It's official. David Foster Wallace will be speaking at UCLA's Hammer Museum on Sunday the 15th at 6pm. I hesitate to even post this because I don't want anyone else in LA to know about it. That's how afraid I am that I won't get in. Why? DFW doesn't grant interviews. Doesn't do email. Doesn't do anything except write, write, write with a little teaching thrown in. So you can imagine the madness that will accompany trying to get in. Shunned journalists and celebrity types that fancy themselves writers will all come out of the woodwork and use their "clout" to get in ahead of lowly unpublished me. Perhaps I can whip up a credential of some sort to snag a much-sought-after seat. "First come first served" is always a nightmare in this town...because it never really means what it implies. You simply cannot just sit down if you arrive first. If you arrive late and are important, those who have arrived on time -- or hours early -- will always be bumped. Always. So it is with trepidation that I mention it at all. I will have to invent a casual, "of course i'm important but i'm so important i don't need to remind you of it" gait and just saunter in. Shades? No shades? Should I rustle up a bodyguard? Hire a pandering assistant or two?
To say I like his writing would be to understate things. To say I love his writing would be to overstate things. So I'm...on the fence. I find his non-fiction and short stories delicious. I find his longer fiction...ambitious in a very "aren't i clever" sort of way.
But no matter. Several years ago I was at a book party in LA (when I didn't live in LA) and he was standing behind me talking quietly to someone. He had the expected scrubby look, complete with bandana, and was riding high on the success of Infinite Jest. He was genius de jour. I strained and strained, but could not hear a word that was said. Oh how I wanted to hear his deemed-wise words. Selfishly, I was hoping sheer proximity would elevate my fiction to art. As he moved to leave the party, he bumped up against my shoulder and that was that. So -- I have, literally, rubbed shoulders with him.
Now, if I'm lucky and I get there early, early, early, I may hear what he's got to say about his new collection of essays, Consider the Lobster. If, of course, I'm not edged out by all the journalists who did not get previously mentioned interviews...looking for their just reward. I'll report back.
Until then...I'll be writing my own collection of stories (okay, two) that are due, conveniently (or not so much?) on the same day.
