I am essentially a scavenger. I use bits and pieces wherever I find them. The way a bird builds a nest: Twigs are nice, but that piece of string looks good, too! And there's some crumpled-up foil! My first two novels, Alice in Bed and To The Birdhouse, were autobiographical. But since then, I scavenge from my own life no more than I do from my friends', from a stranger whose story I overhear on a plane, from a character in another book.

In The Three Weissmanns of Westport, I was interested in seeing how Jane Austen's charcters from Sense and Sensibility would translate into modern times and, a far more radical change, into middle- and old-age.

Q. The Three Weissmanns of Westport feels "light" though the events are not light in themselves. Was it any easier to write than any of your previous books?

I don't know if light is the way I would characterize the book, but I'm certainly glad it's not heavy! Writing gives me a lot of joy, and I hope that comes through to the reader. There is an absurd aspect to most parts of life that appeals to me, and I tend to look at the comic side of that rather than the tragic. I think that may be what you're responding to.

Q. Many of your characters are well-off spendthrifts. Only Annie takes fiscal responsibility, or tries to. What's your inspiration for that leitmotif? America? Your own family, friends? (Or Jane Austen?)

Well, certainly the sudden loss of wealth for a woman is something Jane Austen wrote about in Sense and Sensibility. It is the catalyst of all that follows in the novel. And I wanted to write about that sudden loss of financial security for women as our world knows it. Which is divorce. Of course women of my generation and those younger than I am are better prepared for taking care of themselves than women of my mother's generation, but I know so many women like Betty, older, thinking they are financially comfortable if they think of money at all, and then being suddenly shoved off a financial cliff by divorce.

I've always liked to write about how people absorb cataclysmic change. What interests me is not so much how people change, but how they manage to stay the same, to retain their personalities, with all their faults, and still adapt.

Q. I liked the mother's wryness and black humor. Is she the kind of "older woman" you'd aim to be?

Betty survives through cheerful denial and humor. I would love to be like that, but I whine and sulk too much.

Q. This isn't your first novel that takes off from a well-known piece of literature. Is that constraint somehow freeing for you? Does it give you a bare outline to begin with?

In this case it did give me a bare outline, but even more than that, it was almost like having the most intimate conversation with Sense and Sensibility. I don't find the experience either freeing or constraining, really. But I do find it fascinating.

Q. I responded deeply to your empty nest (sub)-theme. Comments?

I promised myself I would never write about my children. It seemed so unfair to them. I wanted to protect them, little monsters that they were. So one of the great pleasures of writing this book was writing about little Henry. He wasn't based on my kids, who are now in their twenties, but writing about him brought back the sweetest memories. The empty nest is full of sweet nostalgia, I find.

Q. Does time sort of stop for you when you're writing? Ever, always, when, how? Changes over the years?

Yes, time does stop when I'm actually writing. The procrastination is another thing altogether. I need a good eight hours to get four hours of writing done. And I need an empty day to do that. I used to be able to write anywhere, anytime, on tiny scraps of paper, on napkins at restaurants. But now I find I need space on all sides, time and space. I need to daydream, I guess.

• Cathleen Schine's website and blog.
• Her publisher's site features a reading group guide, excerpt, and audio interview with Schine.

(c) Copyright 2011 by Susan K. Perry