MY LIFE AND THOUGHTS

Big thanks to everyone who came out to the panel at the Center for Fiction last Friday! It was wonderful to attach so many cute faces to colorful names. I learned very much from my fabulous co-panelists, particularly the amazing and lovely Rivka Galchen, that I now watch the video every night before I go to sleep.

In other news, I’ve been meaning for a while to share some writing from the nonfiction writing class I  taught last term at Koç University. I’m so proud of my students (all of whom are native Turkish speakers writing in English)! Today I have for you “The Calendar of the Old Button Collector,” by Naz Cuguoğlu, a senior majoring in psychology.

The assignment was to write about an old photo, in the style of Geoff Dyer’s “On the Roof” (from Otherwise Known as the Human Condition, which I was really happy to announce the other night as a 2011 NBCC Finalist!). Here are Naz’s photo and essay.

THE CALENDAR OF THE OLD BUTTON COLLECTOR

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As promised, the second installment of spooky reader dreams.  This comes from an esteemed colleague Sean Carman, and references my Dante-related essay, “A Divine Comedy,” which you can read right now (with subscription) in the September issue of Harper’s.

The essay mentions (a) a lunch I had at a beautiful hotel in Valpolicella with Dante’s very charming winemaking descendants, Count Pieralvise and Massimilla Serego Alighieri, as well as (b) a legend that Dante buried a manuscript of Paradiso somewhere on the Serego Alighieri estate.

Here is Sean’s dream:

Last year, when I was reading the Hollanders’ translation of the Inferno, I had a dream that was so vivid, and seemed so important, that it woke me from my sleep. In the dream, I was driving up a narrow Italian mountain road when I came across a small cafe and wine bar annexed to a castle. The cafe/wine bar had a trellis, and very little parking, and — here is the important part — an open-air cafe with flagstones and Italian waiters who served me wine. In the dream, I had a glass of pinot grigio and then went on my way, not knowing why I was in Italy, or on that particular road, or why I had stopped at the cafe. Still, the dream was so vivid, so rich in detail, I was sure it was trying to tell me something.

I read your article with interest, but I when I came to your visit to Casal dei Ronchi and your meeting with Count Pieralvise, I was riveted. Here was the scene from my dream repeated in your story. The same drive, the same open-air wine bar, the same flagstones. (For some reason, you didn’t mention the trellis.) What could it mean? I read on, captivated but also puzzled. A few paragraphs later, in the rumor that Dante hid a treasure trove of manuscripts somewhere on the estate, the meaning of my dream and its repetition in your Harper’s article became clear.

It’s true, my dream takes place on a narrow mountain road, whereas you were driving on a tall hill in the wine country. Also, I was at a castle, and you were visiting a hotel. Really, the only elements common to both scenes are the flagstones and the waiters.

But set aside the discrepancies between the two scenes, as well as the inconvenient fact that the Paradiso manuscript was supposedly buried at the estate, and also that it would make sense for it to be buried there. Focus on the flagstones. The flagstones, Elif. My dream and its recurrence in your Harper’s piece can only mean one thing. The hotel where you shared a glass of wine with the Count. Under the flagstones, most likely by the entrance trellis.

Elif: That’s where the Dante manuscript is buried.

The combination of flagstones,  visceral memory, and Italy really reminded me of the trippy scene with the flagstones in Time Regained (search for “flagstone”)… treasure-seekers, over to you.

“Here was the scene from my dream repeated in your story.”

Intuitive readers!  As promised I am writing to share with you some spooky reader dreams.  The first comes from the charming Yelin Bilgin of Istanbul, who started reading The Possessed during a recent heat wave and fell asleep during “Babel in California”:

i had a dream and i was donating a dream for a dream researcher. i was speaking english and i felt like one of the people in your book, as though they were not real people but your characters. i hope i could explain it well then 5 minutes ago i woke up with a strange feeling, covered in sweat. the strange thing is that i was donating the dream that i was having while asleep in real life. so it feels like the donation part was not a dream!!!

Guess what?  The donation part wasn’t a dream, because she really did donate the dream – to me!  And now I’m sharing it with you!  Whaa!

Did any terrifying visitations ever come to you while you were dozing over my work?  Hit me up!

“They were like characters in your book”

Dear readers!  I am just back from New Orleans where I had a completely fabulous time at Faulkner House Books—big thanks to the terrific staff and all the attendees!  I got to sit behind a huge, incredibly important-looking desk, pictured below.  The format was meet-and-greet, an interesting challenge since I was sitting behind this amazing desk.  At some point I tried firing one of my readers, as a joke (”You’re fired!”), but he didn’t seem to think it was funny.

Later I started fantasizing about getting such a desk in my apartment: I could fire my intern, and he would be so sad and wonder what he had done wrong; then I would realize it had all been a big mistake and rehire him, with tearful embraces on both sides.  This initially struck me as a really fun game that we could play over and over again on the long winter evenings.  Then I got a hold of myself and realized the desk had made me drunk with power.  By then, everyone looked so confused that I just ended up reading from the book and answering questions, same as always.

Resignation of the soul	Loyal readers

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By guest-blogger Peli Grietzer

Just give it to us straight, Ezra Koenig. Are you saying rich girls deserve their money, or are you saying rich girls are dumb whores? Do you taunt the 57% of America that can’t take real summer vacations, or do you mock the 43% that go on holidays? Was “Mansard Roof” an endorsement of roofs or an anti-roof satire?

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