I have all sorts of expectations prior to hearing authors read in person. Of course I do. These people published something that someone other than their mothers bought. Somewhere, somehow, they charmed their publishers enough to promote their books. And now their names are listed in newspapers, searched for in library catalogues, and dropped by literati and booksellers alike. It’s enough to be a little bit self-impressed, no?
This was not the case for John Elder Robison, who recently read from his memoir Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's at Brookline Booksmith in Brookline, MA. The latter part of the title refers to Robison’s experience in growing up with a high-functioning form of autism. The former part of the title refers to “Aspergian’s” aversion to making eye contact.
Although the room was packed — I presume with your basic mix of book snobs, teachers and parents of Aspergians (or sisters, in my case), and retirees killing time — Robison seemed surprised, almost tickled that he had gathered such a group around the proverbial campfire.
Robison talked about his life as noted memoirist August Burrough’s older brother, about their dysfunctional upbringing, and about the social struggles he experienced as an Aspergian. He also dwelled on the fact that he had “done all this cool stuff” and even written a book, which he thought was “pretty cool, too!”
This reading was a very refreshing contrast to others I have attended. There was no author looking out at a sea of admirers, appearing smug, as though he expected as much. In this way, Robison defied my expectations.
What have been your experiences regarding meeting writers and artists in public settings? Who surprised you most?
Kendra Stanton Lee's poem "Saturday Chores" appears in Cosmopsis Quarterly 2.
4 comments:
Well, I'm glad to hear that you found my reading a refreshing change.
Did you get to read the book? If so, what did you make of it?
Speaking from the point of view of the author . . . I have not encountered any "seas of admirers" even though my book has proven reasonably popular.
What I have encounterd are people who have a very strong personal connection to my stories, or to autism or Asperger's. It's hard for me to imagine an author feeling "smug" about that, though it sounds like you may have been to more book readings than me. Perhaps I just don't know.
Anyway, thank you for your favorable report from my reading.
A number of years ago, I became acquainted with a local artist through a writer-friend of mine. Every now and then, the three of us would meet for coffee and catch up on each other's "careers." Then, as now, no one knew who we were — even during the month the artist's paintings were on prominent display on the coffeehouse walls. It's an old building downtown, formerly a storefront, with a very high ceiling, and steamy display windows on either side of a narrow door set in from the sidewalk. We were sitting together at a little table, the artist directly beneath one of his paintings. To me, that was an inspiring sight. If another artist had painted him sitting there under his painting, the work could have been titled "Anonymous." To which we might add the subtitle, "We are best known when our guard is down."
Is it possible for one's guard to be down when he's faced with a roomful of people? I think so, as your experience would indicate. Once, in Fresno, back around 1970, William Saroyan gave a talk at the university. He was comfortable, all right: while he spoke, like a friendly walrus, he sprayed water from his gigantic mustache over the entire front row.
I can only imagine how vulnerable writers must feel when they read their work in front of an audience. When I was about twelve years old, my parents took me to my first poetry reading at a local Barnes and Noble. While the event was advertised as a “family event”, that was evidently misleading. I just remember a woman with long, stringy blonde hair reading from her book, describing in graphic detail a business man’s seduction of a Taiwanese prostitute as well as her own sexual molestation. My conservative parents, utterly appalled, stood up in the middle of the row (in the middle of one of her poems, I might add), yanked me out of my seat, and whispered loudly, “We’re leaving!” So uncool.
I still wonder what that woman thought of our rude behavior. Was she humiliated, or did she feel like it helped up her street cred? (She was reading at a Barnes and Noble after all.) Either way, that memory has given me the utmost respect for authors willing to read their work to the public, to allow themselves to be judged by a live audience who may or may not have known what they were getting into when they sat agreed to sit in those uncomfortable folding chairs for an hour and a half.
What’s worse is that as an audience, we’re not just judging the writer’s work, we’re judging their personality and/or, as was the case with my experience, their morality! At least when we criticize a text, our assessment is more narrowly focused on writing ability.
I applaud John Elder Robison for mustering the bravado to put himself out there while remaining genuinely humble. And I applaud Kendra for giving that feat the recognition it deserves.
Thanks for writing this.
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