During this election year, I’m finding that I’m learning a great deal about the rest of the world. Aside from traveling, I think one of the best ways in which to accomplish this is through stories. In my case, I’ve been hankering after memoirs.
A while back, I picked up a travel memoir by the inimitable J. Maarten Troost. His time spent in the South Pacific resulted in two books, The Sex Lives of Cannibals and Getting Stoned With Savages. I picked up the latter after randomly finding it in a bookstore and reading a few sentences.
Sometimes when I find odd books in stores, or books of which I’ve not yet heard, I forgo reading the back cover in favor of reading a few paragraphs or pages from the first chapter, in order to get a feel for it and see if it draws me in. Getting Stoned With Savages succeeded, big time, and as I’m now in the middle of it, I’m getting more cultured by the second.
Aside from the joys of reading how the residents of Vanuatu handle government coups and general political upheaval by getting stoned, there’s also the joy of the “savages” part of Vanuatu. In order to encourage you, dear reader, to drop everything immediately and go read this book, I offer a few favorite parts that had me in fits of laughter.
First, there’s the part where Troost tries to figure out exactly how cannibalism in the area was not out of spite or necessity, but out of custom, or enjoyment:
Typically, the men of a particular village ambushed the men of another village. The goal was to capture one man, who would then be triumphantly carried back to the attackers’ village, clubbed, and chopped into pieces. Good manners dictated that an arm or a leg be sent off to a friendly village. Again, here I sputter in disbelief. Imagine receiving such a package. “Oh, look, honey. Bob and Erma over in Brooklyn have sent us a thigh. So thoughtful.” Of course, now you are obliged to reciprocate, and so you gather your friends and off you go, hunting for a man, and when you capture one, you will thoughtfully hack an arm off and send it along to Bob and Erma, together with a note–Thinking of you.
As if that wasn’t enough, Troost expounds on some of the history of the islands:
When Westerners began to arrive in some numbers in the nineteenth century, they too found themselves participating in Vanuatu’s exciting culinary world. John Williams, the very first missionary to arrive in Vanuatu, landed on the island of Erromango on November 18, 1839. Sponsored by the London Missionary Society, which had considerable success in converting much of Polynesia to Christianity, Williams stepped ashore, no doubt confident that very soon he would be breaking bread with the islanders. Within minutes, he was dead, killed by a fusillade of arrows. And then he became lunch.
Perhaps it’s morbid fascination on my part, but with every page I turn, I become increasingly more fascinated. It’s certainly nice to read a book in which the author draws you in to the point that you may as well be living next door. So what are you waiting for? Get started on your vicarious trip out to the South Pacific. I’m going to keep enjoying mine.
I picked up a copy of The Hot Zone today at Title Wave Books, one of my favorite Albuquerque bookstores. I was first introduced to the book nearly ten years ago. My freshman biology teacher had brought it to class and read us the first chapter. I remember sitting in class, riveted, listening to her read about the guy who picked up a tropical virus and went from health to doom in a matter of weeks.
I found a copy of it at the bookstore and pulled it off the shelves and started reading. Ever since, I’ve been hard-pressed to put the thing down. It doesn’t matter that the explicit detail with which the author describes the affect of the viruses is terrifying. And even though the events covered thus far (I’m about 70 pages in already) all happened over twenty years ago, I’m still sitting on the edge of my seat, hating that no matter how fast I read, it’s never fast enough to settle that burning desire to learn what happens next. Hello, Ring of Mordor. I never imagined I could be so morbidly fascinated. Holy shit.
Saturday, June 21, 2008, marks a special day in history. The original plan for the day was to hop on a plane and head back to Los Angeles. Instead, I opted out of traveling a couple of days ago by extending my trip through next Friday. One of the best side effects of this decision? I got to attend my first ever book signing.
The author was none other than David Sedaris (whom I shall refer to as “David” from now on, since it’s easier to type than his full name or Mr. Sedaris, and also since I got to shake his hand and talk to him for a few minutes, so we’re practically old friends anyway; plus, all the employees kept calling him Mr. Sedaris, and since they got on my nerves, I’m refraining from typing anything that reminds me of them), the fabulous and observant humor writer who stole my literary heart with a short story called Go Carolina. I was in my second year of college when I heard this story, and suddenly, at the tender age of 19, it hit me that all those feelings inside that spelled “gay” should be met with humor instead of fear. Such is the power of the written word.
While waiting for the book reading to start, Robert and I took up residence near where David was to present. We had asked, when we arrived just under two hours early, where he would be standing: on the second floor, by a railing overlooking the first floor. Because Barnes & Noble has shit for lecture space. We were very nearby, and had a sort of side view from which to spectate. I found it odd that they were going to make the poor writer stand behind a table display of books, and mentioned that to someone when I was waiting in line to get my book signed before the official reading started. I was wrong though, and ten minutes before the event commenced, a flurry of B&N staff rushed to the area, cordoned it off, and went about setting up the microphone and podium. Which prompted me to butcher a famous butchered joke: “How many Barnes & Noble employees does it take to set up a podium and microphone?” The answer is: I don’t know, I lost count of how many there were.
While we waited for everything to officially start, I found myself people-watching uncontrollably. I saw old high school classmates I never really knew, and wondered if they didn’t recognize me on account of the fact that I now sport facial hair. The scariest person I saw, hands down, was this woman who was probably in her mid-60’s. She had tall red hair that was more maroon than red, and curls that measured five inches in diameter each. My time in LA helped me pick out some evidence of plastic surgery on her face, too. (This made me proud at first, and then horrified.) And she also showcased a spaghetti strap top and shorts that read “US Body”, which did nothing to help her.
As my first ever book signing event, I of course wanted to get a book signed. I’ve not yet purchased the newest book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, but luckily I’d left behind my favorite one, Me Talk Pretty One Day, for Robert to read. So I snagged it and brought it with me, throwing caution to the wind for the whole “IF YOU BRING YOUR OWN BOOK YOU MUST HAVE A RECEIPT TO PROVE IT’S YOURS” rule.
Though the book signing was technically scheduled for after the reading, David Sedaris is awesome and showed up early to get a jump start. So I jumped in line and eagerly awaited my turn to get my book signed. I felt it especially appropriate that the book I was having signed was the first book I’d read by him. While in line, a silver-haired woman in black pants and a black-and-white designer top walked up and down the line handing out sticky notes. “Open your books to the title page and fold the dust jacket over to make it easy for Mr. Sedaris to find the page to sign.” Then she’d take names and slap the stickies into the books. When she got to me, she stopped.
Silver-Haired Woman: What’s this one?
Phil: Me Talk Pretty One Day.
SHW: I’ve never read it.
Phil: What do you mean you’ve never read it?
SHW: I don’t know it.
Phil: But you work for the guy. Surely you jest.
But she didn’t jest. So I did the only thing I could do: I discredited her completely. Anything she said to me from that moment on was like it had never been spoken at all. And when I saw her later, sitting on the floor just behind David, I imagined I could see right through her and read the titles of the books against which she was leaning on the shelves.
I’ve not had many brushes with fame. Though I recently met some pretty well-known stand-up comics, I consider it a tad different because I had no idea who they were beforehand. David Sedaris is a writer I’ve long enjoyed reading. Hence, I was thrilled at the prospect of getting to say hello and have a book signed, and just generally be in the presence of such awesomeness for a while.
While waiting in line, I ended up chatting amicably with a very fun group of people in front of me. I say “very fun” because that’s the only way to describe conversation with complete strangers that consists of colostomy bags, prostitutes, and illegal valet parking.
As I got closer to the table to get books signed, I could overhear bits and pieces of conversation between fans and David Sedaris. The writer had fun little quips and banter with everyone, it seemed. He’d ask questions like “Oooh, what’s that you’re drinking there?” or “What kind of sunglasses do you own?”, and then he’d sign the book, shake the hand, and greet the next person in line. I wasn’t having anything to drink and I was wearing a green polo shirt, so I presented no obvious conversation starters. Here’s how it went:
David Sedaris: So, are you with this gang?
Phil: I am now. They adopted me as their new friend.
Group of new friends: He’s ours now, yeah.
David Sedaris: Oh. Okay, uh, well, what do you do?
Phil: You’ll either love this or hate this, but I’m studying to be a speech pathologist.
David Sedaris: Okay.
Phil: I’ll be the gayest speech pathologist ever.
David Sedaris: Well good. The world could really benefit from a homosexual speech pathologist.
Phil: I thought so too.
And then he signed my book and sent me on my way. Mine says “To Phil,” then has a stamp that reads “AKYPO” in red, and then he signed his signature. Looking at it now, his signature looks like an O with a handlebar mustache for his first name, and a fucked up Greek Epsilon followed by a vertical line and a strange cursive “m” for his last name. It’s awesome. I asked him what the AKYPO was about, and he explained that it means “invalid” in Latin or some other dead language. Cool.
At 7 or so, David took to the podium and read a couple of stories from his new book. Then he read parts of his diary that he’d brought along to share, which was the real icing on the cake. And he ended with a brief question-answer session. Several of the questions asked were the same questions that had been used for an interview for a local publication, The Weekly Alibi. Original.
Though I’d gotten my book signed, Robert didn’t yet have a book to be signed, and we weren’t exactly keen to jump in line behind the mass of people who suddenly appeared in line and starting arguing about whose numbered ticket got to go first. So when David said that any grown men who were 5′6″ or shorter could skip right to the front of the line, we had our ticket in. And it wasn’t on account of my 6′1″ frame.
To David Sedaris: thank you for being real, and for being an inspiration.
J.K Rowling is an amazing woman. Pressure from fans. Pressure from people too religiously rigid to have any sort of an imagination. And pressure, no doubt from herself, to stay true to the story she’d written. Yesterday, when I heard the big news of her revelation at Carnegie Hall, I was thrilled.
I admit that I sometimes, fleetingly, wondered if Dumbledore might be gay. As we learned more about him throughout the last two books in the series, it occasionally crossed my mind. By the same token, if one wonders about Dumbledore, then one also wonders about other characters. There are a great many adult characters in the Harry Potter series who seem to be single. Indeed, most of the professors at Hogwarts are, from the reader’s perspective, quite unattached.
I have mixed feelings on this news. First, I’m thrilled that J.K. Rowling is so upfront and honest. Her honesty brings to light a new attribute to an already very dynamic character. It’s great that she’s willing to let us get to know Dumbledore even better than we did before.
On the other hand, I can see a great many people reacting poorly to this news. The far right already hates her books because of their use of magic. Right here in New Mexico, there were book burnings in which her books were thrown into a bonfire. And it happened at a church. Opening the door into Dumbledore’s sexuality will, I fear, lead to even more such unacceptable behavior. I could see many groups fighting even harder to denounce Harry Potter now that a prominent character in the children’s lives is gay. Never mind what we know about Dumbledore being an advocate for what is right, a good disciplinarian, a bad-ass wizard, and an all-around great guy.
Another thing I can see happening, and it no doubt already has happened, is people going back through the books and finding passages that can be viewed with double entendre, and questioning events that before they never thought twice about. This I find an even sadder thought. Rowling clearly thought it unimportant to publicly mention what is a very personal characteristic of Dumbledore, at the very least until after most fans have read the books. Had she not been asked, I doubt she would have offered up this information. She did this for one very strong, very simple, reason: it is of little importance to the story. Yes, it sheds some light on a few events, and it does add to Dumbledore’s overall dynamic. But it has virtually no impact otherwise. To go back and “read into” certain parts of the books would be extremely disrespectful to the author and to the story, especially considering how respectful the author was to her fans and to her books.
I admire J.K. Rowling now more than ever before. Had I been in the audience when she made the big announcement, I would have been one of the first ones jumping up and applauding. Even after having read the entire series, all but the last installment multiple times, she continues to amaze me.
