George Michelsen Foy

George Michelsen Foy is the author of one non-fiction book and co-author of another. He has published twelve novels, some under a pseudonym. He has been an investigative reporter, writer, and/or editor for BusinessWeek, the International Herald Tribune, the Cape Cod Times, and the Register, and his articles, reviews, and stories have been published by Rolling Stone, The Boston Globe, Harper’s, and Men’s Journal. He has also held jobs as tunnel laborer, shipping clerk, merchant seaman and forklift operator. He was educated at the London School of Economics and Bennington College, and teaches creative writing at New York University. He lives in coastal Massachusetts with his wife, two children, and one Maine coon cat.

Books by this Author

Have our noise-soaked lives driven us mad? And is absolute silence an impossible goal—or the one thing that can save us? A lively tale of one man’s quest to find the grail of total quiet.---“ I don’t know at what point noise became intolerable for me,” George Michelsen Foy writes as he recalls standing on a subway platform in Manhattan, hands clamped firmly over his ears, face contorted in pain. But only then does Foy realize how overwhelmed he is by the city’s noise and vow to seek out absolute...

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My Life in 8 Words

Author Revealed

Q. What is your motto or maxim?

A. if not here, where? if not now, when?

Q. If you could meet any historical character, who would it be and what would you say to him or her?

A. Adolf Hitler.
"Seriously, Adolf, you're a wonderful house painter, keep at it."

Q. What trait is most noticeable about you?

A. I listen. Most people don't. Which doesn't mean I'm always interested, but I do listen.

Q. What do you regret most?

A. Not having gone on to Jalalabad when I was in Afghanistan (under the Russians) with the Mujahideen

Q. How would you describe perfect happiness?

A. Nonexistent past the age of 7. But later, if you find work that both satisfies you and somehow contributes to the balance of the world; if you have people to love, who love you back; if you love yourself sufficiently but not too much; contentment can land, unexpectedly and briefly, like a buttefly alighting on your shoulder.
It doesn't hurt, either, if at the same time you are outside sipping a beer in the sun on the first real day of spring.

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