Book Markers 10.08.15

Books, Drinks, Authors

The John Jermain Memorial Library’s annual fund-raiser and capital campaign — there’s one heck of an ongoing expansion going on, if you haven’t noticed — is called One for the Books! This year’s will happen on Saturday and again on Oct. 17 at 15 residences across and around Sag Harbor in the form of 6 to 8 p.m. cocktail parties, each centered on a particular book with its author in attendance. Tickets cost $100.

If we might skip the inevitable laundry list, JohnJermain.org has the complete rundown, including a couple of sellouts — sold-out parties, that is. For what it’s worth, Katie Marton and “Paris: A Love Story” and Kate Betts and “My Paris Dream” are available for the 10th, and the 17th still offers Alan Furst and “Midnight in Europe” as well as Michael Shnayerson and “The Contender,” his biography of Gov. Andrew Cuomo. Among, as they say, others.

Open House at the College

First up on Wednesday at Stony Brook Southampton is an open house for its M.F.A. program in creative writing and literature at 5:30 p.m. In Chancellors Hall, Julie Sheehan, a poet and the director of the program, will join other faculty members in detailing the various workshops across genres, the possibility of combining Manhattan and Southampton programs, and the yearlong Children’s Lit Fellows program.

Can’t pry yourself from the keyboard? There’ll be an online information session on Oct. 20, for which you can pave the way by sending an email with “online info session” in the subject line to RSVP_MFA@ stonybrook.edu. A link and logging-on instructions will be sent back atcha.

And then later on Wednesday is the Writers Speak gab fest, also in Chancellors Hall, this week bringing the college’s Roger Rosenblatt, who has on the way a new novel, “Thomas Murphy,” about an aging poet. At 7 p.m. he’ll be in conversation with the editor of The Kenyon Review, David Lynn, a man who has edited Mr. Rosenblatt’s work before. (Which calls to mind Mary Norris’s experiences with John Updike’s prose at The New Yorker: It needn’t be touched.)