can reveal entire emotional worlds. She isn’t interested in the lives we might envy from afar, but in the ones we might overlook entirely.
That perspective is what gives her writing its particular intimacy. “I want to understand what I’m missing by not being that woman,” she says, an idea that speaks to both empathy and imagination in equal measure. It’s not about escape, but about expansion: a way of gently stepping outside herself and into the quiet complexities of others, one character at a time.
What about your reading? Do you have any recommendations?
Anne Tyler’s relationship with reading has shifted over time, shaped, as all reading lives are, by experience and perspective. “I’ve noticed I’ve stopped rereading books I love,” she says. “In recent years, I’ve picked up books that once meant a lot to me, but they just don’t resonate any more.” It’s a quiet but striking admission from a writer so attuned to emotional nuance, that even the most beloved stories can change as we do.
That sense of distance has made her more cautious about returning to old favourites. Reflecting on Pride and Prejudice during Jane Austen's 250th anniversary, she admits, “I told myself, I would never reread Pride and Prejudice, knowing I wouldn’t enjoy it as much. It’s not that it’s a bad book; it just doesn’t mean as much now.” The same goes for The Catcher in the Rye, which she loved in her youth but feels hasn’t quite held its power over time.
And yet, not every book fades. Some, Tyler suggests, retain their magic no matter when you return to them. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn remains, in her words, “one of the best books ever” a reminder that while our tastes may evolve, certain stories continue to meet us exactly where we are.
What's the nicest thing a reader has ever said to you?
This one is easy for Anne to answer and she has a very sweet story. "One man wrote to say he'd named his dog Anne Tyler. Isn't that lovely?" She says, "I wanted to ask what breed it was, but that seemed a little self-indulgent." I'd want to know too.
