Proving once again that its editorial team now prefers thoughtless and narcissistic essays over writing that chronicles the human condition, the Atlantic has commissioned Ann Patchett to throw a pity party about book tours. Look, if you’re an author and you can’t be bothered to have a bit of fun with a book tour, then you should either (a) insist on no book tours (as Denis Johnson and John Twelve Hawks have) or (b) stop bitching and moaning. Unless you suffer from Asperger’s or a Napoleon-like hubris, it takes exceptionally little skill to listen to someone and to remain patient even when a person has a predictable question that you’ve been asked four hundred times. (And besides, people are damn interesting, even when they ask obvious questions.) If you have any kind of brain, you can turn that question around into something complex and get the reader to think differently. A novel of yours from six years gets discussed? Tough titty, sweetheart. Once you’ve released the books to the public, they are no longer yours. Works you may deem greater or more significant won’t necessarily be what the audience deems greater or more significant. And what’s wrong with that? I don’t care if you’ve won the PEN/Faulkner or the Nobel. If you can’t appreciate the privilege of a literary life, then you deserve all the flack you get.
Patchett Up Your Pity Party, Ann
– July 31, 2008Posted in: Book Touring, Hubris, patchett-ann
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
Pretty much every author who has ever been on an intensive book tour complains at some point about how grueling it is (and having seen a few up close now I sympathize with this) — many publicly. Like Patchett in this essay, they always follow that up with the caveat that they realize how lucky they are compared to many of their colleagues. So, I don’t see where the read of her being ungrateful is. She’s just being honest.
But, anyway, I love Patchett’s essays, and this was no exception.
It’s a piece of fluff, but I’m with Gwenda. I don’t see any ungratefulness. What’s wrong with observing that book tours are grueling and people ask silly questions (something I often/always observe when I attend author appearances)? I advise E.C. to lighten up.
A larger question is: are we moving into a era with so few independent book stores that book tours are pointless? You mention Denis Johnson and John Twelve Hawks. I bet there are lots of other authors that are starting to wonder if the whole exercise is pointless.
I went on book tour four years ago and sold about ten to twelve books in each city. It seemed like a lot of money spent for a very small benefit. If the tour leads to publicity and an interview, it makes sense. But there are too many authors sitting alone at that table.