An Exclusive First Look at Julie Buntin’s Famous Men, One of the Most Anticipated Novels of 2026
“He doesn’t remember me, but I know who he is.” So begins Famous Men, Julie Buntin’s upcoming novel—her first since her acclaimed 2017 debut, Marlena, became a darling of the literary world, earning finalist slots for both the Center for Fiction First Novel Prize and the National Book Critics Circle Leonard Prize. But the “he” in Famous Men’s opening line is not, in fact, the famous decades-older poet with whom the narrator eventually becomes entangled. Instead, he’s a would-be biographer, who’s equally intrigued by the famous man himself.
Buntin’s narrator is Wilhelmina “Will” Miles, a girl born and raised in Greening, Michigan, where she learns that the aforementioned poet—Nathaniel Fellow—also grew up in Greening and attended Rosendale Academy, where Will’s mother now works in the campus cafeteria. When a 14-year-old Will comes upon his old poems in The Rosendale Literary Review, she falls in love: not with him, but with what his writing portends. The poems provide Will an escape from an increasingly unstable life at home, where the eyes of her mother’s boyfriend seem to always be upon her. A nasty post-party rumor about Will soon makes life at school equally untenable, and she begins to dream of leaving Greening and tracking down her absent father. He himself might be a famous man. He might be Nathaniel Fellow.
But when Will does eventually land in New York City, where Nathaniel leads a coveted writing workshop, she finds not a father but an opportunity. As his assistant, her future blooms open: She not only has access to his credit card but also to the insulated world of writers that has made him a star. She wants more than anything to become one of them; all she has to do to make that happen, it seems, is whatever Nathaniel wants. And if what Nathaniel wants ultimately gets Will what she wants, who’s really in control?
These “friction-y, messy” questions, as Buntin puts them, first came to the author in a disorganized tangle as she was attending the MacDowell artists’ residency in the summer of 2019. “I was kind of choking,” Buntin says. “I was really struggling to write. My studio was in the woods, and it overlooked this kind of expanse of nothingness, and it had this giant window. I would be sitting in front of this window, where my desk was, with my light on, knowing that anybody who walked by would be able to see me. I had that eerie familiar feeling that, I think, every woman has had in her life of, ‘Who can see me when I think I’m safe?’”


To distract herself from this creeping sensation, she turned to books, and particularly to the work of Philip Roth. Reading