I found out on Monday that Oates was going to be at a local bookstore, reading from her latest on Tuesday. Like a 12-year-old girl with an NSync ticket, I rushed into action.
I bought the new book, “I’ll Take You There.” Then I ran home and pulled everything of hers I own off the shelves. I had 16 of her books. Since “I’ll Take You There” is her 38th novel, and she’s also produced volumes of poetry, short stories, dramas, essay collections, etc. this figure is not too impressive.
I was giddy, picking out things I might be able to get her to sign. I felt like I had a sick crush or something. Little, insignificant ME in the room with a certified GENIUS. I knew I couldn’t get away with carrying in a stack of books and having her sign every one. So I picked three. And I tried to read as much of the new one as I could.
I was so excited, I could barely speak. I was literally flushed in her presence. As with every time I see photos of her or see her on tv, I was shocked at her frailty, her paleness, and the tiny form she made under her clothes. And shocked again when such an animated, lively, enormous personality came out of the little bitty person.
It was better than I’d imagined! I almost fainted! She was funny, she was insightful. She was oddly self-deprecating. She read from her book and explained what she was thinking when she wrote it, told a few jokes, and was just generally an amazing, compelling speaker. The joy!!!
I got in line after that to have my books signed and she TALKED to me! She asked me what I did for a living. I gushed that I was THRILLED to hear her speak. I swept my hand over a display of her works next to her and said, “I have all of these!” She giggled shyly. Then she TOUCHED me! She shook my hand.
I’ll never wash this hand again.
L