When people hear about my novel Lush—which follows a group of sommeliers traveling to the south of France to taste one of the oldest bottles of wine in existence—they often ask me, “Why sommeliers?” It’s a fair question. Sommeliers are rarely the stars of fiction. These intellectuals of the service world, with their poetic tasting notes and reverence for terroir, are more often background figures than protagonists. Yet to me, they are natural narrators—bridging history, geography, and emotion in a single swirl of a glass.
But perhaps the better question is: Why wine?
I no longer drink, but while writing Lush, I drank a great deal—buckets, even (or more honestly, boxes). Like many during the pandemic, I became my own sommelier, pouring a glass and crafting fantasies of all the things wine makes possible: seduction, confidence, catharsis—an evening suffused with a certain glow you only fully see in retrospect.
Wine is many things: a celebration, a crutch, a portal. It can open hearts or break them. It can cover a wound or cause it. At its best, it’s a storyteller. At its worst, a deceiver. It is, in short, my favorite drug—complex, romantic, and ruthlessly intoxicating.
Here are eight books that inspired me during the writing of Lush or celebrate the richness of wine in literature, both literally and metaphorically:
1. In Vino Duplicitas by Peter Hellman
This real-life thriller explores the rise and fall of Rudy Kurniawan, a young wine con artist who infiltrated elite circles and swindled collectors out of millions. Kurniawan, “the rare Asian among older white males,” was both admired and alienated—his outsider status arguably part of why his deception succeeded. Hellman’s book is a compelling look into how the wine world thrives on charm, illusion, and exclusivity. It deeply influenced Lush, especially its themes of perception versus reality.
2. Chloe Marr by A.A. Milne
In this underappreciated novel by the creator of Winnie-the-Pooh, characters use wine to navigate the sticky social fabric of upper-class London life. Wine becomes a conversational lubricant, a tool of seduction, and a symbol of class identity. Milne uses it to reveal the affectations and insecurities behind genteel manners.
3. Tristessa by Jack Kerouac
This slim novella, based on one of Kerouac’s doomed love affairs, is soaked in addiction. The narrator drinks constantly—his own intoxication rendering Tristessa’s morphine habit almost beautiful. Wine, here, softens the harshness of life on the edge. It makes chaos seem lyrical, addiction seem poetic.
4. Exciting Times by Naoise Dolan
Wine and wit flow in equal measure in this sharp debut about modern relationships, class, and emotional detachment. The protagonist often drinks as a way to disassociate, to blunt emotion and delay confrontation. Dolan captures how alcohol can masquerade as sophistication even while enabling evasion.
5. Supper Club by Lara Williams
This darkly witty novel is about women eating—and drinking—without apology. Wine flows at the titular supper clubs, fueling both rebellion and self-reclamation. Williams explores how alcohol can be part of empowerment or complicity, depending on how and why we reach for it.
6. The Wine-Dark Sea by Leonardo Sciascia
Set in Sicily, this short story collection references wine not just as drink, but as metaphor for the slow violence and beauty of the island itself. Wine becomes emblematic of tradition, resistance, and buried truths. Sciascia writes like a sommelier tastes—every note layered and resonant.
7. The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy
This cult classic follows a young American woman indulging in love, art, and plenty of wine in 1950s Paris. It’s fizzy, funny, and endearingly chaotic. Wine here is a passport—part of the aesthetic of bohemia, youth, and ill-advised choices.
8. After Claude by Iris Owens
A deliciously acerbic novel in which a woman drinks copious amounts of wine while railing against her ex and dissecting the absurdities of 1970s New York. Wine is her constant companion, her armor and weapon. Owens writes with savage clarity about the ways alcohol can facilitate both truth-telling and delusion.
Each of these books showcases a different facet of wine: a con, a crutch, a seduction, a statement. As I wrote Lush, I found myself chasing those same emotional layers—how wine speaks to longing, reinvention, and the allure of escape. These stories reminded me that wine, like literature, is never just about what’s in the glass. It’s about what you taste when you look back.
