By now Nick knows that the mysterious woman who came into the bookstore and bought two books by Joan Didion from his hunky and oh-so-young clerk is me. How old was he, Nick--like, 17? He had biceps the size of a bread loaf and he probably sells you lots of books on the night shift. You know, lonely women looking for some smut to take to bed with them. Anyway...I could easily say that I bought two books by Joan Didion because Bridget mentioned Play it as It Lays a few entries ago. I could easily say that. I could say that it is because I studied creative writing at UC Davis. I could say it is because Joan Didion wrote about California, and I am from California. I could say it is because The Year of Magical Thinking received an ungodly number of reviews, mostly in the publications that I read on a regular basis. I could say that it is because it is about time I read Joan Didion; everyone else has.
But that's not true. Not everyone has. Just a few have. It's one thing to walk into a man's apartment and find Nick Hornby and other quality dicklit on an open bookshelf next to his wool sweaters and baseball caps. But when he opens up some secret closet and you realize that not only does he have a couple anthologies of Romantic poetry, but that there are several books by, of all people, Joan Didion, well...
You can see why a broken-hearted, lonely girl might wander into a bookstore at 9 pm at night and buy two books by Joan Didion. Not because she needs something to read--by god she has about twenty unread novels sitting on her shelf--but because she isn't quite yet ready to let go of the boy with the Joan Didion. Can't call him. Can't ring his doorbell in the middle of the night. (Well, she could, but...) All she can do is buy a book on grief and a book on loneliness, both by Joan Didion.
Nicky, I'm afraid that the hot clerk with the sourdough biceps didn't even know who Joan Didion was. "Oh, just someone who wrote on California," I said. He seemed surprised to see that this little-known writer had a National Book Award sticker on her cover. Alas. He's only, like 17. He has years to gather a devastating collection of novels.
10 comments:
You know what Joanie D said about _Play it As it Lays_? She said: I wanted to write a book so bare and blank and white, where all the action happened off the page so that people would have to fill in the empty space and bring their own bad dreams to the page.
Only I'm just paraphrasing, she said it better than that.
But on to more important things. I so--to the point where my toes ache--get the I'm longing to get close to you so deeply that I'll read your bookshelf because you've blocked me out of your mind kind of space.
Revel in it. Then give a rebel yell.
Nick. Fire the boy with the biceps. Fire him fast and far. He'll bounce back and get a job at some trendy bar in the Height.
You know if his arms are that big he can't hold up a book in bed.
What were you thinking?
Don't fire him, Nick. He's pretty, chatty, and charming. But do get him a subscription to the New Yorker to read on the treadmill. Or find him a 22-year-old tall blonde librarian. Send him over to her apartment on a warm afternoon. Tell him to ask her if she has any ice.
The boy is young, yes. Amazing arms? That, too. Charming and chatty, like Laura said? Yup. Was his last job at Abercrombie, probably selling those lime green hot shorts that Bridget covets? Right again.
But the funny thing about expectations and drawing conclusions on the size of biceps is, yes, we're often wrong. The boy doesn't read what I read, or what Laura reads, but the boy does read. Mainly 19th Century. Mainly French. The only thing he'll touch from the 20th Century is philosophy - not my thing at all, dahlinks.
So, Guy Debord? Yes. Joan Didion? Alas, no.
But the girls really really like him.
when i read "play it as it lays" i thought i bought a defective copy as there were almost no words on the page. so i just added comic panels.
okay, really nick. not helping with the french philosophy thing. NOT helping.
I'm with bridget. Fire him quick before the women start humming simon and garfunkel tunes.
and how come Laura's play it as it lays cover is way prettier than mine?
Heathcliff!
Yeah. Laura's cover is HOT.
Though I do adore my mid-seventies semi-porn with the snake cover. No way am I giving that up, and not just because it's signed.
if you really want to see empty pages, go find a copy of the unavailable film version of PIAIL with tuesday weld and tony perkins. i've seen it and afterwards i wanted to drive into the desert popping blues and greens and never come back...i still might.
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