“I went back to Ohio, but my city was gone.” So lamented Chrissie Hynde in the Pretenders’ hit song about her home state. Hanif Abdurraqib’s feelings for the Buckeye State are far more complex. “People I love have marched out of Ohio with an eye towards the coasts, towards the south,” he writes in his latest book, There’s Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension (Random House, March 26). Abdurraqib, on the other hand, decided to stay. In his questing and free-form memoir—which made our list of the best nonfiction books of 2024—the MacArthur grant-winning poet and essayist delves into his decision to establish roots in his native Columbus. The book also tackles themes of belonging and grief. Divided into four quarters, like a basketball game, the book dips in and out of the author’s affection for hoops legend LeBron James—an Ohio hero who famously left the state. Abdurraqib answered the questions below by email.

What was the original idea that started you working on the book?

Originally, I was interested in documenting Ohio in the era of LeBron James’ youth, which was also an era of my youth, particularly because so few of those moments feel real to me. They largely register as dreams. And so, I set out to write a book that could decode and demystify a past that I felt I largely floated through. In that process, the book became about time, about letting go, and about holding on.

What inspired you during the writing of the book? What were you reading, listening to, watching?

I spent a lot of time watching old, grainy high school basketball clips, from players who were superstars in my world. Most of the things I let guide me during the writing of the book were tied to Columbus, and Ohio. Reminders of people who had, in my own world, made it. Became stars in the small container of a world that meant a lot to me. I was grateful to find so much archival footage, which made it easier to reconstruct memories and properly shape them.

Where and when did you write the book? Describe the scene, the time of day, the necessary accoutrements or talismans.

I have a small office, with a messy desk, where I write. I’m not particular about time of day or any strict processes. I write when it feels good. I have a couple crystals on my desk that I like. I don’t know, I’m never really good at this kind of answer, it all looks and feels the same to me, but I will say that I probably do my best writing after a run, and after a nice shower. There’s a two-hour window where I think I’m at my best, and then I kind of lose the magic.

What was most challenging about writing this book? And most rewarding?

As always, I think the most challenging thing about writing any book, or anything for me, is that my dreams for the work are limitless, but my real, actual abilities have limits. And so, the work inside of the work is attempting to build a bridge that gets me close to what I’ve dreamed. As close as possible. I had longed dreamed this book, its shape and structure. I found early on that I was being governed by its structure (the countdown clock, the quarters) and not governed by attempts to build beautiful language around the structure. I had to fight to find a balance that worked, but once I did, once I unlocked the kind of perfect marriage of structure and language, I felt somewhat strangely invincible, like I could write anything.

What book or books published in 2024 were among your favorites?

Modern Poetry by Diane Seuss, What Good Is Heaven by Raye Hendrix, Ten Bridges I’ve Burnt by Brontez Purnell, Deviant by Patrick Grace, Your Dazzling Death by Cass Donish.

John McMurtrie is the nonfiction editor.