I saw Orhan Pamuk at a book signing recently. It was a most disappointing experience. For although we, the avid fans, could get close enough to stand practically nose to nose with the man, all we did was shuffle past him in a disciplined line as he somewhat morosely signed our books. I and, I believe most of the others, had expected him to talk about his work, share ideas and inspiration and craft with us.
I shouldn’t complain for I was the very first in line. As I started to pose my well thought out question on locale and character, the manager, a most polite and gracious gent I should emphasize, announced that the author requested that the queue move in a fast and orderly fashion. By engaging in discussion I was intending to break this newly stated rule whose amplification was, in any event, drowning me out. I persisted. Mr. Pamuk answered quickly before gesturing urgently that I should move along. ‘Many people in line’, he said impatiently in a faintly panic-stricken manner.
Showing off my signed copy to a friend, I discovered that most others had had their copies personally inscribed. I managed to make it back to the front, shamelessly breaking ahead of a bewildered couple.
‘I didn’t realise it was permitted,’ I said as I told Mr. Pamuk my name and held out my already signed and much-valued copy of “My Name is Red”. That got a little laugh out of him. ‘We were in an experimental phase then’, he replied.
I could have heard him speak the previous day but having assumed I would have a chance at the signing, I chose instead to listen to Vidya Dehejia, which was fine. I read that at the lecture I missed, Orhan Pamuk commented on how modern aids such as sophisticated word processing programmes tend to distract the writer. I paraphrase but he said something like, one worries too much about layout. Surely one would choose ones font, use the standard format and get going, I thought. But now that I’ve started this blog, I see his point. I’ve spent hours positioning everything on my page only to find that when I view it full page everything is rearranged.
Does it matter how it looks if the content is sound? But is the content sound? A
nd isn't it important that it look good?
I shouldn’t complain for I was the very first in line. As I started to pose my well thought out question on locale and character, the manager, a most polite and gracious gent I should emphasize, announced that the author requested that the queue move in a fast and orderly fashion. By engaging in discussion I was intending to break this newly stated rule whose amplification was, in any event, drowning me out. I persisted. Mr. Pamuk answered quickly before gesturing urgently that I should move along. ‘Many people in line’, he said impatiently in a faintly panic-stricken manner.
Showing off my signed copy to a friend, I discovered that most others had had their copies personally inscribed. I managed to make it back to the front, shamelessly breaking ahead of a bewildered couple.
‘I didn’t realise it was permitted,’ I said as I told Mr. Pamuk my name and held out my already signed and much-valued copy of “My Name is Red”. That got a little laugh out of him. ‘We were in an experimental phase then’, he replied.
I could have heard him speak the previous day but having assumed I would have a chance at the signing, I chose instead to listen to Vidya Dehejia, which was fine. I read that at the lecture I missed, Orhan Pamuk commented on how modern aids such as sophisticated word processing programmes tend to distract the writer. I paraphrase but he said something like, one worries too much about layout. Surely one would choose ones font, use the standard format and get going, I thought. But now that I’ve started this blog, I see his point. I’ve spent hours positioning everything on my page only to find that when I view it full page everything is rearranged.
Does it matter how it looks if the content is sound? But is the content sound? A
nd isn't it important that it look good?
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