May 2008 Archives

Who is your favorite idol? No, I don't mean that obnoxiously annoying show full of talentless ass-pirates that keeps Fox in business, but that author (or authors) who you're sure if you met in person would cause you to turn into either a gaping guppy fish, or a screechy, babbling, pre-adolescent girl.

It had never occurred to me that I might actually encounter any of my literary idols wandering around the suburbs of Chicago, or the rolling hills of Central Missouri where I spent my college years. Because of this, I never had the time to properly prepare my chamingly witty, yet unique introduction to my idol, so that when the day did come, in October 2005, I pretty much ended up looking like...well...read on and see...

One late summer day in 2005 my program coordinator for the Summer Publishing Institute at NYU sent out a mass email asking which of us over-eager book nerds might be willing to give up a Sunday volunteering for the New York Times' Great Read in the Park, celebrating the 75th anniversary of the Bestseller List. I had no idea which authors were to be present, but they did promise a free t-shirt, so I was down.

Sunday dawned unseasonably warm for early October in Bryant Park, where the festival shenanigans were taking place, and I showed up as mandated in brown pants, my complimentary long sleeved t-shirt, clutching a bucket of coffee in my left hand. I scanned the events program that the volunteer coordinator stuffed into my hand, before taking off in 4" heels, screeching at one of the many minions present. It all looked pretty interesting, and I had heard of, and enjoyed most of the authors that were scheduled to lecture and do book signings, but then, I came to HIM. If this were a novel, I would have sputtered on my latest sip, and dropped my coffee to the pavement, splattering someones chic shoes.

Instead, I pulled the gaping guppy face. I was dumbstruck. HE was going.to.be.HERE. In Bryant Park. Right in front of me. Mr. Angela's Ashes himself, in the flesh, Frank McCourt.

I first read Angela's Ashes in December 1997 while bed-bound recoving from a tonsilectomy, and I fell in love. Even heavy doses of  regular painkillers and a slew of anti-biotics couldn't tear me away from McCourt's dry and brutally honest prose. This was the first book in my adult reading life that I truly devoured. I even chose to write my undergraduate thesis for my capstone on 20th Century Irish Literature on McCourt's two previous books (This was 2004, and Teacher Man had not been published yet).

In interviews and reviews of McCourt that I had read over subsequent years described him as dumbfounded by, and fairly annoyed by his literary successes, and all the fame and adulation that followed. I witnessed this firsthand when following a reading from his upcoming book, Teacher Man, a gaggle of middle-aged women grouped around him like a flock of hyper hens, cooing and clucking their praise and compliments. McCourt looked visibly annoyed and uncortable, and while polite, he made moves to get away from his groupies as quickly as was politely possible.

By some act of God, and my strategic positioning during his reading, I was tapped by Ms. Jimmy Choo volunteer coordinator to escort McCourt to his round-table discussion inside the New York Public Library just off Bryant Park. As he walked towards me, I steeled myself, attempting to look as professional and put-together as possible, though difficult given that I had just spent the past 7 hrs trotting all over the park in a long-sleeved shirt on an 82 degree, sunny day. Our exchange went something like this: 

Me: "Hi Mr. McCourt, my name is Jessica LeTourneur, and it is a pleasure to meet you. I'm here to escort you to your next presentation over there in the library."

Him: "Hrrmph, hello. How much time do I have?"

Me: "You have 45 min sir."

Him: "You see that bar over there? (Bryant Park has an outdoor bistro/bar set up just steps from the library in the summertime), I'm going over there for a drink...come back for me in 45 minutes."

(As we walked towards the bar...)

Me: "You know, I have read both Angela's Ashes and Tis several times, and I just wanted to tell you that I think you are a wonderful writer, and I really loved your books. In fact, I wrote my undergraduate thesis on them."

Him: "Oh God, don't tell me you wrote one of those fucking English student 'deeper meaning' papers that are always full of shit on my books..."

Me: (chuckling nervously) "Heh, actually, I did."

Him: "Oh Christ. And you work in book publishing now?"

Me: "Yes....."

Him: "Jesus Christ. I'll be at the bar. See you in 45 minutes." 

Well I didn't think that it would ever happen, but I seem to have been struck with a paralyzing case of literary attention deficit disorder. Blame it on the warmer weather, my erratic schedule, or a type-A personality, but nothing I've been reading lately can seem to hold my attention for more than 20 minutes. And it is driving me bonkers!

First it started with Anna Karenina, which I was happily enjoying. Then 87 pages in I got distracted and picked up The Persian Bride. 54 pages into that, and I wandered towards a tattered copy of Le Mariage that I picked up at my library's book sale 2 yrs. ago, and have not touched since I brought it home. Then halfway through Le Mariage I found myself in the car heading towards Barnes and Noble to purchase a copy of I Was Told There'd Be Cake. Somehow I managed to make it all the way through, though I have a sneaking suspicion that was entirely owing to the fact that I Was Told There'd Be Cake is a collection of quick-reading essays, and the entire book was only about 220 pages long. Now I am forcing myself to plow through the last 90 pages of Le Mariage, though I swear I'm this close to packing it in, and donating it to my local trade-a-book shop.

Did I also mention that I currently have about 13 requests/holds at my local library? Not to mention the 7 books I already have checked out.

So in the absence of any better term, I've diagnosed myself with Literary ADD/Overload. There are just too many books, and too little time! When perusing at B&N this morning, I felt my pulse quickening, and all of a sudden, my light sweater seemed just a bit too warm. Was it the grande cup of coffee I held in my left hand kicking in? After spending the past week wondering what in the world was wrong with me-why couldn't I just sit down, read, and make it through just one novel? The answer came to me in the Biography section, as I scanned the titles, and thought to myself "own it, own it, on request at the library, own it, on amazon wishlist, etc..." 

The problem isn't that I can't find anything to read, it's that there are too many things that I'm desperately eager to read. And every day as I read more reviews, publishing news blogs, author interviews, etc...I keep finding even MORE books to read! So what happens is that after reading a raving review of the latest installment in Stephen Clarke's Merde series, my literary flavor of the week turns from its original Ben & Jerry's Dublin Mudslide to Kroger brand Mint Chocolate Chip.

I don't see this as a problem of sorts, say on par with gainful, secure employment, or rising fuel costs, but it sure is bugging the crap out of me.

Now if you'll excuse me, I better get back to finding out whether or not Anne-Sophie and Tim will follow through with their wedding, and if Gabriel really stole the manuscript before I decide to donate the novel to the geese wandering just out my back door.

Happy reading!