Yesterday perfectly described the ups-and-downs of book touring and even of living as a fiction writer.
Friday, because my wife and I have twins, I’d dropped her and our
8-month-olds at my parents-in-law’s house in South Carolina. Sad
leaving my family—the boys, especially; I won’t see them for weeks.
They’re so little: I’m kind of scared they’ll forget me. Here’s the
double cuteness I’m jeopardizing my relationship with:
All the same, I
left them to fly to my Manhattan book party, which seemed pretty cool
to be doing. But the plane sat on the tarmac at LaGuardia for over an
hour. In the writing
racket, that’s the way it so often is: each victory comes with its
defeat. I’ll show you what I mean.
The day before, I’d gotten an amazing Washington Post review (“If you don’t belong to a book club, Darin Strauss’s bitter and
brilliant new book is reason enough to start one”); but just as I eased
into the warm enjoyment of good press, my publisher splashed me with
some freezing-water news: another newspaper—coming later this week, so
I can’t link to it yet (thank God)—will be pretty negative about my
book.
All day surged and stopped short like that. After my long airplane sit,
I arrived home, hoping to ready for the party. Opening my door, I got a
call from New York University, which was kind enough to host the party (but not kind
enough, I’d learned after the invites went out, to pay for the food or
the wine). “Where are you?” NYU said. (The school, as you’d expect from
a university of over 20,000 students, has a large voice).
“I’m getting dressed,” I said.
“What?” said NYU, in institutional disbelief: “The party’s started,
Strauss—there are 50 students sitting here, waiting to see you read.”
Though my Website, and this blog, said that the
party would begin at 7 pm, NYU believed it started at 6. (Who in New York gets off
work in time to arrive at a Monday-evening party at 6?) My friends, who were kind enough to agree to perform, weren’t there yet. I
hurried over to NYU, no shower, no prep time, and stalled before a mic
to an audience of fifty, for almost a half hour. No fun—for me, for the
students or the school, for literature itself.
But then more people started to arrive. A great number, actually. Old
students of mine, a raft of strangers, even some amazing writers—along with, well, my dad. So many people came, in fact, that
a lot of them (potential book buyers all) were turned away. (The
good-and-the-bad again).
I’d drawn hundreds of people (hurray!). The air-conditioning wasn’t
working, so everyone got sticky and uncomfortable (hurray?) John Hodgman—you know him from the Mac/PC commercials, or his book, The Areas of My Expertise—read from his
impending and hilarious book, More Information Than You Require. Great! And then Jonathan Coulton played two songs. Also great,
but I’d been promised NYU would get him a P.A., and no one had.
I joined him to sing and play Paul Simon’s "Slip Slidin’ Away"—I’m a
guitarist and erstwhile singer—which was fun, but I was
promised there’d be two mics, and there weren’t……
On it went (a bunch of people hoped to buy books at the end of the
night, but the bookseller had left). Still, the event pulled in the
largest crowd I’ve had in some time, I got to sing before a few hundred
people, and I sold a few books. And, most of all, it was very kind that
so many ex-students and friends and people who just liked my work came
out on a Monday night to see me. Oh, and I got to hear Hodgman and Coulton perform—two of the best at what they do—and they were
generous enough to have done so on my behalf. Thus, as always on a book
tour, you end up feeling like an ass for having any misgivings, yet
alone complaining. And, also as always, the evening was a combination
fun event / cluster-f*%k.
