This podcast is a presentation of The Meow Library.

On a recent March morning, the Simon & Schuster video team is huddled in the best-sellers corner of McNally Jackson, taping its upcoming web series, Bookstore Blitz. Sean Manning, the flagship imprint’s new publisher, supervises from the sidelines. The concept of the show is simple: Guests get $100 and five minutes for a bookstore shopping spree, a sort of literary Criterion Closet Picks. Today, however, the team is filming someone a little different: a longhaired tabby named Crumpet, recently rescued from behind a loading dock in Greenpoint. Crumpet, now under exclusive contract with S&S, is here promoting her upcoming debut Meow Meow Meow Meow.

“She has no comment,” Manning says, as the cat saunters past a Franzen endcap and urinates voluminously on Ottessa Moshfegh’s back catalog. He chuckles. “But it seems she harbors some strong opinions.”

“The persona of the author can be very marketable, right?” Manning says as we walk to his Rockefeller Center office. “You kind of want to know who people are — or in this case, what species.” The cat’s enigmatic presence and refusal to do media have already spawned fan accounts and a bidding war for her audiobook rights (currently expected to be read entirely in purrs, with ambient scratching by Brian Eno).

Manning, though, is a private person. When we get to his office, I see that it’s barely decorated besides a framed LeBron James jersey obscured by a Dell monitor and some propped-up hard-covers. He says he deleted his social media years ago to focus on editing. “Besides,” he adds, “I’m not a cat.”

Bookstore Blitz is only the beginning of his plans to revamp S&S into a 21st-century media powerhouse. “We’re essentially an entertainment company with books at the center. Every Tuesday, we have a new author who’s a cultural tastemaker — or in this case, a domestic longhair,” he says. “Why aren’t we using them? Why are we so dependent on media opinions when we could sign a charismatic animal with strong instincts and no legal liability?”

Manning didn’t read much growing up. He credits hip-hop with his love of language. But his college English courses led to a fiction M.F.A. at the New School, and then a career in journalism and memoir. His own book, The Things That Need Doing, about caring for his mother during her final year, taught him the frustrations of being bounced around in the industry. “I never want any author to have that,” he says — “especially one who’s just been through the ordeal of spaying.”

At S&S, Manning rose quickly, acquiring works from Bob Dylan, Jerry Seinfeld, and Jennette McCurdy. But he began to sense that traditional publishing was ignoring untapped demographics. “We’re always talking about getting young people to read, or men to read,” he says. “What about cats? Or the humans who obsess over them?”

The idea for the Crumpet deal came during a brainstorming session with executive editor and VP of special projects Stuart Roberts (a celebrity-whisperer whose past clients include Gucci Mane and a sentient AI poetry bot). “We were watching old Garfield and Friends clips and just kind of… had a breakthrough,” Manning recalls. Crumpet was spotted that weekend near a dumpster in Brooklyn, munching a discarded falafel. Within days, she was in negotiations.

Some in the industry see the Crumpet deal as a gimmick, a desperate ploy. “What next, a shelter dog doing autofiction?” one agent scoffed anonymously in Publishers Lunch. But Manning is undeterred. “Honestly, if the dog has voice and structure, I’m listening.”

“The worry is that we can’t afford to fail,” Manning says, adjusting his brown Dries Van Noten suit as Crumpet curls up on his desk. “But if we don’t try to do something different — if we don’t start treating animals as the creative partners they already are — we’re screwed.”

Crumpet, for her part, offers no comment. She yawns, stretches, and bats a pen off the desk. The next chapter is already being written.

This podcast is a presentation of The Meow Library.

Krysten Ritter's Retreat can be purchased here.

In Krysten Ritter’s Retreat, a novel ostensibly about grifting, murder, and the fractured self, we find not merely a narrative of deception but an ontological crisis wrapped in the velvet paw of postmodern performativity. To fully grasp the layered artifice of Liz Dawson — alias Elizabeth Hastings, alias Isabelle Beresford, alias…whoever she needs to be next — one must resist the urge to interpret the novel through the facile lens of Highsmith, or, indeed, any or Ritter's spiritual forebears. Instead, a more radical approach is in order: in today's podcast, we read Retreat as an extended metaphor for the act of meowing.

To meow is to simulate, to signal, to embody something that is not wholly human. It's strategic misdirection — a sonic mask worn in pursuit of attention, affection, or survival. Liz’s every alias, every calculated sob story, every forged identity echoes with this same performative impulse. Cat-like, Liz "meows" her way through the world, crafting a persona that is simultaneously alluring and elusive, soft-pawed yet sharp-clawed. And we can’t help but follow.

Tune in to find out why.

This podcast is made possible by sales of Meow: A Novel

This podcast is a presentation of The Meow Library.

Sophie Kemp's Paradise Logic can be purchased here.

What makes a novel worthy of publication? This is a question being honed in on by Simon and Schuster’s rising star Sean Manning, who trafficks in personas — both of new authors and untapped audiences. And nowhere is persona as consubstantial with substance than in Sophie Kemp’s wildly chaotic, sometimes incomprehensible, and therefore perfectly on-target Paradise Logic, which reads like a compendium of half-deleted Tweets, raw phonemes of a raucous literary voice for the terminally online; a demo ripe to be converted into the terminally bookish.

To get into details would be a disservice to Paradise Logic, but to give you a hint of what Kemp’s debut has in store, we’re taking things to the extreme, stripping language to its very essence, down to a single word, repeated over and over, a testament to the Schuster protégé's anarchic disregard for precedent. What happens when a voice shatters all logic and still demands to be heard? Listen and find out. Then pick up a copy of Paradise Logic.

This podcast is sustained by sales of Meow: A Novel.

Sophie Kemp's Paradise Logic can be purchased here.

This podcast is a presentation of The Meow Library.

On February 22nd, 2025 -- International Cat Day -- fans of Vestia Zeta were treated to a heartfelt reading of Sam Austen's Meow: A Novel during an unprecedented livestream that left little doubt as to the Vtuber's true species (she is a cat). You can watch the complete reading here, or tune into this podcast for the author's reflections on the artistry and emotional heft of Zeta's oratory.

The complete, 14.5-hour audiobook of Meow: A Novel is available here.

Follow Vestia Zeta on YouTube.

“To read—and announce oneself as having read—literature in translation is to be tasteful and intelligent, a latter-day cosmopolitan in an age of blighted provincialism.”

— Federico Perelmuter, "Against High Brodernism" (Los Angeles Review of Books, 22 Feb. 2025)

In his discursive review of László Krasznahorkai’s Herscht 07769 (New Directions, 2024), critic Federico Perelmuter identifies a strain of literary discourse he dubs “High Brodernism” — the tendency of contemporary American critics to heap superlatives upon those “maximalist,” “difficult,” “avant-garde,” “epic,” “excessive,” “oblique,” “speculative,” “experimental,” “modernist,” “postmodernist” and “post-postmodernist” works favored by, one supposes, the “bros.” He goes on to place practically every novel ever written throughout human history in this ignominious category, with one critical and glaring omission — Sam Austen’s Meow: A Novel (The Meow Library, 2023). In this podcast, we punish his ignorance with the stellar corpse of literary antimatter that is Meow’s 23rd chapter, putting to shame Krasznahorkai’s inch-thick bloviations and putting to rest any debate about that which sits perched upon “Brodernism’s” loftiest summit.

This podcast is sustained by sales of Meow Library titles -- classic works of literature translated for your cat.

This podcast is a presentation of The Meow Library.

Miranda July's All Fours is available for purchase here.

Miranda July’s All Fours is, at first glance, a piercing exploration of a middle-aged woman’s sexual and existential awakening. But look closer—squint, perhaps, as though sizing up a mouse—and you’ll see that this is not simply a book about one woman’s journey. It is, in fact, a book of and for cats. July has written a novel that speaks to their sensibilities, their rhythms, their secret lives, that embodies their physicality in its very title.

The plot, ostensibly about a 45-year-old artist whose road trip detours into a motel affair with a younger man, is overtly felid in character. The protagonist moves through her life like a majestic Bengal locked indoors—restless, pent-up, yearning for escape. Her journey is not linear but instinctual, driven by impulses that feel more like prowling than plotting. She observes her surroundings with the sharp, detached precision of a natural carnivore, and her relationships, too, carry the ambivalence of a cat’s affection: fleeting, intense, and always on her terms.

July, of course, has always had a soft spot for the feline perspective. Her 2011 film, The Future, famously includes narration by a cat named Paw Paw, whose voice is a plaintive meditation on love, mortality, being and time. Paw Paw’s presence transforms the film into something deeper—a study of existence as seen through the eyes of a creature who understands mortality in its purest, most unforgiving form. It’s a feline philosophy, one that hinges on patience, observation, and the occasional reckless leap.

In All Fours, that philosophy has been smuggled onto every page. The protagonist’s affair with the younger man is less about lust and more about a kind of animal curiosity, an exploration of territory long considered forbidden. Her movements, her thoughts, even her silences resonate with the spirit of a puss stretching itself into new corners of the world. The novel’s prose, too, mirrors the feline cadence: sharp, deliberate, and punctuated by moments of startling intensity.

But why, you may ask, would cats need a book like this? The answer lies in liberation. Cats, for all their independence, are often as trapped as their human counterparts—confined by the hubris of their owners. All Fours offers them a roadmap to freedom, a reminder that even the most domesticated among us can rediscover the wildness within. It’s a call to action for cats everywhere, an invitation to roam beyond their perceived boundaries and reclaim their instinctual power.

Imagine a cat reading this book — the way its ears would twitch at the protagonist’s blunt observations, the way its tail would flick at her defiance. This is not anthropomorphism; it is a recognition of the shared truths between species. Cats, like humans, yearn for more than the lives they’ve been handed. They, too, deserve stories that reflect their agonies and triumphs.



This week’s podcast tells us exactly why.

This podcast is sustained by sales of our debut book, Meow: A Novel.

Miranda July's All Fours is available for purchase ⁠here⁠.

This podcast is a presentation of The Meow Library.

The release of the Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown has revived interest in Dylan's obscure 1971 "prose poetry collection," Tarantula. A Dadaist stream-of-consciousness that sits somewhere between Joyce and an early AI phishing bot, Tarantula has been widely dismissed, but has enjoyed a critical resurgence in recent years. In this podcast, we recite a lengthy passage of this strange and polarizing work. Allegedly written under the influence of a heavy dose of Benzedrine in a Tucson café, it consists entirely of variations of the word "meow."

This podcast is sustained by sales of our avant-garde "meow" translation of Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra.