Michael Greenberg. Beg, Borrow, Steal: A Writer’s Life. New York: Other Press, 2009. 240 pages.

Longtime fans of Doctor Who, the British sci-fi tv classic, talk about watching it “from behind the sofa.” Scared out of their wits by the Doctor’s horrifying adversaries like the Daleks, Cybermen, or Autons (but definitely not the Myrka) they nevertheless couldn’t tear themselves away from the screen. Too frightening to watch, but too intriguing to walk away from.

That’s the feeling that an aspiring writer might get reading Michael Greenberg’s Beg, Borrow, Steal. On one hand, the writing is very, very good. On the other, it isn’t exactly paint a hopeful pictures to would-be scribes: Greenberg had some pretty rough times before achieving widespread popularity, and his constant references to his unpublished novel are a reminder of the aura of failure that pervades the life of a writer whose work isn’t read.

The book is a collection of essays Greenberg wrote for the Times Literary Supplement, and they chiefly cover his adventures in New York City, though he reflects back to a stint in Argentina. Greenberg has three modes: reminiscences of his lean days in the 1970s and 1980s, recollections of failed or sub-par writing gigs, and explorations of the city itself, including a ride with a train operator and a visit to a polyamory group.

I’d expect that two groups of people would be interested in Beg, Borrow, Steal: New Yorkers (and those fascinated by New York) and writers (and those fascinated by writing). Greenberg’s New York is a magical cornucopia of people and adventure, gritty and erudite at the same time, at least in the left-leaning intellectual circles that are Greenberg’s natural home. But for people who consider New York just another city (like this reviewer), his writing on writing is ample reason to read this book. It’s illuminating but at the same time extremely discouraging to read that a guy as obviously talented as Greenberg has had such trouble getting his work published. But there’s also hope: after all, you’re reading about his travails, so he was successful.

My favorite essay might be the one about his writing a script for a golf documentary. He’s never played golf and is apparently indifferent to it. Yet he delivers a script full of passion and love. I won’t spoil the punchline, but it could be the epigram for a guide to writing creative non-fiction.

Like I said before, this book will delight New Yorkers and be at once a cautionary tale and inspiration to writers and those empathetic to them. At times you might want to forget about ever putting two words together again, but you won’t be able to stop reading.