David Adams

It’s late morning in Tecopa, Calif., population 120, a busted mining town on the edge of Death Valley in the Mojave Desert and home to novelist Claire Vaye Watkins. The Amargosa River, an underground waterway that traces a J-shaped curve through the Mojave, surfaces nearby, blessing Tecopa with wetlands and natural hot springs. Watkins, who’s taking a break from filming a documentary about the Amargosa, plans to be in her favorite spring this afternoon, on camera.

On an overcast afternoon the week before Thanksgiving, the Mexican writer Álvaro Enrigue was sitting on a bench in Central Park. Joggers dressed in Dri-Fit toddled by in pairs, like ducks out for a swim. Enrigue, who lives in Harlem, was wearing the uniform of a different vocation: black turtleneck sweater, gray herringbone trousers, statement frames. Literary novelist, genus Borgesian.

On an overcast afternoon the week before Thanksgiving, the Mexican writer Álvaro Enrigue was sitting on a bench in Central Park. Joggers dressed in Dri-Fit toddled by in pairs, like ducks out for a swim. Enrigue, who lives in Harlem, was wearing the uniform of a different vocation: black turtleneck sweater, gray herringbone trousers, statement frames. Literary novelist, genus Borgesian.