The World According to John Irving
I'm still in a bit of a daze from the utter awesomeness that was last night's John Irving reading, and all of the weird life and art revelations that occurred as a result.
I wasn't exactly revved when I got there at about 5:00 to find a Barnes and Noble goon parked by the front door accosting customers to ask them if they were there for John Irving. And then, I received the first of what would be many repetitions of the Official John Irving Reading Rules:
I think the Barnes and Noble staff, on the whole, felt a little put-out by having to host such a big event. Most of them (barring the B&N manager who wrangles most of the readers at the Union Square events, about whom I know nothing except that he's generally awesome) were incredibly surly.
The policy of selling pre-signed copies, by the way, was kind of stupid, being that it really penalizes those of us who bought the book the first day it came out. Most of the people there were fans, right? Don't most fans want to read the book as soon as possible? I'm not buying that book twice. It wasn't that good. I mean, Irving is like pizza and sex in that he's good even when he's bad, but that doesn't mean I have another thirty bucks to throw at him. They should have had wristbands or something, the way Tower Records does it.
Anyway, I snagged a second-row seat, and got wrapped up in an extremely good book, so I was occupied for the duration of the two-hour wait, during which I heard the Official John Irving Reading Rules pretty much every ten minutes in pretty much exactly the same words.
Finally, John Irving arrived. I've never been to a reading quite like this one - before he went onstage, he paused so that he could be snapped by a gaggle of photographers, paparazzi-style. He was impeccably groomed and dressed, and he carried this aura of celebrity that was unmistakable. Even if you didn't know who he was, and even if he wasn't being accosted by half a dozen photographers, you'd know that this guy was Important. The best comparison I can make is that it was sort of like the time I saw Prince play at Madison Square Garden. As with Prince, John Irving's ego is palpable, but not in an overly obnoxious way. It just takes up the whole room. He's great, and he knows it. I'm certain he wakes up every morning, looks in the mirror, and says to himself, "damn, I'm John fucking Irving, and I rule." I know I would, if I were him.
This plays into my specific interaction with him, actually. The thing I have wanted to know for the entirety of my ten-year-long John Irving fascination is: in The Hotel New Hampshire, Lilly Berry laments that she can't get started writing unless she believes that what she can write could be as good as the ending to The Great Gatsby. This has been playing on an endless loop in my head ever since I first read it. So I wanted to know if this was at all autobiographical, and if this particular brand of writer's block was something he himself had ever gone through. "Do you ever find yourself paralyzed by that sort of greatness," I asked him, "or maybe even, at this point, by your own greatness?"
Everyone seemed to think that was pretty funny, including John Irving himself. (Let the record show - I made the world's greatest living author crack up.) His response, while not directly addressing my question, was thoughtful and candid. He said that his greatest source of writer's block is his great indecision over which story to start next, and he often finds himself hopping from project to project when this happens, and setting aside something to come back to it a few months later with a fresh perspective.
At the end of his answer, I said, "I think you should know that I write because of you." And he thanked me, very genuinely, and then I said "I'm not sure if I should be thanking you or cursing you for that." And he thought that was pretty funny as well. Of course this led to an onslaught of people trying to tell him their life stories instead of asking questions, which is my biggest reading-related pet peeve, but what could I do? This was probably my only chance to thank/curse him for that, and so I nabbed it, and tried to do it as politely and un-self-involvedly as possible.
What I took away from this whole experience is that maybe I need to approach what I'm doing with a little more Irving-esque bravado. Granted, he has the proven chops to back it up, but he's not afraid of sucking, and I think that's important to note. He's just concerned about putting the stories on paper, and damn the torpedoes. I think maybe operating under the notion that I'm awesome is the only way I'll ever accomplish the huge task of finishing a novel.
Before the Q&A, Irving gave a brief talk about the autobiographical origins of Until I Find You, and then read a bit from it, and I think now I'm going to have to go back and reread parts, knowing where it comes from. I still think he didn't manage to make the truly bizarre elements as convincing and engaging as effectively as he usually does, but overall, the book didn't suck, and now I can say I at least understand what he was trying to do.
So while I haven't yet gotten him to inscribe something, I have at least interacted with the man, and that's pretty cool. Honestly, while I understand why he doesn't inscribe (he'd be there all night!), it is disappointing. Back in the day, he was apparently quite the inscriber. Radar magazine reports this month about a copy of The World According to Garp belonging to an unnamed now-well-known female author, inscribed "We should never be ashamed of 'that' night".
Actually, I think when I finish my book, I might just start inscribing all of my signed copies like that.
I wasn't exactly revved when I got there at about 5:00 to find a Barnes and Noble goon parked by the front door accosting customers to ask them if they were there for John Irving. And then, I received the first of what would be many repetitions of the Official John Irving Reading Rules:
You do not talk about the John Irving reading.- John Irving will ONLY be reading and taking questions. He will not be signing.
- A limited number of pre-signed copies of Until I Find You are available for purchase. They will go on sale at 6. There are only 200.
I think the Barnes and Noble staff, on the whole, felt a little put-out by having to host such a big event. Most of them (barring the B&N manager who wrangles most of the readers at the Union Square events, about whom I know nothing except that he's generally awesome) were incredibly surly.
The policy of selling pre-signed copies, by the way, was kind of stupid, being that it really penalizes those of us who bought the book the first day it came out. Most of the people there were fans, right? Don't most fans want to read the book as soon as possible? I'm not buying that book twice. It wasn't that good. I mean, Irving is like pizza and sex in that he's good even when he's bad, but that doesn't mean I have another thirty bucks to throw at him. They should have had wristbands or something, the way Tower Records does it.
Anyway, I snagged a second-row seat, and got wrapped up in an extremely good book, so I was occupied for the duration of the two-hour wait, during which I heard the Official John Irving Reading Rules pretty much every ten minutes in pretty much exactly the same words.
Finally, John Irving arrived. I've never been to a reading quite like this one - before he went onstage, he paused so that he could be snapped by a gaggle of photographers, paparazzi-style. He was impeccably groomed and dressed, and he carried this aura of celebrity that was unmistakable. Even if you didn't know who he was, and even if he wasn't being accosted by half a dozen photographers, you'd know that this guy was Important. The best comparison I can make is that it was sort of like the time I saw Prince play at Madison Square Garden. As with Prince, John Irving's ego is palpable, but not in an overly obnoxious way. It just takes up the whole room. He's great, and he knows it. I'm certain he wakes up every morning, looks in the mirror, and says to himself, "damn, I'm John fucking Irving, and I rule." I know I would, if I were him.
This plays into my specific interaction with him, actually. The thing I have wanted to know for the entirety of my ten-year-long John Irving fascination is: in The Hotel New Hampshire, Lilly Berry laments that she can't get started writing unless she believes that what she can write could be as good as the ending to The Great Gatsby. This has been playing on an endless loop in my head ever since I first read it. So I wanted to know if this was at all autobiographical, and if this particular brand of writer's block was something he himself had ever gone through. "Do you ever find yourself paralyzed by that sort of greatness," I asked him, "or maybe even, at this point, by your own greatness?"
Everyone seemed to think that was pretty funny, including John Irving himself. (Let the record show - I made the world's greatest living author crack up.) His response, while not directly addressing my question, was thoughtful and candid. He said that his greatest source of writer's block is his great indecision over which story to start next, and he often finds himself hopping from project to project when this happens, and setting aside something to come back to it a few months later with a fresh perspective.
At the end of his answer, I said, "I think you should know that I write because of you." And he thanked me, very genuinely, and then I said "I'm not sure if I should be thanking you or cursing you for that." And he thought that was pretty funny as well. Of course this led to an onslaught of people trying to tell him their life stories instead of asking questions, which is my biggest reading-related pet peeve, but what could I do? This was probably my only chance to thank/curse him for that, and so I nabbed it, and tried to do it as politely and un-self-involvedly as possible.
What I took away from this whole experience is that maybe I need to approach what I'm doing with a little more Irving-esque bravado. Granted, he has the proven chops to back it up, but he's not afraid of sucking, and I think that's important to note. He's just concerned about putting the stories on paper, and damn the torpedoes. I think maybe operating under the notion that I'm awesome is the only way I'll ever accomplish the huge task of finishing a novel.
Before the Q&A, Irving gave a brief talk about the autobiographical origins of Until I Find You, and then read a bit from it, and I think now I'm going to have to go back and reread parts, knowing where it comes from. I still think he didn't manage to make the truly bizarre elements as convincing and engaging as effectively as he usually does, but overall, the book didn't suck, and now I can say I at least understand what he was trying to do.
So while I haven't yet gotten him to inscribe something, I have at least interacted with the man, and that's pretty cool. Honestly, while I understand why he doesn't inscribe (he'd be there all night!), it is disappointing. Back in the day, he was apparently quite the inscriber. Radar magazine reports this month about a copy of The World According to Garp belonging to an unnamed now-well-known female author, inscribed "We should never be ashamed of 'that' night".
Actually, I think when I finish my book, I might just start inscribing all of my signed copies like that.
3 Comments:
I remember your question from last night; it was a good one. I, too, was irritated by some of the people who yammered on about their own writing before getting around to their question. My wife and another friend we were with both commented on Irving's elegance/hotness.
I think I liked the new book a bit more than you did. I thought all the penis-holding got a bit old after awhile, but I was really intrigued by his use of this sort of faulty memory of one's childhood. I really loved finding out the truth behind the memories on his second trip to Europe.
I was there, too. Amazing reading, almost like a show. He was very generous to talk as long as he did (my numb butt notwithstanding...), but the no signing thing is lame. Your question was good and he didn't really answer it. I heard you to ask him what effect his own reputation has on his writing, but he dodged.
Even still, a great reading.
I think a lot of authors go for either innuendo or absurdity when they're signing books. Here are two that I have: "I'll always remember the night we spent together. xxoo" and "I'm so happy you're alive." One was Amy Sohn, the other David Sedaris.
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