By Eleanor Goodman

Steve Almond‚Äôs book of essays, ‚ÄúNot That You Asked‚Äù has just been published by Random House to widespread praise.  He is the author of two collections of short stories, a candy-centered memoir, and a novel written in collaboration with Julia Baggott.  He also teaches at Grub Street and is the proud father of a baby girl.  He will be one of the featured readers at the Somerville News Writers Festival on Nov. 11.

Q:  I found your newest book, (Not That You Asked) shelved next to Woody Allen‚Äôs latest in the bookstore.  Is this a good thing?

SA: Yeah, I guess. I’m happy to be in the company of the man who made “Annie Hall.” And we’re both self-doubting Jews with wives who are way too good looking for us.

Q:  In your book, you quote Kurt Vonnegut as saying, ‚ÄúI think the world is ending.  Our own intelligence tells us we‚Äôre perfectly awful animals.‚Äù Do you agree with his assessment of humanity?
SA: I agree that human beings can, and do, behave in a perfectly awful manner. Here in America, for instance, we have far more food and energy than we really need, and yet we do very little to help those who don’t have enough. There’s no way to argue that that isn’t cruel. But I remain hopeful that we can behave more decently. Vonnegut himself was an incredibly hopeful, even idealistic, guy. That’s why he was so

Q:  ‚ÄúNot That You Asked‚Äù involves some embarrassing moments in your life.  Do you worry about exposing yourself too much in your writing? 
SA: The path to the truth runs through shame. That’s just how it works. Over the years, I’ve come to find it unburdening to admit what an idiot I’ve been. Because everyone feels like that, at times, on the inside. I’m just saying it out loud.

Q:  You have published both fiction and non-fiction.  Do you find one better suited to humor than the other?
SA: No. You can be funny in any genre or language. It’s a matter, most often, of forgiving yourself for what a big, fat jerk you, or your characters, have been. It’s a way of telling the truth that doesn’t sting quite so much.

Q:  Your work is funny in part because you deal with serious topics ‚Äì politics, the deadening of our culture, fatherhood.  Are there any topics you think have no potential for humor?
SA: Well, I mean, genocide, rape, extreme cruelty — those are not topics that you want to make light of. But the point of comedy isn’t to gloss over tragedy, but sometimes to get us to admit to our own unbearable feelings or fears. That’s why so many great comics, from Richard Pryor to Lenny Bruce, grappled with serious issues.

Q:  You write beautifully about the terror of becoming a father. Do you still worry about inadvertently killing your daughter Josephine?
SA: Yes, I don’t think that fear ever goes away. It’s a function of responsibility and love crashing into one another. That said, I’m down to about one potential killing a day.

Q:  How has baby Josephine affected your work?
SA: Well, I get less time to write. But who cares? She totally rocks. I’d rather hang out with her than write most of the time, anyway.

Q:  You will be appearing at the fifth annual Somerville News Writer‚Äôs Festival on Nov. 11 along with Tom Perrotta, Robert Pinsky, and other luminaries.  Have you ever been intimidated by someone you‚Äôve shared the stage with?
SA: Maybe a little. But mostly I’m happy to be able to hear folks like Tom Perrotta or Tim Gager read. It’s just a joy to be there.