Reading

So last night, I went to a reading at the Barnes and Noble in Park Slope. That is not usually my bookstore of choice, but Pete Hamill, a writer that I was introduced to by my dad and whom I enjoy reading was going to be there.

I sat in the thrid row, squashed against a row of glossy cookbooks and peered between the heads of many older strangers at this man, out of whose pen came Forever(If you live in New York and you haven't read it, read it). He spoke in his soothing voice about growing up in Brooklyn, about libraries and about the re-relase of his book The Gift.

Whenever I go to one of these readings, or even a concert or a show, I wonder what is going through the person's mind who is in front of this group. Is anything he does ok with us? Is it enough to truthfully answer a question or does it have to be shrouded in mystery? Did that person really just ask me that?

It's interesting because these people think they know a writer because they have read his or her writings. But what they know are the writings not the person. The annoying man behind me announced that he thought Maureen Dowd was a disgrace as his annoying wife asked Mr. Hamill whether he read Ms. Dowd's column in the Times. Is that what people really want to know? Mr. Hamill answered these questions and the question of who he thought were heroes with a good-natured grin, but I couldn't help thinking that he might have thought these questions were as inane as the rest of the audience might have.

I wonder what he was thinking about when he sat and signed books and tried to address each person personally, engaging them in a quick conversation before thanking them and sending them on their way. Do these snippets of conversation mean as much to him as they surely meant to the audience members?

Whether it did or not, it was a treat to be in the presence of someone whose writing I greatly admire and listen to him try to have the answers.