In 1977, when he was 28, James Atlas published his first book, a biography of the poet Delmore Schwartz, and was stunned to receive a congratulatory letter from Philip Roth. He had been moved by the tragic story it told.Thus began a friendship that lasted, with a few intervals, until his death. He was living in rural Connecticut then, having exiled himself from the literary noise of Manhattan in order to focus on his work, and was on his own. He invited Atlas to come visit, which he did - the first of numerous pilgrimages to the Roth homestead. They remained close for nearly two decades, reading each other's work, wandering the streets of the West Side - he had an apartment on Atlas's block - and commiserating about the solitary rigors of the writer's life. Atlas helped Roth with The Ghost Writer; Roth helped Atlas learn how to live. The snag came when Roth suggested Atlas write the biography of Saul Bellow, and then became unhappy with the result, a book that was sympathetic but also tough - perhaps at times too tough - on its subject. Bellow had become his literary hero. They drifted apart, though toward the end of his life they were both thinking about whether Atlas should write his biography. In the end, they both decided it wasn't a good idea, but Atlas always knew he would write about him someday. Funny, brilliant, raucous, tender, he was the most charismatic person Atlas ever knew. Remembering Roth is his valedictory.