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| Colum McCann |
This time, I was eager to hear McCann talk about his own work. This would, I assumed, be the first time he talked about his newest novel Transatlantic. I did no research on that, but since the book was to be released on June 4th and the event was scheduled for June 5th, I figured it was a fairly safe assumption. Ed and I arrived to a full house and took our seats. McCann was to be speaking with John Wray, an author I'd never heard of, though he's written a handful of novels which have been well received and was selected by Granta magazine (a favorite of mine) as one of the best young American novelists writing today. He is long and lanky - the kind of guy who can make wearing a suit look like an act of revolution. He and McCann were friends and made lots of references to conversations they've had between them, and with mutual friend Nathan Englander, another powerhouse writer. McCann was wearing a narrow scarf over otherwise nondescript clothes. This seems to be his trademark; when I last saw him, he wore a similar style, and blogging about the experience later, I discovered that he had on something similar in nearly every picture of him that Google turned up.
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| John Wray |
Ed said afterward that this was the first author conversation to which I've dragged him that he felt he wanted to be a part of. I know what he meant. The underlying theme of the talk was, of course, McCann's new book, but the conversation was less about writer's craft, character development, and long days at the computer (though all that figured in) than it was about philosophy, interpersonal relations, and life. McCann talked about first being inspired by a little-known episode in history to write the book, but said he did not want to write a historical novel because to him, the genre was one that people felt they had to treat "with kid gloves." As with Let the Great World Spin and Dancer, the story is told by many voices. Transatlantic spans centuries as well, and is a testament not only to how Irish people have shaped the United States (that's been done) but to how we have influenced Ireland. McCann did not want to write another simple immigrant story. This book sounds broad and sweeping, and I simply can't wait to read it. I put Wray on my list of fantasy dinner party guests after the first few minutes. He was an articulate, insightful, and very funny companion to McCann's bare-faced, sincere intellect. McCann often stammered, seemingly overwhelmed by the burning intensity of the truths he spoke. Wray, in comparison, was slick and sharp, but no less thoughtful - he'd spit out a one-liner and follow it so quickly with a keenly unique point that my head spun. They talked about McCann's cross country bike ride, his experiences living in New York during and after September 11th, and his devotion to promoting radical empathy through projects like Narrative4. (Look into it. It's super cool.) McCann's perspective is imaginative, thoughtful, and fascinating. For example, he said that he wishes our government had spent billions of dollars handing out free iPods to Afghanis instead of on bombs to drop on them. He fantasizes that the iPods would come loaded with the Koran and popular Arabic music, but that after six months it would all vanish, and to reload it Afghanis would have to visit free recharging centers where they could get all the original tracks but also music by artists like Elvis, the Beatles, and Amy Winehouse. This, he believes, would be a way to start dialogue and solve world problems. The scenario is hard to imagine for infinite reasons, but the idea is intriguing nonetheless.
We were in for more excitement during the audience Q and A. The third or fourth person to take the microphone was a very old man. I saw him only from the back. He had flowing, snowy hair and, as I observed when he turned his head, protuberant white eyebrows. "If you don't mind, I have a comment instead of a question," he rumbled in a thick brogue. My knee-jerk reaction was to groan inwardly; here was another old codger seizing his chance to put his soapbox in a public place for an change. But McCann grinned. "I know that voice!" he exclaimed. Heads whirled to stare at the man. "Malachy McCourt, everyone!" McCann announced, and the audience broke into thunderous applause. I listened, breathless, while McCourt - writer, actor, politician, radio host, and man-about-town - took McCann to task for his poor commercial sensibilities. Not once, McCourt thundered, had he heard the title of the book mentioned. How on earth were we all supposed to go out and buy it? He then asked a legitimate question, which McCann smilingly answered before turning to the next audience member with a raised hand. Ten minutes later, when McCann referred to his novel as "the book," a cry of "What's the title?" rang indignantly from McCourt's direction, causing renewed laughter. I skipped the book signing when the evening ended, figuring that my impromptu interaction with McCann months before was a far richer experience than standing in line to get another signature would be.
The fact that people like Colum McCann exist in the world fills me with encouragement and hope. I was honored to listen to him speak, and I'll eagerly await a time when I can sit down for a good long stretch to lose myself in his latest work. And I'm grateful to live in this vibrant city, where fascinating authors hang out socially and people like Malachy McCourt pop up on Wednesday nights.
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