The concept of the literary power couple—two writers sharing a life where their personal and creative spheres intertwine—remains a compelling archetype. Stepping into this spotlight are novelist Marlon James and biographer Nicholas Boggs, both of whom have recently secured spots on shortlists for some of the UK’s most prestigious literary prizes. Their private and creative worlds entwined, each becoming witness to and critic of the other’s work, two writers sharing a life.
James, the 55-year-old Jamaican-born author whose 2015 novel A Brief History of Seven Killings previously claimed the Booker prize, finds himself once again in contention for this year’s award with his latest work, The Disappearers. Across his fiction, James has repeatedly excavated Jamaica’s histories of violence and political upheaval, from his debut 2005 novel John Crow’s Devil (famously rejected 78 times by publishers), to the gang warfare and state corruption of A Brief History of Seven Killings, which made him the first Jamaican to win the Booker prize.
The book is a dense, dark exploration of homophobia and the brutality characterizing the Aids era. Meanwhile, his partner of nearly nine years, 53-year-old Nicholas Boggs, has been shortlisted for the Baillie Gifford prize for his debut, Baldwin: A Love Story. This biography, based on two decades of meticulous research, delves into the intimate life and creative process of James Baldwin. “The Baillie Gifford’s a prize I know well,” James says. “So when Nick was on the shortlist, I knew what a big deal it was. Boggs remembers James’s reaction when the nonfiction shortlist was announced on 1 October. “His eyes got very wide. James, for his part, didn’t know Boggs was a writer prior to their first meeting. He picked up Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room for the first time when he was 50. “The first thing I thought was I could never have read this at 20,” he says. “I was so in the closet.”.
Reflecting on the “literary power couple” label, James remains somewhat uncertain. “I’m not sure what to do with it,” he says, joking about romanticizing their status as a pair of writers. “I have all these romantic notions that we were like Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne or something.” Boggs, laughing, notes that the experience is entirely new to them as they navigate their growing public profile. Think Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre, Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne.
The pair, who have been together since 2018 and moved into their shared Brooklyn apartment less than a year ago, describe a relationship that began quite mundanely. After matching on a dating app when both were in their 40s, they discovered they were living only three blocks apart. Their courtship progressed steadily; James playfully recalls an early date at Buckingham Palace, lightheartedly claiming they once shared a moment in the queen’s bathroom. Or, less auspiciously, Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. The fashionable writerly enclave in Brooklyn, and I am sitting across from the pair at their apartment, it is a warm October morning in Williamsburg. Looking comfortable enough to have been there all morning, they are relaxing on a chaise longue. Full of small corrections and private jokes, their exchanges have the easy rhythm of a long relationship. Until they reunited when James invited Boggs to a Booker anniversary event in the capital, the relationship developed “healthily slowly” over a summer spent apart while Boggs was teaching in London. “Our third date was at Buckingham Palace,” James says, with a faux shrug. “I try to keep it classy, you know, gotta impress him. But the worlds they each came from – and the experiences that inform their writing – are markedly different, their relationship may have brought them into the same orbit. “It was Yoran saying, ‘I’m alive, I’m in Paris, come on over, I have many stories to tell you about Jimmy,’” Boggs recalls. “That was 23 years ago, and it began a realisation that there were these untold stories in Baldwin’s life that needed to be unearthed.”. Away from the scrutiny of family and friends in Jamaica, he only began to build a more comfortable queer identity after moving to Minneapolis to teach in 2007.
Their home reflects their shared intellectual passions. They keep an original 1938 painting by Harlem Renaissance artist Beauford Delaney beneath their bed, which James acquired after his 2015 Booker win. The painting, which Boggs affectionately dubbed “Booker,” features prominently in his biography of Baldwin, who considered Delaney a key mentor. It stands alongside a similarly imposing gorilla, bought by James after his 2015 Booker win and christened “Booker” by Boggs.
Despite their shared success, their origins and the influences shaping their writing differ significantly. Boggs grew up in Washington DC as the son of a civil rights attorney and became immersed in Baldwin’s work early on. His biography was sparked by a 1994 connection with Yoran Porath, a friend of Baldwin’s, which began a two-decade journey of discovery. He came across a reference in a 1994 biography to an out-of-print children’s book by Baldwin, illustrated by a French artist, Yoran Cazac, while studying the writer at college.
James, conversely, writes from a history shaped by rampant homophobia. Growing up in 1980s Kingston, he faced consistent alienation as a gay youth in a conservative environment. His fiction frequently excavates Jamaica’s history of political upheaval and violence. For The Disappearers, James spent years interviewing nearly 20 people to verify historical incidents that had haunted him since his youth. Both writers view their work as a necessary response to the gaps in history, specifically aiming to recover marginalized Black queer stories. In the classroom he was “the school homo”; at church, he tried to become straight, growing up gay and closeted in 1980s Kingston.
Their collaboration is remarkably seamless, driven by an intense mutual interest in one another’s creative thinking. “Just to be alive is wonderful,” Boggs remarks, reflecting on a sentiment he and James share as men who grew up in the shadow of the Aids crisis, often feeling that a future was not guaranteed. “We lost so many great artists, gay artists. So there’s a certain kind of responsibility to telling those stories. There are so many that still need to be told.” Crowded with art by African American and queer artists, from intimate, often erotic photography to paintings, its walls form something of a shrine to their work and interests. As Boggs points out with a laugh, “it’s really just the horse’s ass, isn’t it, a monumental horse sculpture dominates the room – or.
James maintains a strong sense of optimism despite his grim subject matter. “I’ve never lost faith in the reader,” he says. Recent critical reception has bolstered that outlook, including a highly favorable review in the New York Times, which left James in disbelief. Even as they manage the pressures of literary prestige, the two remain grounded in their mutual support, with Boggs noting that regardless of the accolades, the process of navigating these awards remains a constant, pleasant surprise.
