How to Read Nonfiction Like a Professor: A Smart, Irreverent Guide to Biography, History, Journalism, Blogs, and Everything in Between

John McPhee is a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and long-form nonfiction writer whose meticulous craftsmanship and humility make him the central model for Foster’s conception of ethical nonfiction. Foster describes McPhee as “almost certainly our greatest thinker about writing nonfiction” (80). He represents the disciplined balance between structure and substance that Foster hopes readers will recognize and writers will emulate.

McPhee’s influence is apparent throughout How to Read Nonfiction Like a Professor, particularly in Foster’s discussions of structure. Works such as Draft No. 4: On the Writing Process and Basin and Range exemplify the deliberate architecture that underpins McPhee’s clear, trustworthy nonfiction. Foster admires how McPhee treats organization not as a constraint but as an instrument of meaning, showing that structure shapes readers’ understanding as much as content. McPhee’s method (deep research, precise prose, and deference to his subjects) illustrates the intellectual humility that Foster identifies as essential to credibility.

Beyond technique, McPhee embodies the moral stance that Foster advocates. His focus on accuracy and restraint contrasts sharply with the sensationalism of “new journalism” and the self-promotion of digital-era writing. Foster cites McPhee’s works as examples that demonstrate how authority in nonfiction arises not from ego but from rigor, empathy, and earned trust. Through McPhee, Foster defines the ethical core of nonfiction as the writer’s responsibility to pursue truth with clarity, discipline, and respect for reality.

The digital media complex (a term encompassing platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, Snapchat, and Wikipedia) functions in Foster’s book as both a subject and an antagonist. Rather than treating these platforms as neutral, Foster personifies them as actors in the erosion of truth, describing them as “amoral” and driven by traffic rather than accuracy. In his satirical imagining, they occupy a “special circle of Hell […] reserved for deliberate misinformers” (259). This blend of humor and moral indictment underscores Foster’s belief that technology itself is not evil but that the systems built upon it incentivize misinformation.

Foster traces the digital media complex to its roots in the democratization of information: “[W]hen Wikipedia […] empowered anyone […] it started us down a dark road” (255). The web’s openness, he argues, destroyed traditional gatekeeping while failing to replace it with ethical standards. Social media algorithms, designed to maximize engagement, prioritize outrage, spectacle, and confirmation bias. By calling attention to these structural forces, Foster expands his argument about critical literacy beyond the printed page to the screens that dominate modern life.

Within the book’s broader framework, the digital media complex represents the ultimate test of readers’ discernment. In an age where “truth and lie look exactly alike” (246), Foster urges readers to “[a]ct like an editor” and question motives, verify claims, and resist manipulation (248). These platforms, though powerful, become moral proving grounds for vigilant readers.

Foster’s discussion of corporate and political mis-informers situates deception not merely in individuals but in institutions that manipulate information for power or profit. He identifies entities such as big tobacco and big energy as prime examples, citing Naomi Oreskes and Erik Conway’s Merchants of Doubt to demonstrate how corporations have “sown confusion” on issues ranging from smoking-related illnesses to climate change. These organizations embody deliberate, systemic falsehoods: campaigns designed to obscure scientific evidence and delay their accountability to the public.

Foster extends this critique to political disinformation, highlighting coordinated efforts by governments, media outlets, and partisan operatives to distort the truth. Examples include the Russian interference campaign during the 2016 US presidential election, as well as domestic propaganda efforts like “Pizzagate” and election-related misinformation. By linking corporate deceit and political manipulation, Foster portrays a unified ecosystem of bad-faith communication that thrives in the absence of critical literacy.

The presence of these actors underscores the moral and civic urgency of Foster’s project. Their strategies (fabricating data, exploiting digital algorithms, and weaponizing public trust) represent the ultimate corruption of nonfiction’s purpose. In Foster’s view, confronting these forces requires skepticism without cynicism and vigilance without despair. In exposing how misinformation circulates from boardrooms to newsfeeds, he challenges readers to recognize that truth in modern culture is not self-sustaining and must be actively defended by every reader.

Throughout How to Read Nonfiction Like a Professor, Foster draws on a diverse range of books and authors to illustrate his central principles. These recurring examples (biographies, histories, memoirs, and works of investigative and political writing) provide touchstones for understanding how nonfiction constructs authority, engages readers, and conveys truth. Collectively, these examples form a portrait of the modern nonfiction landscape, spanning subjects as wide as sports, politics, science, and moral philosophy.

Among the most significant examples are Laura Hillenbrand’s Seabiscuit: An American Legend and Daniel James Brown’s The Boys in the Boat, which Foster uses to teach readers how structure creates meaning. Both works tell stories of perseverance against the backdrop of the Great Depression, intertwining multiple character arcs and historical contexts. Their alternating perspectives demonstrate how strong organization and pacing prevent “reader burnout” and maintain narrative momentum. Similarly, Stephen Ambrose’s Undaunted Courage represents the “natural state” of chronological biography, while David Brooks’s The Road to Character models a self-help-inflected moral essay that blends history, philosophy, and introspection.

In addition, Foster explores the intersection of nonfiction and politics through works such as Michael Wolff’s Fire and Fury, James Comey’s A Higher Loyalty, and Bob Woodward’s Fear: Trump in the White House. These texts embody what Foster calls the “bystander chronicle” of the early 21st century: a form of political storytelling shaped by competing agendas and media polarization. Wolff’s sensationalism contrasts with Woodward’s restraint, allowing Foster to demonstrate how tone, sourcing, and bias affect credibility. In his discussion of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein’s All the President’s Men, Foster celebrates journalistic integrity, contrasting it with contemporary “fake news” and reminding readers that thorough sourcing and verification remain journalism’s moral bedrock.

Other books appear as case studies in ethical failure. For example, Foster references James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces, a fabricated memoir, as representing the dangers of unchecked trust and the need for editorial gatekeeping. Meanwhile, Naomi Oreskes and Erik Conway’s Merchants of Doubt exemplifies how corporate interests manufacture confusion to delay social and environmental reform. Together, these examples reinforce the fragility of trust, the power of form, and readers’ responsibility to engage critically, reinforcing Foster’s recurring themes: The Role of Skepticism and Trust in Reading Nonfiction, Rhetorical Strategies as Hidden Persuasion, and Empowering Readers Through Critical Literacy.

By referencing both exemplary and problematic nonfiction, the author transforms the act of reading into an ethical encounter. He does not cite these texts merely for illustration; they embody the book’s moral argument that readers must pursue the truth, test it, and preserve it through attentive, imaginative reading.