Molly Mogren Katt is a writer, entrepreneur and mom who launched HeyEleanor! on Substack to document facing her fears. She is a regular contributor and lives in the Wedge.
Dear reader, let me take you back to my most humiliating experience.
In 2015, “Hey Eleanor” — my blog about doing one thing every day that scared me and writing about it — caught the eye of a celebrated Minnesota Public Radio host.
She booked me on her weekly roundtable discussion. I held my own alongside a well-known PBS travel host and a local hip-hop artist. A few months later, the MPR host told me she’d enjoyed our last conversation and asked if I’d like to return — specifically, to talk about why people lie about having read a book.
“You know, like why someone might say they’ve read Harry Potter when they actually haven’t,” her producer explained. Cool. Count me in!
On the day of the recording, I arrived at the station ready to share my compelling thoughts on not reading Harry Potter with all those good MPR listeners driving their Volvos. The host introduced the topic and her “three smart guests” — a bookish writer, a bigwig at a nonprofit, and me. Then she posed a question about Minnesota author Louise Erdrich.
Neither of the other guests had read any of Erdrich’s books. But oh, how they still had plenty to say! As both men waxed on about her novels and awards and bookstore, I felt my face bloom with heat. I had two options: lie or tell the truth. I did the latter.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t even know who we’re talking about.”
I patted myself on the back for keeping it real, thinking this would provide a perfect segue: Why do we lie about reading things we haven’t? Obviously, because we don’t want to seem stupid! And look at me with my vulnerability. It’s all going to be OK!
The host shook her head in disgust, then reset the conversation.
“OK then,” she said. “I’m [MPR HOST] here, talking with three smart people about why someone might lie about having read books they haven’t actually read. Or at least I thought I was talking to three smart people.”
I shriveled into a raisin. I hoped for a fire alarm to blare. A tornado. A Sharknado. Anything to get me out of the studio. I spent the rest of the hour trying to assure the host and her overly educated listeners that “Me Molly! Me read good! Me big brain in head!”
I never listened to the broadcast. But don’t worry, it plays rent-free in my mind. Once I overcame the shame — which took years — I embraced my anger. I realized the host want- ed to talk about why people lie about reading books because she thought less of those kinds of people.
I, on the other hand, believe that we should encourage people to read whatever they like — even if it’s campy thrillers or the latest Colleen Hoover novel. Those books make publishers so much money they can invest in lesser-known writers working on the actual next Great American Novel our MPR friend wants you to know she read before you did, you pathetic loser.
“Can you imagine a Pulitzer Prize-winning author putting words to the place you call home — knowing the neighborhood as intimately as you do, writing about bruises yet to heal? Of course you can, because you live here too.”
Fast-forward to 2025.
This summer, my kids attended six weeks of camp at Kenwood Elementary School. Directly across the street, you’ll find Birchbark Books, owned by author and National Book Award/Pulitzer Prize winner Louise Erdrich. Maybe you’ve heard of her? But if you haven’t, that’s OK! I won’t be a jerk about it.
I finally mustered the courage to walk through its blue door. I browsed the main table, covered in new releases. I read note cards with mini reviews of the staff’s favorite books. Finally, I found what I came for: Erdrich’s 2022 novel, “The Sentence.”
A young woman rang up my purchase.
“You know,” she said. “This book actually takes place right here in this bookstore. And all over the neighborhood.”
“I know,” I said, hoping I wasn’t blushing. “That’s actually why I’m buying it.”
I devoured the book in less than a week. It takes place all over Minneapolis, but mostly in South Minneapolis — where I’ve lived for nearly 20 years.
Tookie, a woman who works at Birchbark, battles literal and figurative ghosts from her past. The story takes place between November 2019 and November 2020, a challenging time for everyone but especially in Minneapolis, where the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder continues to affect everything — politics, commerce, transportation, public safety, art, day-to-day living, you name it. I think about him every single day.
Can you imagine a Pulitzer Prize-winning author putting words to the place you call home — knowing the neighborhood as intimately as you do, writing about bruises yet to heal? Of course you can, because you live here too.
“The Sentence” made me laugh and brought me to tears. It’s the best book I’ve read all year. I highly suggest you read it. But if you don’t, no need to lie to me about it. Only a snob would think less of you for not reading a book.
