I suppose it might be an awful thing for an author giving a public reading, to be introduced with lengthy enthusiastic descriptions. There’s really no need for it. The people in the room are there because they recognized the author’s name and came to hear what he had to say. Sure, not everybody’s read all his books, and it’s nice to hear the rundown of his latest projects. But when the intro turns into an effusive stylistic review, detailing the writer’s common themes and comparing his style to jazz music - yarg, if I were the writer I imagine I’d be embarrassed on my own behalf, and more so for the earnest young dude going on and on, reading from his printout, telling the room why and how it should appreciate me, when the room so obviously already does.
I really don’t know why Emory didn’t call me up instead. I’d have been glad to do it. I would have said, Call me a philistine but I’m also a pretty busy lady, and these days the only thing that can get me to buy a New Yorker is if it has a George Saunders story in it. George Saunders, you are my literary line in the sand. For such goofy stories, they sure crop up in my head all the time. You seem like a terrific guy, your handshake is warm and pleasant, and everybody’s just going to love it when you make yourself laugh with the story you’re about to read. I can’t believe you’re able to talk about your writing process without being coma-drug boring, but you are, and thank you. The floor is yours, please talk all night.
Mr. Saunders did take the floor and talked for quite a while, charmingly. My headache, gravelly brain and eyes, and the chronic gut stab were all still there, but for a few hours, I didn’t care.
Today I had the rare delight of thanking someone, face-to-face, for saying a specific thing, a few sentences on the way one might approach a problem, that made something go click in my brain (as I said this, I now realize, I gestured toward my heart), that changed the way I write, that made things easier for me all around, and that I treasure above any class, any workshop, and anything else I ever read about the process of putting words together. I said this to his whiskery face, which was grinning, and he thanked me for letting him know. It was what I needed; it was a very good night.
