Three Black Spots

Book Stuff

^{Yoda in tow, we got there thirty minutes ahead of time, staked out our claim to prime seats and I scurried off to the Starbucks for my hit of decaf cap, and a hot choc for Mina. Next stop the sales counter, to pick up a brand new hardcover, ready for signing. Fully prepped, we sat back and took stock of the room.}

The space was filling up with retired people. Half of them probably belonged to reading clubs. Some creaky bones, a couple of walking sticks, lots of solicitous ‘ are you okay dear’, ‘ can I get you something’, and a couple of testy ‘I’m fine, just leave me alones’. Book cred was also on display. ‘I’ve read all his books’,’I heard him last year, and he’s very funny’,‘Are you going to the De Lillo reading?’

Big question? What constitutes a prime seat at a signing? An earnest young book person made it clear. ‘If you want to get your book signed, please sit on this side’. A mad rush to the choice rows – this is how those ferries in Europe or the Bay of Bengal capsize. She then came around with Post Its, and wrote down how we wanted the signing personalized. All very industrial and production line.

Yoda decided to make his presence felt, and instantly got his due. I guess book readers who attend signings are also 100% dog owners. None of the usual frivolous queries about grooming, meds or food. There was a Zen-like dedication to his hisness - his essential poochness, and some loving tickling. Yoda always inspires the ‘I wish I’d brought my dog along’ reaction. Never fails.

The second wave of booklovers hit. Young busy looking people, who looked like they had just finished solving some of the world’s problems. Some rolling of eyes as they realized that all the good seats were taken. They did the NYC theater shuffle, vigorous stepping over feet, insincere apologies mumbled as they headed for the lone seat in the centre of the aisle.

Two slightly burly guys walked in, toting bags laden with books. Ah, the indie bookseller contingent. Someone had saved seats for them at the front of the signing row, and our hearts sank. At least forty books would have to be signed before anyone else got a look in. A scruffy fellow marched up with a bag full of Lee Child paperbacks – ‘I bet he’s going to sell them on E Bay’ muttered in not so sotto voce.

We were set, Lee Child marched up on time, and was charming, witty, and very very Brit. He fessed up to the usual writer’s anxiety – ‘What if the first 11 books were just a fluke?’ After a very clever reading – he took some of the dialogue and converted it into a ten second TV commercial for the book – he answered questions with flair.

We took Yoda up to him, got the raised eyebrow, exchanged some India conversation – his British agent knew the Gandhi family – and walked home clutching our freshly signed book, squabbling over who would get first dibs at reading it.

Quick cut to CUNY and a New York Times panel discussion. ‘Do we obsess to much over our dogs?’ Duh. Of course. Why else have a dog? Isn’t that the whole point? I believe that a famous Think Tank once spent some serious money and time exploring the question ‘How much is enough?’ Duh again. Remember the old graffiti ‘Wanking is not a town in China’?

We snuck Yoda in, camouflaged in his carrying case. Our fellow audience members gave us the wink and nod- they knew what was going on. I was in fear of the Uni police coming up and ejecting me from my $ 22 seat, but I needn’t have worried. The four panelists walked in, each with a dog in tow, and the afternoon was off to a great start. We let Yoda out of his case, he found a friendly group of people further along the row, curled up at their feet, and went to sleep.

Yes, we do obsess over our dogs. No, there was nothing wrong with that. The discussion was about to degenerate into a Doggy-Kumbaya set of platitudes. Then Claudia – Editor of bark magazine and creator of ‘Dog is my Co-Pilot’ took off against Cesar Millan the Dog Whisperer. ‘He has single handedly set back Animal Training by 50 years’. Wow. It’s not often that you see people on a public platform haul back and deliver the sleeve in the windpipe, but she did, and unleashed a floodgate. For a few minutes there was a distinct anti-Cesar vibe in the room. Vets and behaviorists weighed in, and you really had the sense the Poor Cesar would have been tarred, feathered and ridden out of town on a rail had he been there. Ever since I read Huck Finn, I’ve always wanted to use that phrase.

William Wegman who produces abominable photographs of dogs in ridiculous poses – and has created quite a niche market for himself- showed us some slides. It’s an insult to a dog to show him mugging with a saxophone, or dressed in Victorian frills. Some people dig his stuff, and a couple in front of us proudly spoke of their Wegman collection. They were quite anxious to let me know how much they had paid for their trove.

As we left, I wondered whether Yoda was getting just too much of an eddication. He is a sentient being alright, but is all this input likely to blow his synapses? No fears. He has the ability that I envy deeply, to just turn over, go humph, and fall asleep. If there’s a subliminal process taking place, I hope that he’s picking up pointers on how to conduct himself at a reading. It’s coming Yodie, our moment in the sun is coming.