Soon after Kingsley Amis (1922-1995) published his first novel, "Lucky Jim," in 1954, he became an object of literary and journalistic scrutiny. This attention would continue until his last days, four decades and forty books later. "Conversations with Kingsley Amis" includes both the first and last interviews Amis gave. Celebrated by reviewers and critics for his wit and irreverence, Amis rose to the occasion whenever interviewed. His clever and common-sense views covered everything from the state of the novel and current intellectual trends to the circumstances of his domestic life.

Not many writers can hold the interest of inquisitors from both "Penthouse" and the "Economist" as Amis does. Not many writers, for that matter, articulate views worth recording on sexual relations, about which Amis is something of a failed expert, and on the modern university, about which he could claim a greater authority. English periodicals of all varieties sought out Amis for his opinions on culture, both high and low. Along the way, Amis also entertained literary interrogators from the "Paris Review" and other journals, including talks with a number of distinguished men of letters such as Clive James, Michael Barber, and John Mortimer.

In novel after award-winning novel, Don DeLillo (b. 1936) exhibits his deep distrust of language and the way it can conceal as much as it reveals. Not surprisingly, DeLillo treats interviews with the same care and caution. For years, he shunned them altogether. As his fiction grew in popularity, especially with "White Noise," and he began to confront the historical record of our times in books such as "Libra," DeLillo felt compelled to make himself available to his readers. Despite claims by interviewers about his elusiveness, he now hides in plain sight.

In "Conversations with Don DeLillo," the renowned author makes clear his distinctions between historical fact and his own creative leaps, especially in his masterwork, "Underworld." There it seems the true events are unbelievable and imaginary ones not. Throughout long profiles and conversations-ranging from 1982 to 2001 and published in the "New Yorker," the "Paris Review," and "Rolling Stone"-DeLillo parries personal inquiries. He counters with the details of his work habits, his understanding of the novelist's role in the world, and his sense of our media-saturated culture. A number of interviews detail DeLillo's less-heralded work in the theater, from "The Day Room" to a recent production of "Valparaiso," itself a stinging satire on the interviewing process.

DeLillo also finds time to comment on his nonliterary passions, primarily the movies and baseball. Lee Harvey Oswald also inspires much extraliterary discussion, not just as the subject of "Libra," but as a figure who, like the terrorists always lurking in DeLillo's fictions, captures our attention in ways novelists cannot. For DeLillo, a writer who eschews celebrity, the ultimate response might be the one he offered in his very first interview, paraphrasing Joyce: "Silence, exile, cunning, and so on. It's my nature to keep quiet about most things." Fortunately for his many readers and fans, he proves himself here to be a talker.

Thomas DePietro is an independent scholar based in Eastchester, New York. His work has been published in "Kirkus Reviews," the "Hudson Review," "Commonweal," and other periodicals.