Holden's roommate, Stradlater, is the speaker. He wants Holden to write an essay for him because he knows Holden is a really good writer. In fact, English is the only thing Holden's got going for him at the moment. It's the only thing he's successful at.
I went to a book signing event this afternoon at a local bookstore. Ostensibly, the signing was to publicize The Way North, the anthology of U. P. writers that was released in early spring. I went to the event not expecting a whole lot. The manager of the store, Lee, is an old friend, so I knew I'd have someone to talk to. Plus, I worked at this particular bookstore for almost nine years as a seller. It was like returning to an old apartment I lived in while in college; everything sort of the same but a little shinier and smaller. And, to top it all off, I was with two other writers I've known for a while. It wasn't a bad couple of hours. Didn't sell any of my books, though.
However, the other poet at the table with me, Janeen, told me something quite flattering. At the release party for The Way North in Kalamazoo, Bonnie Jo Campbell, bestselling novelist and finalist for the National Book Award, chose to read my poem from the anthology. My poem. "She really loved it," Janeen said, "and she did a great job."
I know it sounds stupid, but knowing that Bonnie Jo Campbell knows my name/read my poem was quite a thrill. More than a thrill, actually. I've been riding the wave of that knowledge all evening. Bonnie Jo Campbell's novel, Once Upon a River, was one of my favorite books last year, and her short story collection, American Salvage, is absolutely stunning. She's a big fan of Flannery O'Connor, too. I've been stalking Bonnie's official Web site for quite a few years (anonymously as I don't want to sound creepy). And now, I know Bonnie Jo Campbell likes my work.
On a side note, I once took a fiction workshop in which Bonnie Jo was a fellow student. She was obviously bound for bigger, better things even back then. Plus, she was the nicest person in the class. So I've been on the outer edges of the Bonnie Jo Campbell universe for a while.
And now, for a fairy tale.
Once upon a time, in a little town named Flannery, a struggling sword-maker named Hubert lived. Hubert made great swords. All the local knights came to him for his blades. The problem was that Hubert couldn't sell enough swords to support his family, so Hubert moonlighted at a local fork factory. Every night, he worked an eight-hour shift making tines for forks, and he was never allowed to make any over-tine. (Sorry, I had to do that.)
Hubert studied the work of all the greatest sword-makers in the kingdom. The greatest sword-maker of all was a woman named Kazoo. Kazoo's blades were elegant, beautifully carved, and sharper than an arctic wind. Hubert sent Kazoo fan scrolls every day, but he never received any replies.
One day, however, a bundle was delivered to Hubert's doorstep by a traveling knight. When Hubert opened the bundle, he found a wondrous sword, carved from silver, its hilt encrusted with precious jade. It gleamed in the sunlight, and Hubert knew it was an original Kazoo sword. Kazoo had read his scrolls. Kazoo knew his name.
Hubert reached down to pick up the sword and mistakenly cut off his left hand. Hubert's wife found Hubert dead that night, clutching the sword to his chest, a blissful smile on his face.
The moral of this tale: Always lend a helping hand, but bring a tourniquet.
And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.
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| She likes me! She really likes me! |
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