Last night, my wonderful girlfriend Kaylee and I took a trek out to Boston for Mark Z. Danielewski's book tour in support of his newest novel, The Familiar, Vol. 1. Being a git from western Massachusetts that doesn't do big cities too often, Boston was a challenge, and I probably won't make the trip again any time soon. We arrived hungry, so we stopped at Dunkin Donuts and grabbed some food, all the while listening to some crazy old guy spout out that he'd buy us some hamburgers or hot dogs if we wanted, and a slew of other ramblings that I couldn't decipher. We left as soon as our food was ready. This particular block had no seating anywhere, so Kaylee and I simply huddled in front of the bookstore wherein the event would take place, Brookline Booksmith. While eating, I noticed a used copy of The Black Unicorn, a poetry collection by Audre Lorde, in the window. I'd never heard of her or her work, but the cover caught my eye, and it was only five bucks. I kept that nugget in mind for later. There was already a line for the event when we got in, but we got seated nearly immediately, with good seats to boot. For the most part, Boston was sucking, but the event was worthwhile.
Anyone familiar with Danielewski's work likely has an idea of what to expect of this: a massive brick of a book with beautifully eccentric formatting, full-color pages, and wonderful writing. To those not familiar, this likely isn't the best entryway into his work, since this is the start of a twenty-seven (27!) volume epic. His debut novel, House of Leaves, is a labyrinth of a tome that challenges more than any other work I've ever attempted reading (attempted being highly accurate: I've started House of Leaves on three different occasions and have yet to finish it) and I highly recommend it to every single human being on this planet.
During the Q&A I had the chance to present a little bit of my motives for being there, and ask of him (in summation)...
It is humbling meeting you and seeing where your work springs forth from, since each time I encounter one of your books, they feel to me as if they're literary Artifacts, that no human hand could conceivably put them together, that they've simply always been there. Are there any such Artifacts in your life, that they simply blow you away such that it's impossible to conceive that they were made by a human being?
MZD's first remark was that was one of the highest compliments he's ever received on his work, and that it deserved to be a blurb on the back of volume 3 (which is probably one of the highest compliments I've ever received). He quoted a friend quoting someone else, something to the effect of "a piece of art is finished when it devours its point of origin" and I don't think he could have responded better had he said anything else. He cited the haiku of BashÅ as such an Artifact for him in literary terms, but went on to discuss music. He admitted having a rudimentary knowledge of music (as most of us do) but he said he wasn't fluent in the language of music, so he couldn't quite rationalize the ability for Beethoven, Shostakovitch and John Cage to put together the pieces that they did, to sit down and actually write the music that we hear. MZD was eloquent and thoughtful in his response. It was a pleasure to hear him read from his book (two, actually: he started the whole thing off with an excerpt from House of Leaves).
Going into this year, 2015, I made a vow to buy books only by women as a means of broadening my range and exposing myself to more brilliant writers that I may not have considered looking into before. MZD made me break this vow so I could get The Familiar, but it was totally worth it. I got it, House of Leaves, The Whalestoe Letters, and The Fifty Year Sword (a personal favorite) signed and personalized, and even got a picture with MZD. He doesn't look too pleased by my excitement, but I imagine it had been a long night, and I was at the end of the long line of people getting books signed and pictures with him, so I guess I'll let it slide. While getting the books signed, I chatted with him, and joked that my real intention for being there was to steal his wallet for William Pauley III. MZD laughed and said his girlfriend would be relieved, since his wallet apparently needed replacing anyways.
While waiting in line for the signing, one of the employees of the store started talking to me about Raw Dog Screaming Press, the publisher I'm advertising in the above picture. It was neat talking to someone outside of my typical literary clique about a group of literary masters that I'm passionate about. Once he told me he had a few of their books in stock, I asked for a copy of Donna Lynch's Daughters of Lilith, which they unfortunately didn't have, so I picked up The Black Unicorn instead. After exiting the shop, we stopped at Starbucks for a bathroom break before hitting the road again. In there, I took a picture of my own wallet and sent it to Williez, who (rightly) called bullshit. Then we went home. The end.
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