Thursday, January 18, 2007

I saw a reading last night by Gael Green, an elderly woman who slept with Elvis and Clint Eastwood and probably many other men too. She was hilarious. Marty Beckerman read a story that made me feel ill, in a good way, and he offended the crowd in a way that just made me feel good. I ran into my old agent, the second one who had Fires, and he was cool about everything.


Amazon is doing something fucked up with Fires for the moment and saying it's not available, so I thought it'd be an opportune time to remind blog-readers that the best place to order it from is the Impetus website.


Martin Amis has some great answers to readers' questions.*

How do you think you might have ended up spending your working life if your father hadn't been a famous writer? JOHN GORDON, Eastleigh

Well, John, that would depend on what my father had chosen to do instead. If he had been a postman, then I would have been a postman. If he had been a travel agent, then I would have been a travel agent. Do you get the idea?

*bizarrely, it looks like one of the "readers" might be the brilliant novelist Alasdair Gray...


Richard said...

Gael Greene elderly? She's 69!

But she did help NYC's elderly. She founded Meals on Wheels.

NickAntosca said...

Oh. Well, I'm 23, and she seemed older than 69, but the light was low. Regardless, she was great.

evelyn said...

Hi, this is Evelyn again. Having recently read House of Meetings, I found this exchange of interest:

How did you research your new novel, The House of Meetings. You have not, I believe, ever been to Russia? OKSANA EVERTS, London

No. I did it by reading (and imagining). The Daily Mail school of criticism would have it that all writers, including Tolstoy and Shakespeare, are sneak thieves and bagsnatchers (see the recent non-scandal, indeed non-story, centred on Ian McEwan). But reading is the other half of writing, or the other third: you write, you read, and you live.