It’s funny that some people still consider book readings to be
snobby and elitist. Almost every book event in town is absolutely free,
and most of the exceptions to that rule are five bucks a pop to cover
the cost of renting a large venue. Readings are practically the most
egalitarian of all the entertainments: no fancy dress is required, no
purchase is necessary, and, in theory, every audience member has an
equal chance to become part of the dialogue. Since the book is read
aloud, you don’t even have to be literate to attend; that’s one
hell of an open-door policy. Seattle Arts and Lectures’ lecture series,
with its hundred-dollar tickets and stuffy Benaroya Hall setting, is
acceptable only because it brings big-name authors to Seattle, like
John Updike and Orhan Pamuk, who otherwise wouldn’t come at all.
So it was with great trepidation that I approached last week’s Words
& Wine reading with Ethan Canin in the W Hotel. The prereading
music didn’t allay my fears; Canin’s new novel is America
America, so someone had decided that the thing to play was Neil
Diamond’s “America.” This was the third event in the Words & Wine
series, which launched in May of this year with (a curious choice)
famed rehab-graduate James Frey. Upcoming Words & Wine authors
announced at the Canin event included Helter Skelter author
Vincent Bugliosi on September 9 and novelist Francine Prose on October
4. Objectively, it’s not a bad deal: $45 gets you in the door and all
the appetizers and wine you can scarf down in two and a half hours,
plus a signed first edition of the author’s newest book and an intimate
setting that virtually guarantees a chance to buttonhole a notable
writer into a private conversation.
The audience was graying, although several cute young things were in
attendance, too, and pretty much everyone had downed multiple glasses
of wine—Chateau Ste. Michelle is a cosponsor of the
event—before the Q&A started. Canin sipped at an enormous
pink cocktail as he discussed everything from Bobby Kennedy to
Chappaquiddick, from class schizophrenia in America (“You’re always
both the class you came from and the class your parents came
from—it’s always the place that you came from versus the place
where you are”) to 9/11 (“I stopped writing for two and a half years…
I don’t think that fiction is important in the great scheme of things,
but I think that if it has any sort of importance, it’s that it creates
empathy”).
America America is a great monster of a book. Set in 1972,
it’s about a young senator who’s running for president after a
disastrous Republican presidency—a concept that didn’t seem as
prescient when Canin began writing it in 2000. As with most readings in
Seattle, the crowd physically reacted to every mention of George W.
Bush, but Canin wasn’t just feeding easy lines to an approving
audience. Though he grew up in San Francisco, he lives and teaches in
Iowa City, and he said that the mixture of conservative and liberal
thought makes Iowa City “the most diverse city I’ve ever lived in,”
because “in San Francisco, everybody looks different but thinks the
same.”
The drinks seemed to make Canin more forthcoming. There’s always
something wonderful about getting drunk with smart people, especially
authors. The conversation tends to be startlingly intimate, far
ranging, and strangely raw. When asked a question, Canin would ramble
pleasurably for 10 minutes before moving on, sometimes never actually
answering the original question, although no one minded.
Canin is a graduate of Harvard Medical School who decided to become
a novelist after reading Saul Bellow. He talked at length about his
career as a doctor, mentioning, for example, that “the only time I ever
got sued” was a result of attempting to treat a gunshot victim, adding
cryptically that “finding an entry wound is much harder than finding
the exit wound.” He told aspiring authors to relax and let the subtext
of their books remain in the unconscious and not to overanalyze:
“Symbols are not symbols because Harold Bloom says they’re symbols.” He
reflected on the positive side of America’s possible impending demise
as a global superpower. It might be true that we won’t be the
wealthiest people in the world, but on the other hand, “it could be a
good thing. Italians don’t have to worry about their place in the world
anymore, and they seem pretty relaxed.”
Words & Wine isn’t going to replace any of Seattle’s traditional
book readings—Canin read at Third Place Books the night after
this event—but there’s something to be said for the idea of
getting an author liquored up and letting him talk for an hour or so to
a wobbly, blush-faced audience. Canin’s talk certainly ranks among the
most relaxed and revealing discussions I’ve ever attended. Nobody I
talked with seemed at all unsatisfied, and people who had no idea who
Ethan Canin was going in left as huge fans. Words & Wine had a new
fan, too: Afterward, over still more wine, Canin toasted the evening as
a favorite book event of his entire career. 