It might make sense to begin a story about D.J. Palladino’s debut novel, Nothing That Is Ours, by referring to the 65-year-old author as a late bloomer. Or to proclaim that, after buying the diminutive Mesa Bookstore with his wife, Diane Arnold, just about a month before the novel’s release, Palladino has finally arrived in literary Santa Barbara.
Whether a work of art is sold, however, is a poor measure of its value. Thus, such statements would be equal parts unfair to art and Palladino, who has been writing since he determined, 12 credits shy of a bachelor’s degree, that he’d learned as much as he needed from the UCSB English Department, and took a full-time job at the Santa Barbara News & Review, one of the two publications that would eventually merge and become The Santa Barbara Independent.
About five years ago, when I was working as a reporter for this publication, Palladino paused at my desk one day to compliment the lead sentence of a story I had written. I know it was a Wednesday because every Wednesday, Palladino stops by The Santa Barbara Independent to pick up his best friend and executive editor, Nick Welsh, for lunch.