Madeleine Thien has spent the last few years writing novels by hand. Since turning fifty, she has been unable to type due to an illness whose cause remained unknown, and the pain from typing grew so severe that she feared losing the ability to write altogether. Handwriting, strangely, was the cure. In a new questionnaire, she explains how that shift reshaped her writing process — and what it means for the stories she produces.
Thien’s latest project is Simple Recipes, a story collection published by W.W. Norton. The book arrives alongside a set of answers to questions about her craft, her shelves, and the writers who have shaped her work. The interview touches on everything from her physical condition to her literary tastes, with one admission that stands out above the rest: she writes almost entirely by hand now, a decision born of necessity.
Writing By Hand
Thien’s move to handwriting began as a medical workaround. The pain from typing grew so intense that she could barely use her left hand, and she feared she might lose her ability to write novels or meet her professional obligations. Handwriting, however, proved possible. She could hold a pen and fill pages without triggering the same discomfort.
Over the past few years, she has written every short story, essay, and her most recent novel by hand. The keyboard remains unavoidable at times, but the pain management is ongoing. Thien describes the change as a “salve” in multiple ways. Being away from screens for many hours of the day feels restorative, and she finds herself more attuned to the physical act of writing — the rhythm of the line, the texture of paper and pen.
She puts it plainly: “It is a relief to be away from screens for many hours of the day and, at the same time, to feel less separated from the world.” That separation, she suggests, gives her characters room to breathe. The people in her novels exist within a space she creates through handwriting, a space that feels larger and more open than anything produced on a screen.
The Cover Advice
Among the writing advice Thien has received over her career, one memory stands out as the most significant. Almost thirty years ago, while she was in her mid-twenties, someone in publishing showed her a proposed cover for one of her books. The image featured a beautiful Empress in brocade robes.
When Thien said the design had absolutely no relation to her novel, the person agreed. “But this is a great cover,” they said. “You should write a novel to go with this cover.”
Thien takes the remark as a wound rather than a joke. The words bothered her deeply. The advice pointed to a broader truth about commodification in publishing — that books are often sold based on image rather than content. The memory stayed with her as a reality check.
She responded by committing to writing novels that no one expected her to write, least of all herself. Books that could not be easily categorized and had to find their own path. That self-knowledge stayed with her and lit a fire. It became a guiding principle for her entire body of work.
Bookshelves By Birth Year
Thien organizes her bookshelves by the approximate year when the writer was born. She mixes philosophy, history, art, fiction, poetry, English, French, and translations together on the same shelves. The arrangement creates a collective record of the times, showing the ways of seeing, forms that flourished during particular eras, and the questions that persist across centuries.
It is a system that rewards browsing. Each shelf holds a mix of genres and languages, blurring the usual boundaries between categories. The books become a historical record of thought and culture, spanning centuries and continents.
Adania Shibli’s Touch
When asked to recommend a book to other writers, Thien pointed to Touch by Adania Shibli, translated by Paula Haydar. She is unequivocal about her admiration: “I want to put Adania Shibli’s books in everyone’s hands. I think she is the great writer and artist of our times.”
Thien has just finished reading Shibli’s new novel, Delusion, translated by Kathrine Halls, forthcoming in 2027 from Knopf. She describes it as a book that is essential today and will remain essential generations from now. She calls it “one of the most shattering, exacting and profound novels I have ever read.”
The recommendation comes with a warning: Shibli’s work is rare. It is a book that matters now and will matter for decades to come.
A Reading Wish
One book Thien wishes she had read when she was young is Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino. She wonders what she would have felt as a fourteen-year-old girl facing bewildering and marvelous vastness, fearful that she would not make it to adulthood. She wonders how a girl of that age might have understood the states of mind and conditions described in the novel.
The book has been a touchstone for her throughout her career. Its power endures.
The Questionnaire Format
The interview is presented as a questionnaire, a series of open-ended questions that let Thien speak freely about her habits, her shelves, and her influences. The format allows for personal answers that might not emerge in a standard interview setting.
The questions range from practical to philosophical. They ask about her daily routine, her reading life, and the books that shape her thinking. The result is a portrait of a working writer who balances physical constraint with creative freedom.
Key Facts Box
- Book: Simple Recipes by Madeleine Thien
- Publisher: W.W. Norton
- Recommended book: Touch by Adania Shibli (translated by Paula Haydar)
- Upcoming novel: Delusion by Adania Shibli (translated by Kathrine Halls, forthcoming 2027 from Knopf)
What We Make Of It
Thien’s writing process is unusual, and she does not pretend otherwise. She admits that her method would surprise her readers, and she offers a frank account of how illness forced a change. The result is a practice that is both therapeutic and productive.
Handwriting, she says, gives her more space for her characters to breathe. It is a relief to be away from screens for many hours of the day, and it connects her to the physical act of creation. The rhythm of the line, the texture of paper and pen — these are elements that typing abstracts away.
Her recommendation for Adania Shibli is a vote of confidence in a writer she considers essential. Thien’s praise for Delusion is specific and generous, and she frames it as a book that matters now and will matter for decades to come. That is a rare compliment to make.
The cover advice, meanwhile, carries a lesson about expectation and originality. Thien took that advice personally, and it drove her to write novels that no one expected her to write. The result is a body of work that refuses easy categorization.
Thien’s shelves are a record of history and thought, arranged by birth year. They reflect a writer who values continuity across disciplines and cultures. The books sit together, mixed and unordered, a living archive of human curiosity.
The interview is a small window into a working life. It shows a writer who has found her way through illness, who has built a system for organizing her reading, and who has made a deliberate choice to write outside conventional expectations.
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