Culture
Neko Case Has Sung Hard Truths. Now She’s Telling Hers in a Memoir.
One morning, when she was about 7 years old, Neko Case stood on her front porch, closed her eyes and wished with all her might to see a horse.
It was a tall order. She and her parents lived in the coastal city of Bellingham, Wash., and none of their neighbors were equestrians. But, as the musician recalls in her new memoir, “The Harder I Fight the More I Love You,” the young Case “clench-focused as hard as I could,” and when she opened her eyes something incredible had happened: Two gorgeous horses, ridden by two girls, came clomping directly toward her. In the midst of a difficult childhood, this stands out as one fleeting moment when she believed irrefutably in miracles, fairy tales and the possibility that good things could happen to her.
“At 52 years old,” she writes, “I can still see the horses clear as day.”
A cult-favorite singer-songwriter with a gale-force voice and a spiky, irreverent personality, Case has been releasing acclaimed solo and collaborative albums for nearly three decades, and has built an adoring fan base. But readers don’t need to be familiar with her music to be moved by her raw, unflinching memoir, which chronicles her impoverished and at times surreal upbringing as well as her long journey toward self-confidence. It’s a book that mixes defiant humor with an unsentimental resilience that recalls Cheryl Strayed.
“I wasn’t going to go tabloid,” Case said with a dry shrug, sitting in a booth at the Cosmic Diner in Manhattan on a recent, chilly Saturday morning. “I never had sex with famous people, so.”
Still, the book depicts Case’s early life as a minefield of emotional trauma. In a phone interview, A.C. Newman, her longtime bandmate in the power-pop group the New Pornographers, recalled a mutual friend once marveling of Case, “For her to achieve what she’s done, considering where she came from, it’s like winning a marathon with one leg.”
At the diner, Case, now 54, wore a dark-blue button-down, and her predominantly gray mane was skunked with a streak of flaming auburn. At one point she interrupted herself to look — respectfully — at a neighboring table’s breakfast order. “That’s a good-looking pancake,” she said. “I don’t want to stare a hole in their pancakes, but wow.”
Case has lately become a regular at this Midtown restaurant, splitting her time between New York and her Vermont home because of another exciting project she’s working on nearby: She is collaborating on the songs for a musical adaptation of “Thelma & Louise” that she hopes is bound for Broadway in the next year or two. “I was the target audience for that movie,” Case said of the 1991 hit. “I was exactly the right age. I saw it trillions of times.”
Callie Khouri, who wrote the film’s Oscar-winning screenplay and is also writing the musical’s book, was a fan of Case’s music and selected her personally to work on the musical. “Her music has such scope, sonically and lyrically,” Khouri said in a phone interview. “She’s such a righteous, true-north artist and person.”
Case is plain-spoken about the financial realities of being a working musician; she said she wrote the book mainly because she needed another source of income while the pandemic kept her from touring. Later in 2025, she will also release her first new album in seven years, which she described as an explicit rebuttal to what she sees as the digital era’s dehumanization of her industry. She intentionally employed more musicians than usual; some tracks feature an entire orchestra.
“I wanted everything to be played by real people,” she said, “to show how we fill space differently.”
Fans of her off-kilter, country-tinged albums like the Grammy-nominated 2009 release “Middle Cyclone” are unlikely to be surprised that Case writes uncommonly vivid and lyrical prose. Her mother’s pale-green station wagon, for instance, looks like “a nauseous basking shark.” The grasses of northern Washington house “grasshoppers the size of staplers with underwings like striped blushing flamenco skirts.” On a class trip, when her father packed an inadequate lunch (a few sad slices of cheese), a teacher’s aide gave her a pitying look and the young Case “dragged that shame around like a wet wool cape.”
The most startling revelations in the book are about Case’s mother. The musician writes that when she was in second grade and her parents were separated, her father picked her up from school one day, burst into tears and told her that her mother had died of cancer. She was stunned.
An emotionally somnambulant year and a half later, her father just as suddenly announced that her mother was alive and, actually, they were on their way to see her just then. When mother and daughter were reunited, Case writes that her parents informed her that her mother had been sick with a potentially fatal disease and fled to Hawaii for treatment, so her daughter would not have to see her suffer. Case was too young and vulnerable to question the story. “I forgave her with such desperate haste, I didn’t even have time to be mad,” she writes.
Her mother flickered in and out of her life for the next several decades, but even when they were living under the same roof, Case came to experience her mother like “a deer, always just out of reach,” she writes.
After a final, failed attempt at reconnection when Case was in her late 30s — her mother moved in with her when she was living in Tucson and suddenly left without a word — Case cut ties with her mother for good. Shortly after, as she writes in the book, she had a revelation: Perhaps her mother had never been sick at all. The thought was at once crushing and profoundly liberating.
“There was much I could have forgiven,” she writes. “But it was the grift of her that ground that down — that love held out to dance before me, always snatched back just as I reached out my arms for it.” (Attempts to reach Case’s mother for comment were unsuccessful.)
“I guess I was an over-sharer out of desperation, like, ‘Please, notice me,’” Case said, noting that there is nothing in the book about her childhood that her closest friends do not already know. Newman, though, is relieved that others “can now read her story” and understand the scope of what she has endured. “Sometimes, when Neko was being kind of hard to deal with, I’d always have that in the back of my mind,” he said. “Like, I can’t tell you guys, but holy [expletive].”
When asked if any of these revelations were difficult to disclose in such a public manner, Case just shrugged. “So much has been done to me where I haven’t been considered,” she said. “I don’t have any guilt.”
CASE’S DISTINCT VOICE is as mighty as a canyon; she often sings like someone hollering into a void and pausing to let her echo confidently resound.
“We were all kind of shocked she could sing so well,” Newman remembered. He met Case in the tight-knit Vancouver indie music scene in the mid-90s, when she was playing drums in the punk trio Maow. When he heard her sing at a friend’s wedding around that time — she belted out a rendition of the Students’ 1958 doo-wop tune “I’m So Young” — his jaw dropped.
“That’s when I wanted to work with her,” Newman said. “I felt like I was getting in on the ground floor of something, like I’d found this friend who had an incredible voice, but nobody else knew about it yet.”
Case’s debut album, “The Virginian,” recorded with a rotating backing band she cheekily dubbed Her Boyfriends, came out in 1997. “It sounds terrified to me,” she said now. “I’m just like, ahhhh! Singing on 10 the whole time. No dynamic whatsoever.”
But Case found acclaim as she honed her talent over her next few albums. Learning tenor guitar — a four-stringed instrument initially made for banjo players — unlocked a unique sound and sensibility in her songwriting. Newman marveled at her rapid creative growth over that period: Each album, he said, “felt very much like a leap forward.”
Still, Case’s brief forays down the music industry’s more mainstream avenues made her feel that she didn’t quite belong. In the book, she tells her side of a long-rumored story about the Grand Ole Opry. While playing an outdoor festival on its plaza in July 2001, on the brink of heat stroke, she stripped down to her bra.
“It wasn’t an act of punk-rock defiance,” she writes. “I just had an animal need to cool down in any way possible.” The Opry management cut the power and after her truncated set “delivered the classic line,” Case writes, “‘You’ll NEVER play in this town again!’” (Representatives for the Opry said the event predates its current management team, and that “Neko Case is most welcome at the Grand Ole Opry and is among the many artists we’d love to welcome for an official Opry debut in 2025.”)
“I thought about what men had to do to get banned from the Opry,” she writes. Jerry Lee Lewis dropped an expletive on the air. Hank Williams got so wasted, he failed to show up. She eventually chalked the incident up to sexism, but she thinks the situation for female artists in country music is now “worse than it’s ever been.”
“Women have actually been demoted,” she said at the diner, pointing to incidents like the so-called “Tomato-gate,” a 2015 controversy in which a radio programmer recommended limiting female artists’ airplay, likening them to “the tomatoes of our salad” in a trade publication.
“It’s not true at all,” Case said unequivocally. “People don’t turn off their radios because women come on the radio.”
But she has seen firsthand how difficult it is to challenge the full force of the industry. “The gatekeepers are so thick, and they’re everywhere,” she added. “I always feel like people just need to start a new country music.”
Over the years she’s done just that, and beyond. Case’s songs have a spaciousness and a sense of possibility that far exceed the confines of genre. Her music is deeply in touch with the expansiveness of the natural world, and that gives her narration a kind of shape-shifting power: She has written songs from the perspective of killer whales and tornadoes, wronged, aching women and gruff, swaggering men.
“Her songs have always been little movies to me,” said her longtime friend Paul Rigby, a Vancouver-based musician with a jazz background who has been collaborating with Case since 2006. “There are things that are based in reality, but there’s also fantastical stuff. I think it’s very important to her to try to understand what she thinks is her part in the world.”
NOT LONG AFTER “The Virginian” was released, a major label came courting. “Picture it like something out of a fairy tale,” she writes. “There’s a knock at the door, a fascinating stranger stands outside, and they want to grant you all your wishes!” It was like she was a child blinking horses into existence all over again. The label flew her to Los Angeles, wined and dined her — and then the deal suddenly fell through.
“It was such a farce,” Case said, as a waiter cleared her empty breakfast plate. But does she ever wonder what would have happened if she had been on that promised fast track to success? “I don’t think I would have gone very far,” she admitted, “because I just didn’t have the confidence or the skills yet. I wouldn’t have become really famous and gotten weird or anything. I think I just would have gotten kicked out early.”
Instead, over the course of nearly three decades, she’s painstakingly built something more enduring and true to herself. “She’s a person who knows so deeply who she is, and makes no bones about it,” Khouri said. “She’s not a person who is looking at herself and wondering what the world is thinking of her. She’s standing her ground, looking out at the world and saying, ‘Shouldn’t we all be trying to do better?’
Case now knows that she did not actually make those horses appear all those years ago by magic. That doesn’t mean they weren’t important, though.
“As time went on, I began to understand in a new way the appearance of the horses when I was a kid,” she writes. “Not as something that would swoop in and fix me, but as a force pushing me to keep orienting myself toward the cinnamon scent of what was right and good for me.”
“It was like an engine that was running so hard all the time,” Case said of her drive, and that constant thrust of creative momentum. “I was always running away from things, too, like I just very much did not want to be in my old life.”
“The momentum was so great in me that I didn’t ever stop to try and understand it,” she added. “So maybe that’s what kept it going.”
Culture
6 Poems You Should Know by Heart
Literature
‘Prayer’ (1985) by Galway Kinnell
Whatever happens. Whatever
what is is is what
I want. Only that. But that.
“I typically say Kinnell’s words at the start of my day, as I’m pedaling a traffic-laden path to my office,” says Major Jackson, 57, the author of six books of poetry, including “Razzle Dazzle” (2023). “The poem encourages a calm acceptance of the day’s events but also wants us to embrace the misapprehension and oblivion of life, to avoid probing too deeply for answers to inscrutable questions. I admire what Kinnell does with only 14 words; the repetition of ‘what,’ ‘that’ and ‘is’ would seem to limit the poem’s sentiment but, paradoxically, the poem opens widely to contain all manner of human experience. The three ‘is’es in the middle line give it a symmetry that makes its message feel part of a natural order, and even more convincing. Thanks to the skillful punctuation, pauses and staccato rhythm, a tonal quality of interior reflection emerges. Much like a haiku, it continues after its last words, lingering like the last note played on a piano that slowly fades.”
“Just as I was entering young adulthood, probably slow to claim romantic feelings, a girlfriend copied out a poem by Pablo Neruda and slipped it into an envelope with red lipstick kisses all over it. In turn, I recited this poem. It took me the remainder of that winter to memorize its lines,” says Jackson. “The poem captures the pitch of longing that defines love at its most intense. The speaker in Shakespeare’s most famous sonnet believes the poem creates the beloved, ‘So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, / So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.’ (Sonnet 18). In Rilke’s expressive declarations of yearning, the beloved remains elusive. Wherever the speaker looks or travels, she marks his world by her absence. I find this deeply moving.”
“Clifton faced many obstacles, including cancer, a kidney transplant and the loss of her husband and two of her children. Through it all, she crafted a long career as a pre-eminent American poet,” says Jackson. “Her poem ‘won’t you celebrate with me’ is a war cry, an invitation to share in her victories against life’s persistent challenges. The poem is meaningful to all who have had to stare down death in a hospital or had to bereave the passing of close relations. But, even for those who have yet to mourn life’s vicissitudes, the poem is instructive in cultivating resilience and a persevering attitude. I keep coming back to the image of the speaker’s hands and the spirit of steadying oneself in the face of unspeakable storms. She asks in a perfectly attuned gorgeously metrical line, ‘what did i see to be except myself?’”
‘Sonnet 94’ (1609) by William Shakespeare
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmovèd, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces
And husband nature’s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity.
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
“It’s one of the moments of Western consciousness,” says Frederick Seidel, 90, the author of more than a dozen collections of poetry, including “So What” (2024). “Shakespeare knows and says what he knows.”
“It trombones magnificent, unbearable sorrow,” says Seidel.
“It’s smartass and bitter and bright,” says Seidel.
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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Culture
Classic and Contemporary Literature From France, Japan, India, the U.K. and Brazil
Literature
FRANCE
According to the writer Leïla Slimani, 44, the author of ‘The Country of Others’ (2020).
Classic
‘Essais de Montaigne’ (‘Essays of Montaigne,’ 1580)
“France is a country of nuance with a love of conversation and freedom and an aversion to fanaticism. It’s also a country built on reflexive subjectivity. Montaigne reveals all that, writing, ‘I am myself the matter of my book.’”
Contemporary
‘La Carte et le Territoire’ (‘The Map and the Territory,’ 2010) by Michel Houellebecq
“Houellebecq describes France as a museum, where landscape turns into décor and where rural areas are emptying out. He shows the gap between the Parisian elite and the rest of the population, which he paints as aging and disoriented by modernity. It’s a melancholic and yet ironic novel about a disenchanted nation.”
JAPAN
According to the writer Yoko Ogawa, 64, the author of ‘The Memory Police’ (1994).
Classic
‘Man’yoshu’ (late eighth century)
“‘Man’yoshu,’ the oldest extant collection of Japanese poetry, reflects a diversity of voices — from emperors to commoners. They bow their heads to the majesty of nature, weep at the loss of loved ones and find pathos in death. The pages pulse with the vitality of successive generations.”
Contemporary
‘Tenohira no Shosetsu’ (‘Palm-of-the-Hand Stories,’ 1923-72) by Yasunari Kawabata
“The essence of Japanese literature might lie in brevity: waka [a classical 31-syllable poetry form], haiku and short stories. There’s a tradition of cherishing words that seem to well up from the depths of the heart, imbued with warmth. Kawabata, too, exudes more charm in his short stories — especially these very short ‘palm-of-the-hand’ stories — than in his full-length novels. Good and evil, beauty and ugliness, love and hate — everything is contained in these modest worlds.”
INDIA
According to Aatish Taseer, 45, a T contributing writer and the author of ‘Stranger to History: A Son’s Journey Through Islamic Lands’ (2009).
Classic
‘The Kumarasambhava’ (‘The Birth of Kumara,’ circa fifth century) by Kalidasa
“This is an epic poem by the greatest of the classical Sanskrit poets and dramatists. The gods are in a pickle. They’re being tormented by a monster, but Shiva, their natural protector, is deep in meditation and cannot be disturbed. Kama, the god of love, armed with his flower bow, is sent down from the heavens to waken Shiva. Never a wise idea! The great god, in his fury, opens his third eye and incinerates Kama. But then, paradoxically, the death of the god of love engenders one of the greatest love stories ever told. In the final canto, Shiva and his wife, the goddess Parvati, have the most electrifying sex for days on end — and, 15 centuries on, in our now censorious time, it still leaves one agog at the sensual wonder that was India.”
Contemporary
‘The Complex’ (2026) by Karan Mahajan
“This state-of-the-nation novel, which was published just last month, captures the squalor and malice of Indian family life. Delhi is both my and Mahajan’s hometown and, in this sprawling homage to India’s capital, we see it on the eve of the economic liberalization of the 1990s, as the old socialist city gives way to a megalopolis of ambition, greed and political cynicism.”
THE UNITED KINGDOM
According to the writer Tessa Hadley, 70, the author of ‘The London Train’ (2011).
Classic
‘Jane Eyre’ (1847) by Charlotte Brontë
“Written almost 200 years ago, it remains an insight into our collective soul — or at least its female part. Somewhere at the heart of us there’s a small girl in a wintry room, curled up in the window seat with a book, watching the lashing rain on the window glass: ‘There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. …’ Jane’s solemnity, her outraged sense of justice, her trials to come, the wild weather outside, her longing for something better, for love in her future: All this speaks, perhaps problematically, to something buried in the foundations of our idea of ourselves.”
Contemporary
‘All That Man Is’ (2016) by David Szalay
“Though he isn’t quite completely British (he’s part Canadian, part Hungarian), Szalay is brilliant at catching certain aspects of British men — aspects that haven’t been written about for a while, now updated for a new era. Funny, exquisitely observed and terrifying, this novel reminds us, too, how absolutely our fate and our identity as a nation belong with the rest of Europe.”
BRAZIL
According to the writer and critic Noemi Jaffe, 64, the author of ‘What Are the Blind Men Dreaming?’ (2016).
Classic
‘Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas’ (‘The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas,’ 1881) by Machado de Assis
“Not only is it experimental in style — very short chapters mixed with long ones; different points of view; narrated by a corpse; metalinguistic — but it also introduces an extremely ironic view of the rising bourgeoisie in Rio de Janeiro at the time, revealing the hypocrisy of slave owners, the falsehood of love affairs and the only true reason for all social relationships: convenience and personal interest. After almost 150 years, it’s still modern, both formally and, unfortunately, also in content.”
Contemporary
‘Onde Pastam os Minotauros’ (‘Where Minotaurs Graze,’ 2023) by Joca Reiners Terron
“The two main characters — Cão and Crente — along with some of their colleagues, plan to escape and set fire to the slaughterhouse where they work under exploitative conditions. The men develop sympathy for the animals they kill, and one of them becomes a sort of philosopher, revealing the sheer nonsense of existence and the injustices of society in the deepest parts of Brazil.”
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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Culture
6 Myths That Endure
Literature
The Myth of Meeting Oneself
“This is evident in Virgil’s ‘Aeneid’ (circa 30-19 B.C.) when Aeneas witnesses his own heroic actions depicted in murals of the Trojan War in Juno’s temple, and again in Miguel de Cervantes’s ‘Don Quixote’ (1605-15) when Quixote enters a printer’s shop and finds a book that has been published with fake details about his quest even as he’s living it,” says Ben Okri, 67, the author of “The Famished Road” (1991) and “Madame Sosostris and the Festival for the Brokenhearted” (2025). “In both stories, individuals throw themselves into the world and think they encounter objects, personae, obstacles and antagonists, but what they actually encounter is themselves. In our time, where our actions meet us in the echo chamber of social media, the process is magnified and swifter. Now a deed doesn’t even have to take place for it to enter the realm of reality.”
The Myth of Utopia
“I’ve always had trouble with the idea of utopia, feeling it derives its energy more from what it wishes to dismantle than what it wishes to enact,” says the T writer at large Aatish Taseer, 45, the author of “Stranger to History: A Son’s Journey Through Islamic Lands” (2009). “Ram Rajya, or the mythical rule of the hero Ram in the Hindu epic ‘Ramayana’ (seventh century B.C.-third century A.D.), like all visions of perfection, contains a built-in violence.”
The Myth of Invisibility
“Invisibility bears power and powerlessness at the same time,” says Okri. “In ancient cultures, it was a gift of the gods. Jesus, for example, walks unrecognized among his disciples, and in Greek myths, Scandinavian legends and ancient African tales, heroes are gifted invisibility in the form of cloaks, sandals or spells. Modern works like the two ‘Invisible Man’ novels, by H.G. Wells (1897) and Ralph Ellison (1952), and the ‘Harry Potter’ novels (1997-2007) by J.K. Rowling reach back to those ideas. But today, people talk about visibility as the highest form of social agency, while invisibility can render a whole class, race, caste or gender unseen.”
The Myth of Steadiness vs. Speed
“‘The Tortoise and the Hare,’ one of Aesop’s fables (sixth century B.C.), doesn’t necessarily strike a younger person as promising — possibly it has a whiff of morality in it,” says Yiyun Li, 53, the author of “A Thousand Years of Good Prayers” (2005) and “Dear Friend, From My Life I Write to You in Your Life” (2017). “But the longer I live and work, the more I understand that it’s the tortoiseness in a person that carries one along, not the swiftness of the mind and body of the hare.”
The Myth of Magic
“Ancient magical tales like Homer’s ‘Odyssey’ (late eighth to early seventh century B.C.) were allegories of transformation, of secret teachings,” says Okri, “whereas modern forms of magic are narrative devices and tropes of storytelling that continue the child’s wonder of life. I think of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘The Great Gatsby’ (1925), Gabriel García Márquez’s ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ (1967) and, again, the ‘Harry Potter’ books. The intuition of magic persists even in these atheistic and science-infested times, where nothing is to be believed if it can’t be subjected to analysis. This is perhaps because the ultimate magic confronts us every day in the mystery of consciousness. That we can see anything is magical; that we experience love is magical; and perhaps the most magical thing of all is the imagination’s unending power to alter the contents and coordinates of reality. It hides tenaciously in the act of reading, which is the most generative act of magic.”
The Myth of the Immortal Soul
“ ‘The soul is birthless and eternal, imperishable and timeless and is not destroyed when the body is destroyed,’ says Krishna in the ‘Bhagavad Gita’ (second century-first century B.C.). This belief in the immortality of the soul — what used to be called Pythagoreanism in ancient Greece — is still the most pervasive myth in India,” says Taseer, “and has more influence over behavior and how one lives one’s life than any other.”
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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