Like her first book, a memoir called Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created the World’s Most Dangerous Man, Mary L. Trump’s latest, Who Could Ever Love You: A Family Memoir (St. Martin’s, Sept. 10), arrives in an election year.  Though the two books cover some of the same material, and both earned Kirkus stars, the difference between them is apparent from their covers. The first depicts the grinning face of an adolescent Donald Trump; the second features a childhood snapshot of Mary, backed up against a chain-link fence. Mary, who holds graduate degrees in literature and in clinical psychology, spoke to us over Zoom from her home office in Manhattan about her books and her evolution as a writer. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

What motivated you to write this follow-up?

Originally, because I owed St. Martin’s a book. I was working on a novel, but they weren’t interested—with election season coming up, it wasn’t the time. Despite the fact that I’ve now written three nonfiction books, as a writer, nonfiction is not really my thing. Then it occurred to me that I did not get to write the book I wanted to write the first time around.  

Because it focused on Donald?

Yes. That was the book that needed to be written. Although the book was embargoed for months before publication, Donald became aware of it shortly before it was out. He went to court to prevent it from being published. He managed to prevent me from speaking about it for two weeks after publication, but that was it. That September, I sued my family for fraud relating to the distribution of my grandfather’s estate. Donald countersued for $100 million. My suit against my family was dismissed after three years. Donald’s suit is proceeding.

So this time you changed the angle—including material that had been left on the cutting room floor?

Yes. I had family stories left to tell. And I hoped to correct some of the assumptions people make about me, imagining I had a glorious childhood and very supportive parents.

As we learn, that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, you’re still in trauma therapy stemming from the negligent way your mother handled your childhood asthma. When you struggled to breathe at night, she would have you climb into bed with her, putting off getting help until the situation was dire.

Yes, in some ways I’m still trapped in that room, unable to breathe.

Did you struggle with depicting your dead mother in such a negative light?

Mother is alive.

Oh, gosh, I just assumed…so she might read this book?

We haven’t spoken since 2019, so I have no idea. You’re right that it was not easy to tell this story, but I believe I was fair.

If you’re estranged from your mom, and your father died when you were just 16, how do you know all the stories about your parents’ early lives and marriage?

I got most of them from my mother, a long time ago. Interestingly, my dad, who many people have told me was a phenomenal storyteller, never told me any stories. By the time I knew him, the person he actually was—the commercial pilot, the WASP from Queens who became the first non-Jewish member of Sigma Alpha Mu fraternity, the guy who flew his friends out to Montauk in his Piper Cherokee for weekends of clambakes and deep-sea fishing—didn’t exist anymore.

Because of his alcoholism?

More because his family, especially his father, completely destroyed him.

You revisit in the new book the painful questions you have about his death.

When I went to say goodbye to my father the day before I left for boarding school, my grandmother told me he wasn’t home—but also wouldn’t let me in the house. Three weeks later, I learned over the phone that he had died.

The very first time he was brought to the hospital was the day he died, though he was very, very ill for a long time before that. They just didn’t do anything about it. When he finally did go to the hospital, nobody went with him. I still wonder, did he ask for me? If they had called me, I could have been there.

Those scenes are very moving.

In this book I feel I’ve gotten closer to the kind of writing I have always wanted to do. I’ve always wanted to be a novelist, and one of my goals here was to make this as novelistic as possible while still telling the truth.

There are certainly hard truths to tell. For example, you refer to being repeatedly sexually abused when you were 4 years old by the teenage son of your day care provider.

One of the good things about having complex post-traumatic stress disorder is that I disassociate. I don’t feel much of anything about my past. My trauma therapist would have you know that’s not a good thing.

Another horrible thing is the unsigned letter that was sent to your mother when you were in fifth grade, which inspired the title of the book. It was a terribly cruel letter, penned by a schoolmate but clearly with adult assistance. Do you still have this letter?

No. If it exists, my mother would have it. But while I couldn’t reproduce it verbatim, I remember it like it was yesterday. It was my first piece of hate mail, and I didn’t know if it was written by someone I knew, possibly even someone I considered a friend. It put me in a complete tailspin; it made me question everything. The real kicker is that my mother thought I needed to know about it.

Your brother, Fred Trump III, has also written a book, All in the Family. Did he have similar experiences?

I wouldn’t know because I have no interest in reading it.

But I saw that you defended him against an attack from Eric Trump.

My brother has always struggled to support his disabled son, and Eric lied about the circumstances that required Fred to ask the family for money. My brother would have been able to take care of his son just fine if the tens of millions of dollars that should have come to him from the estate had been distributed. So, whatever my differences with Fred, I was deeply offended by what Eric did.

Do you have any idea if Fred or other family members have read your books?

That also is not of interest to me. Though if I had to guess, I’d bet [my aunt] Maryanne read them obsessively.

What’s next for you?

Part of me hopes that this is the last nonfiction book. Right after this election is over, I’d like to go to a beach somewhere and write a novel.

How about a YA novel about a little girl with asthma?

It’s interesting you say that—a friend of mine suggested that the first three sections of this book could be the basis of a graphic young adult novel. I love that idea. In fact, I’ve already started.

How are you feeling about the election?

I don’t want to get ahead of things, but I'm feeling hopeful for the first time in a very long time. But we need to be vigilant, and if the Harris campaign calls, I’m entirely at their disposal.

Marion Winik hosts NPR’s The Weekly Reader podcast.