by David Lipsky
[Break]
Is fiction going the way of poetry or no?
I think avant-garde fiction has already gone the way of poetry. And it’s become involuted and forgotten the reader. Put it this way, there are a few really good poets who suffered because of the desiccation and involution of poetry, but for the most part I think American poetry has gotten what it’s deserved. And, uh, it’ll come awake again when poets start speaking to people who have to pay the rent, and fuck the same woman for thirty years. That’s off the record: that’s really nasty.
Do you worry that fiction could end up becoming the kind of pleasant hobbyist’s backwater that reading poetry has become?
If it does, it won’t be the audience’s fault. And it won’t be TV’s fault.
[Hiss of another Diet Pepsi can being cracked: little carbon dioxide sigh]
I disagree with you. I think it could easily be the audience’s and TV’s fault.
I have this—here’s this thing where it’s going to sound sappy to you. I have this unbelievably like five-year-old’s belief that art is just absolutely magic.
And that good art can do things that nothing else in the solar system can do. And that the good stuff will survive, and get read, and that in the great winnowing process, the shit will sink and the good stuff will rise.
[His watch beeps: I keep wondering if it’s mine.]
But who’s going to be trained to read acutely? I mean the skills you need to read, not for a computer, but for fiction, you’ll lose the training.
But realize the limitations of space, time, and historical situation. You’re talking about nobody will be trained to read the way we read. Which means that if people are reading in more short bursts or whatever, that art will find a way to form conversations with readers in the brain voice or vernacular that they’ve got. And for a while, when they, you know, what’s—is it Nietzsche’s term or Heidegger’s term? “The old gods have fled and the new gods have not come”? It will be a bleak time. But I mean—Jesus, if the thing made the jump from oral, you know, jongleur ballad, to printed text, then I think it can—
“O’Hare River Road,” that’s what we want. So you want to at some point to drift left. We’re clearly not going to make the noon, are we?
No. It’s 12:04 …
Shit. The next is one fifteen. We’re going to have to go to the desk and change. She said that one fifteen was empty.
[Break]
What were you afraid of in the reception of the book?
I was afraid people would think it was sloppy, poorly—that it would seem like a mess. Instead of an intentional, very careful mess. That it would seem … But the fact that she would think that this was just every thought I seemed to have for three years put down on the page, just made my bowels turn to ice. [Re: Michiko Kakutani]
Because that was of course the great dark terror when I was writing it. Is that that’s how it would come off. So seeing that she really really liked Updike was a tremendous shot in the arm. [Updike’s In the Beauty of the Lilies]
Why?
Because Updike, I think, has never had an unpublished thought. And that he’s got an ability to put it in very lapidary prose. But that Updike presents one with a compressed Internet problem, is there’s 80 percent absolute dreck, and 20 percent priceless stuff. And you just have to wade through so much purple gorgeous empty writing to get to anything that’s got any kind of heartbeat in it. Plus, I think he’s mentally ill.
You really do, don’t you?
Yeah. I think he’s a nasty person. And I’ll tell you, if you think I hate him? Talk to—bring up his name to [to J. Franzen].
[Break]
• • •
12:45, WE’VE MADE IT
PARKED AT O’HARE AIRPORT
WE RUN—WE HAVE 20 MINUTES—
TO UNITED AIRLINES TICKET COUNTER, TO JETWAY, TO FLIGHT
Boy, are we gonna feel silly if this crashes.
[I mention that the woman at the United Airlines desk only had eyes for him. That Dave, on the road for three weeks, is pumping out celebrity glow, the look people give, the trim, radiant impression of being watchable.]
Yeah, it’s the sweat pouring down—she was watching the sweat pour down my face. It drives ’em wild.
[In Bloomington, when we were talking with the ticket agent, and the flight was cancelled, he put his head down on the counter. And groaned. Also, the wintergreen smell from his chewing tobacco in the front seat. The ice on the car, the tobacco can spilling over.]
Just another of my series of, one long series of SNAFUs on the reading tour.
[In the car, he told me a funny story about reading at Iowa State. Also, the Richard Powers story: going to the writer for help when he was being asked to cut four hundred pages, very interesting. He wanted to raise the money and buy the rights back to the book.]
[As we walk down jetway: Dave still wondering if we should board.]
I always fear that when I really impose my will on something, the universe is gonna punish me.
• • •
ON PLANE NOW
PAGING THROUGH THE LIBRARY IN THE SEAT-BACK POCKET THE GIFT CATALOGS, THE “SAFETY GUIDE TO THE BOEING 757”
[He’s fascinated: he’s really reading it. Everyone I know has always treated it as a hotel’s Gideon Bible: drawer ballast, nothing you’d open.]
Does that affect your feeling of safety as you sort of are riding on—it looks like it requires two mild muscle spasms to remove the door. Bonk, bonk; bonk. Well. There’s got to be some occlusive seal on it or something, right?
Also, it looks as if the jet is perhaps in flight, and he’d just gotten tired of being on the plane.
Exactly. He’s sort of like, “You know, since we’re on the grass, since we’ve landed on the grass, perhaps we’d like a stroll.” “Let’s considerately wait by the soon-to-explode wing, and help people as they slide off of it.”
[I remember what that guy Mark said at the Bloomington airport.]
Of course, the problem is the wings are full of fuel.
Yeah, not good to be over the wing. [Still fascinated by the Safety Guide.] This is what I like, is like: “How interesting. An oxygen mask has dropped down.” Look, her eyes are totally unafraid. “I think I’ll put it on. Why—no, I’ll put one on my child.” It’s just this …
[Closes it, looks at cover. Clouds and sky.]
This was my major complaint about the cover of the book.
[Voice comes over Boeing PA: “Flight crew, take your positions, prepare for departure.”]
Is that it looks—on American Airlines flights? The cloud system, it’s almost identical.
[On safety booklet for 757]
Oh, that’s funny. What did you want instead?
Oh, I had a number of—there’s a great photo of Fritz Lang directing Metropolis. Do you know this one? Where he’s standing there, and there are about a thousand shaven-headed men in kind of rows and phalanxes, and he’s standing there with a megaphone? It wouldn’t have been … Michael said it was too busy and too like conceptual, it required too much brain work on the part of the audience. …
Because you were making a metaphor on the cover?
No, I just thought it was cool—
They used the Brit version of my cover after they saw it. It’s a cover I like.
Auhhh! (Dry shocked exhale of disappointment)
You didn’t like that cover? I think it’s good-looking.
No, it’s real good-looking. It’s just, why do you get to have any influence on, I—
[Break]
[I go to bathroom to make notes. He began that phrase by saying, “This I always find funny. That they don’t seem at all worried. You know, just opening up the thing.” It was the door illustration on the jet safety guide.]
[Looks at wing: we’re juddering down the runway.] See the wing, see how it ripples and shudders slightly? Then you start thinking about, you know, like the metallurgical composition of the wing—and how well they’v
e calculated the stresses.
[His fears of flying]
I wasn’t all that good at physics in high school. And we’re gonna—basically our lives are about to depend upon physics. What is it: the under exceeds over, there’s lift?
CAPTAIN, ON PA: Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to welcome you aboard. This is United Airlines Flight 1453.
[Why he prefers crazy women; and feels he’s ended up with lots of crazy ones …]
Psychotics, say what you want about them, tend to make the first move.
That’s a great, great line. [To tape] It’s about the women he’s dated. Because he’s shy.
[Break]
It’s just much easier having dogs. You don’t get laid; but you also don’t get the feeling you’re hurting their feelings all the time.
[I laugh.]
You don’t, though, right?
He began by saying, “The thing is, it’s just much easier having dogs.”
I emphasize it’s a platonic relationship with the dogs.
[Break]
[Told the counterwoman at UA, again: “Not on a date.” “We’re traveling together—not on a date.”]
[The pilot came back to check the ice on the wing, and then when he explained what he was doing, he looked at us very squarely and said, “Do you know who I really like, gentlemen? Me.”
He seemed to think we were wondering why he’d take the trouble. A little disquieting.]
That’s what he said? “You know who I really like?” Were we talking about who we liked?
[Pause]
Is this one of these deals where we have a sudden intuition, and bolt off the plane on the tarmac?
I think it’s too late. I figure we just have to accept.
Hey. Look, read the packet: We’re two arm motions away from liberty. Except then, of course, one would get out of a crash, but there’s all this whole Appointment in Samarra–type madness. That story makes my stomach hurt. Or it’s a Twilight Zone episode.
[Has brought Heinlein to read on flight]
You made some remark at the New York reading that Ethan Hawke took umbrage with.
No no no no no. It’d just come off—
Well, what it makes you look is glamorous …
No it doesn’t. No, what it does—all right, I’ll tell you. But if you use this, though, you’ve gotta tell the truth. Which, the truth is, what happened is, I got really nervous, and had one of these brain farts. One of those nanosecond inspirations. Another thing that’s out of your mouth and then you’re reaching for it. There was this whole long thing about “unsuccessful actors, the kind who would in previous decades have been in infomercials.” It’s all in the videophone thing. And then I’d inserted, “And Richard Linklater films.” Thinking that he would not find this hostile. (Shakes head at his decision) Yeah, I have a movie star at my reading, and I’m inserting false stuff in some weird, hostile ass-kiss, and uh …
You put that in the videophone section?
Yeah. But it was just—I just inserted it, reading it out loud. I mean, I didn’t write it in. It was like, “Oh, I’ll put this in, and it’ll be funny.” But according to Charis, he was really pissed off. And then I felt like, “God, this poor guy. He can’t even go in the back, he didn’t want to be acknowledged, he just wanted to listen to a reading.” And I, because I’m nervous, feel like I’ve gotta pull some condescending shit on him, and I just felt like an asshole. Felt like a true asshole. And if you would, I’d appreciate your having me acknowledge that I felt like a serious asshole.
I missed that part of the reading, because at that point I was in the corner of the bookstore.
Believe me, it’s a loss I think you can weather.
[Break]
… I got my own white robe in each hotel, and decided I had arrived.
In which, in San Francisco? The Whitney?
No, I just—I don’t know why I said “Whitney.” Hang on, I can even check it.
They deserve a plug, for putting a bathrobe in their bathroom. It seemed to me an incredibly touching and considerate thing. [Unfolding publicity call sheet, reading.] “See Salon. Laura Miller.” The Prescott.
[Break]
In Seattle, they also had—
Alexis, the Alexis Hotel.
[He explains: a place with animal heads on the wall and stuff, the Alexis.]
[Break]
Ah, you’re fine. $120 by the night. [He’s checking how much tonight’s hotel will cost, to see if it would break me.]
[Break]
[Pulls out Kodiak chew]
Now I can enjoy full nicotine satisfaction, and you cannot.
This is his prepping to chew the Kodiak stuff, talking about how “The rules on the airplane, whatever the nightmare of the food is, actually discourage people from chewing tobacco. Because those few people who know how to chew tobacco would be chewing tobacco all the time.”
[Smiles; he gets a kick out of my repeating things he says into the tape machine.]
Those people who know how to chew tobacco would be chewing tobacco all the time.
[Break]
Two separate drafts of this book were written—were typed, David says—with one finger. ’Cause he can’t type very well. Two drafts of this book were typed with one finger.
But a really fast finger.
“But a really fast finger.”
[Break]
He asks for an additional foam cup—says he’s allergic to plastic—because he wants to spit tobacco into it, and knows that if he uses the see-through plastic it could gross people out.
[The Hyde Street Gift Catalog]
Boy, there’s some interesting stuff in here.
[Hyde Street Gift Catalogs on plane: he says he’s been reading them back and forth on each trip leg, getting to know the stock.
He’s looking at an extension, a gardening tool, that would allow you to remove wasps’ nests from trees and eaves.]
Oh, I like this—I like this guy’s expression as he’s putting it in there. It looks like he’s working for the National Security Agency or something. “This’ll resolve that situation.” Oh wait, there’s another one, where a man’s using the stomach exerciser: it looks just like he’s having a bowel movement. Where is this?
[Public address system: “You’ll notice we’ve turned the Seat Belt sign back on …”]
Look at the expression on his face. He looks like sort of an autistic person having an orgasm. Yeah, hours of fun with that thing.
[PA: “Please make sure that your seat belt is securely fastened. We’d like to say thanks for flying with us today. It’s been a pleasure having you on board, hope to see you again soon in the near future.”
Our pilot, like everyone, doing his job, which also requires a little promotional work, a little future-sales stuff …]
[Break: We’re landing.]
They told you you’re number fifteen on the bestseller list.
Oh, yeah. (Nervous, faking unconcern)
What did you make of that? Exciting, isn’t it?
I guess … (Slightly nonconvinced sound in voice) I don’t really know what it means. I don’t think very many people buy hardcovers, so I don’t think it probably takes a whole lot to get on that list.
But there are also a lot of books that aren’t on that list.
This is true. I’m trying to work out my system of like—how to accept this without thinking of the karma about it.
Martin Amis’s The Information—you were talking about it at dinner—never made that list.
So what does make that list? Stuff like, um, Primary Colors? Or, um, Men Are from Venus, Women Are from Mars?
That’s been on for about two years. More.
[To tape] David said that this is why, when they started, he and his publicist reached an accord, which is “There’s information that it’s better for me not to have.”
I don’t want it rubbed off. And if I were stronger, I could hear it and then just …
Did you eve
r think you’d have a bestselling book, though?
No. Nope. And there’s a part of me that’s just immensely … pleased, and surprised. It’s not, I don’t mean to walk around pullin’ this long face about it.
[Break]
How many printings? It’s in fourth?
It’s in its sixth printing now? They do all these little printings, and now all the stores are out of stock. And so, the stores are pissed because they’re afraid that people won’t buy it after a week’s wait or somethin’, so they’re trying to do all kinds of …
How small are the printings?
(His voice lifts, a little, when he feels he’s saying something—wistfully, dreamily, upping the volume to jam the mixed feeling—that’s charged, that isn’t entirely sincere or true.) I don’t know: Like ten thousand or fifteen thousand each?
(Normal) I think the book is so expensive and the postage is so much, that they’re really afraid of having too many.
[But he does know the number and size of the printings; can’t help knowing.]
I mean, he [Michael Pietsch] has fifteen books he’s working on, he line-edited this twice. We’re having conferences when he’s, like, lying in bed sick with the flu. I mean he really—I know it sounds like horseshit, but he really did the old-time. … Like—and I know this wasn’t, he must have had to put a lot of himself on the line, to even get them to take this. Given that it was so long. I mean, I think he’s a little bit of a hero, and it would be nice if he got some of the good attention out of it.