It’s time for the teacher to become the student in the You-niverse. 

In the fourth season of You, Penn Badgley’s Joe Goldberg changes his name and starts teaching literature at a college in London. In For You and Only You — the latest novel in the book series upon which the show is based — author Caroline Kepnes also sends Joe to school. Except that in her version of the story, he’s actually a student.

For You and Only You (out now) picks up after the tragic ending of 2021’s You Love Me, which sees a grieving Joe move to Florida and open a bar and bookstore. But things are looking up for the murderous, hopeless romantic in the new novel: He’s now relocated to Cambridge, Massachusetts, for a creative writing fellowship at Harvard. 

“He’s ready for the best part of his life to begin. I love giving him that first-day-of-school energy,” says Kepnes, who’s been living with Joe since the first You book hit shelves in 2014. “Being in this f—ked up relationship with Joe for all of these years, I felt like his mother. Like, ‘Oh my god, he’s going to school!’ It was very exciting to think of it that way.” 

While there are significant differences between the books and the TV show — and this latest book has nothing to do with You Season 5 — one thing remains the same: Joe will do anything to find true love. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to learn that one of his classmates, Wonder Parish, catches his eye. To Joe, she seems unlike the other privileged, already-published writers in their class. 

“Wonder, by being someone who didn’t go to college, Joe immediately identifies with her.  They have a similar life, they have a similar background and he gets to project everything he’s feeling onto her right away. And immediately her fate is now wrapped up with his,” says Kepnes. “Because she carries herself so differently from him as we see pretty much right away with her. He’s like, ‘Oh, it’s now my job to teach her how to be herself.’ ”

Below, you can read Tudum’s in-depth interview with Kepnes about all things You and an excerpt from For You and Only You that reveals Joe’s initial reaction to Wonder. 

You author Caroline Kepnes

AU Photo

You co-creator Sera Gamble was inspired to make Joe a teacher in Season 4 because you told her several years ago that you envisioned him in a college setting. Did you always imagine he’d be a student instead of a teacher? 
I love the interplay between [the books and the show]. And I remember talking to Sera about that. In Hidden Bodies [her second Joe book, published in 2016], his nickname is “the Professor,” they’re teasing him [about knowing] all about books and he’s running the book section at the grocery store. Having him in that “elbow patches mode” made me think in the back of my head, “Oh my God, I want him to be in school as a student, because it’s a place where someone else is evaluating you.” On the one hand, he wants to make up for the childhood he didn’t have, to get the education he was deprived of. On the other hand, Joe likes to be the one in control. It was an automatic appeal for me — especially after You Love Me, which was all about his search for family. 

We leave that book where he’s in Florida, he’s in mourning, very withdrawn. I made a commitment in the first book [that] these books are always in our world. So when the pandemic hit, it was like, “Okay. He’s in Florida in this bar being deprived of human contact. He thrives on finding that new woman. So what’s he going to do? He’s going to write a book.” And I love the way one thing led to another: of him realizing that once you write a book, you need to find a way [to get it published]. And then it all just kind of came wonderfully out. 

Beyond Joe’s time as the Professor in Hidden Bodies, was there anything else that inspired For You And Only You from your own life or fan reactions to the show?
One [book] always makes me want to do the next one. He was in so much pain at the end [of You Love Me]. All I knew was [that] this book is going to start with a bang of joy, because I like when that happens in life — when you go through hell and then you’re like, “Okay. I’m getting somewhere new.” 

At the same time, it was [during] the pandemic. So there were these little things that inspired me that I obsessively looked at. Do you know that meme of Cookie Monster where he’s yelling at his wife for getting crackers? Or you know the story of the guy with cranberry juice on the skateboard [singing] Fleetwood Mac? There was so much peace in there, in the hell of the world. [It was] similar to this Michelle Kwan video where she’s figure skating to Damien Rice, one of my favorite songs of all time, “The Blower’s Daughter” (which makes me think of the movie Closer, which was another work of art that inspired me to write You). Skating, to me, is like writing. [It’s] something where you can have a talent, but it’s useless if you don’t work and work and work –– and something of that reflected in her absolute elegance on the ice that made me happy. So that first draft had a lot of references to those things as well as the song “Easy” by Troye Sivan. 

The books have so many pop culture references and often tell us a lot about who people are like — like how much Beck loves Pitch Perfect in the first book. How do you decide what to include? 
The nice thing is that it’s not a decision, it just happens naturally. And it’s all things that I love. So it was like, “I’m making this guy love everything I love, and yet he’s a f—ing psycho.” And then because those things mean so much to him, he’s going to –– as he meets people –– be very aware [of their taste]. That’s how he’s going to find connection or not.

With Beck and Pitch Perfect, I just gave her a lot of my life. I lived in a rent control apartment on Bank Street that I got through Brown friends. After my dad died, Pitch Perfect was the first time that I remember laughing and sobbing at the end, dancing in my apartment, over time watching it over and over. So it was knowing the way something can get into you and help you through a hard time. Her love of that movie is very different, but it was natural for me to do something with my love of that movie. I love the way [using pop culture] happens naturally, and I’ve learned to be patient with it, because a lot of times in that first draft I’m like, “It doesn’t feel right.” But then I just play and I work and eventually it just becomes like how in For You and Only You, [Joe’s teacher] Glenn Shoddy is absolutely that guy who’s going to tweet #ReadHerToo, lift up all these women and never read their books. 

Joe’s obsessive internal monologue is one of the hallmarks of these books, especially when he meets his love interest for the first time. There’s a rhythm to how he thinks. For you, what’s the key to writing his narration in those moments? When do you know you’ve nailed it? 
I work really hard on that. I hope that that comes through in the books. That’s what I always hope when the book is out. I’m like, “Hope it’s in there!” I want that tension that Joe is covering, hiding all of this want. You know the way Miss Piggy, when she sees Kermit with another woman, just f—ing goes nuts? Joe is trying so hard, Joe is not going to run across the street and go nuts. But by holding all that in… Something Penn said years ago that I loved [was that] Joe is emotionally constipated. Constipation is such a good word for it, such a good energy, because he wants so much to maintain this exterior of being the calm guy who’s alone or cool, and inside he’s going nuts. I always think about that, the fire burning and he is trying to contain it so, so much.

After four seasons of the show, do you see Penn in your head as Joe when you’re writing?
I’m really so much more of an auditory person, so I found my way into him by the rhythm of his voice. And in that way I didn’t picture anyone. I was so trying to be in him that I was seeing the way he wants other people to see him, and so fixated on what he sees in other people, that he kind of got lost. So it was really fun when they were casting to see the freakish thing that happens when Penn comes along and truly becomes him, and yet is nothing like him. But at the end of the day when I sit down and I’m writing these books, the Joe in [my head] is like, “All right, it’s pretty cool you got an adaptation. It’s f—ing awesome. It’s its own thing. It’s crazy good. You still got to make s—t up.” I still have to find my way back into his voice and his rhythm of speaking.

So you still hear the same voice you heard when you wrote the first book almost 10 years ago? 
Yeah, I go to that. Of course, sometimes I hear Penn. I feel like you can’t live in this world and not hear Penn, right? It’s everywhere. It’s awesome. And I let myself enjoy that, the same way I love remixes, mixtapes and collaboration of all kinds. But then when I’m writing a book, I still have to do my work.

What have been some of your favorite changes as the show has gone from the page to the screen? 
It brings me back to those teeth [that Beck finds] in Season 1 — the visual story! It’s so fun to see the directions they go in. And the voiceover, I love what they do with that. I feel like that’s where you really hear that there are these two different Joes, right? The voiceover in the show is just a little different. It has its own cadence. And it’s been exciting. That’s just the word dork in me. 

I was happy to see when Love came back again, stayed alive for so long and what they did with her in that story. It was a great example of a good remix that worked really well.

Joe Goldberg Looks Back on Love in This You Series RecapHere's everything that happened leading up to season 4... in Joe's own words.

Do you have a favorite season?
So in a schmaltzy way, it’s Season 1 because it was all beginning and because I got to spend the most time with everyone… I start crying when I think about when Sera took me into [the set of] Benji’s workspace and she was so happy to see me so happy and things like that. I get very emotional about it, because getting to every stage is a victory, so to be there, to get to be in the room with them,  see those changes in action and the learning experience of it…

Something I love about this show, and that I do hear from readers and viewers who feel [the same], is that each season has its own identity, almost when you think of a museum or a clothing store [playing] music in one section and then different music in another. And that’s what I aim for with my books. I want each one to have its own atmosphere. It’s really impressive, the way they’ve succeeded so massively with that in the show — managing to go from Season 1’s straight-up dark rom-com thing to Season 4, where it’s this totally new different wild animal. That’s impressive.

Greg Berlanti and Sera have always had a five-season plan in place for the show. How does it feel knowing they’ll be able to see it through with the upcoming fifth and final season? 
It’s like I’m going to start crying again, because I’m clapping inside so hard for them. To go five seasons is mind-blowing, is amazing. To start out with that plan and see that plan through, it’s clap, clap, clap for everyone, especially in a show where you have this evolving cast. I’m also, of course, sad [the show will end], but overall it always comes back to joy. I’m so full of gratitude to have five seasons, to know that five is going to be its own beautiful thing and also that the good thing about Netflix is that it’s all there. 

This excerpt from For You And Only You introduces us to Joe’s new love interest Wonder. What makes her stand out from Joe’s previous obsessions? 
I love this woman because we’ve seen [Joe] with a lot of women who are climbing for some reason, who are trying to please people. Wonder’s exciting to me because she’s the girl who doesn’t want anyone to ever think for a second that she thinks that she’s better than them. It makes her complicated for me, because it can be condescending if someone assumes that they’re better than you. You know what I’m saying? She’s so afraid of people thinking that she’s like, “Yeah, I’m better than you. I’m talented, I’m this,” that she shoots herself in the foot.

That was a really complicated personality characteristic, and it was really fun to write her because I also like the way she’s only on Goodreads. After he’s been with all these women who are on all different kinds of social media for different reasons, Wonder is this woman who is giving every book five stars on Goodreads, who is unknowingly writing her memoir in her reviews, but also in a way that excites him because she’s not a narcissist who’s using the book to talk about herself. She’s a good writer. And that was exciting to me too, that this is a woman who really is a true writer, who loves what she’s doing and just wants to do it in her own way. But also, when you take someone who has that kind of insecurity, that can be masked as a “f–k the world” [attitude], and give them a sip of Kool-Aid… sometimes they drink it all.

An excerpt from For You and Only You

The following passage is from the first chapter of For You and Only You. It’s the first day of school and Joe’s classmate Wonder immediately catches his eye. 

          You’re a writer. A true writer. Mercurial and solitary. You’re not a flirt like RIP Guinevere Beck — she would have been eye-fucking me by now — but at the same time, you’re too closed off for your own good. You’re letting them get to you, same way I did when I first arrived, but it doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, we’re the outliers, but Glenn was casting a season of Survivor and he did right by us — we have each other — and we need to form an alliance, same way we have to clap our hands every time someone finishes “humble” bragging. I try to make eye contact with you, but you avoid me, too busy shooting yourself in the foot. This grass is so freaking green, I think my sister’s ex does landscaping here. I lift us out of the muck — I audited a few classes at Columbia — but I fuck up the details and that’s because of you. Duck, duck, you, sitting there like a bowl of eye candy. My brain is rotting from all the sugar — I called your skin porcelain in my head just now — and Glenn brings it back to me, by way of you.

          “See,” he says. “This is why I was so adamant about socioeconomic diversity…” 

          I tune out his rambling about some article he half-read in The Atlantic — we are people, not props — and where is a thunderstorm when you need one? 

          “Well,” he says. “How about we tell each other the last great thing we read? I’ll go first. The screenplay for Scabies for Breakfast is blowing my mind . . .” Oh, Glenn, no. “Those Coen brothers, they really know what they’re doing. Ani, what about you?”

          You get a notepad out of your backpack, and you are earnest, noting all the books. You tell Lou that you already read his book — you won a galley in a Goodreads giveaway — and ah. You’re a Goodreads girl. You “love to read”— good — and you’re “all about freebies” — bad — and it’s my turn, and you look at me, but it doesn’t really count because everyone else does too.

          “Well,” I say. “The last book I read was Conching by Ethel Rose-Baker and —”

          “That’s all right,” Glenn says. “We can google it if we so desire.”

           I wanted to tell you about it Goddammit, and he calls for a break — clap, clap, clap — and I want to pull you aside and give you a ticket for dragging us both down but you’re on your phone, on the move. I can’t talk to you, and I have nothing to say about kayaks, cleaning ladies, or fried clams, so I can’t talk to my fellows, and don’t you get it, Wonder?

          They do hate us ’cause they ain’t us. And that’s why we have to stick together.

          Glenn waves — it’s time — and “class” resumes — it’s just fucking small talk — and all of it goes over my head because of you. You’re a doozy. You’re above us, you’re below us, a wonder wheel spinning, but when you do open up, you are mesmerizing, raving about Pat Conroy and Dorothy Allison — What did your parents do to you? — but then you dump ketchup on the steak — Don’t listen to me. I’ll shut up. Everyone knows the rules. If you repeatedly tell people to shit on you, they will eventually heed the call. I’m sure you’re talented, but talent isn’t everything. Like it or not, if we want to get published, we need Glenn to like us.

          We need our fellow Shoddies to blurb us, to tweet with us.

          And you’re doing it all wrong. You talk about the twenty-five K stipend like that’s the reason we’re here, like that’s real money. When Sarah Elizabeth piggybacks on Ani’s story about her play to talk about her Hulu series, you stir your Coolatta — we need to do something about your resting sarcasm face — and yes, O.K.’s analysis of her experience as a freelance sensitivity reader for the big houses is long-winded but come on! You can’t check the time on your Swatch. Not now.

          I can’t fucking take it anymore, so I fix my eyes on you and clear my throat. I give you and your Swatch a playful little smile and you light up. You touch your hair and scratch your leg and then you clear your throat. “Hey, Lou.” Your voice is suddenly full of sex. “Can you say that again? I spaced out.”

          Lou is happy to repeat himself — shocker — and you’re focused on him, but the way you run your hand over your forearm and touch your other hand again, that’s what really matters, and all that is for me.

          Finally, class ends — clap, clap, clap — and we had a moment, but you glance around the room that isn’t the room, not anymore, and now you’re hightailing it across the lawn like a fifth grader.

          I chase you down because I have to chase you down. I sense something new with you. Something fresh. You’re my equal, Wonder. You’re not my married boss and you’re not impossibly, unreachably wealthy. You’re not a sociopath flirt or a social fucking climber. You’re gonna read the books that everyone read and that’s good, that’s part of it, but I want you to write. I see the future. You and me with RIP Spalding Gray reincarnated, laughing about how we met in a fellowship, the only two autodidacts in the room. I’m not saying we have to get married, but when everyone was m- husbanding and my-wifing you were quiet. You didn’t have an inborn support system — your parents were teenagers when they made you — and you need me. Who else is gonna push you to show up on time?

          You duck into a corner store, and I hang back. No. Not just yet.

          This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and you have an attitude problem. You put on your armor — They hate us ’cause they ain’t us — and you are Stubborn Will Hunting. You grew up in the gutter and you are long past looking at the stars, content to make small talk with the guy working the register, but this is our time.

          You emerge from the store with scratchers and what are you doing, Wonder? We got into Harvard. We got our Golden Tickets, and they’re not fucking scratchers. I want you to want it all, and if there’s one thing I learned from my Floridian pandemic, it’s that sometimes people need a push. RIP Ethel Rose-Baker gave me a push, and I can do it for you. Glenn compared me to J. D. Fucking Salinger and in twenty years, you’ll be famous in your own right, rhapsodizing in The Atlantic about sex with a legend, sex with me, and the best part of all . . . Your essays about our wild lusty days at Harvard won’t be tinged with regret because unlike some men, I’m not a fucking pig when it comes to women.

          I’m one step ahead of you, twenty feet behind you — and this is what I wanted from Harvard because what is class without a crush? It’s Good Will Hunting without the girl, and that’s what you are: the girl. I’m about to touch your shoulder and this is it. 3 . . . 2 . . .

          No. I can’t go in cold. It’s like the fellowship. I read about Glenn before I wrote my personal essay. I learned about his background. I studied his voice. I wasn’t trying to manipulate him. I was just showing my respect. Why should starting up with you be any different? 

          I find that email that he sent, the one with our contact information, the one I didn’t open because I wanted to go in blind, because I expected exciting war stories from our fellows, and there it is. 

          Your home address.