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The etiquette of running a reading
Dec. 10th, 2004 10:29 pmA friend called this afternoon, wanting me to accompany him to a book presentation at 7:30pm. Since I had not left the house all day (am still coughing lots but feeling much better, though today the antibiotics are making my stomach act up quite a bit) I decided to join him, even though I was not especially interested in the book in question, a biography of Rimbaud's mother, translated from the French. The event was held at the Institut Francias--well, actually, in the smaller salon of the French Embassy next door--which is not far from where I live. It was also the sort of unveiling of this new publishing house, Funambulist, since this was one of the first 4-5 titles they've published, which is the main reason I decided to go: to see what they're doing.
The books themselves look perfectly lovely, they printed the author photos underneath the gate flaps which looks quite sharp, and they have a line called Intempestivos, of shorter length texts in exquisite pocket-sized volumes.
The publisher made some brief introductoryremarks, and thenthe author, whose Spanish was not good, gave a good try of relating in her halting Spanish some of the backstory abotu why she wrote the book, some of the myths about Rimbaud and his mother, and some of the stories she unveiled that proved that their relationshp was actually contrary to how the adolescent Rimbaud portrays her in his work, and also some fun stuff about being a French writer/historian from outside of France and how that affected the reception of her work.
Over half the audience did not speak French, so there were large bits of the presentation that were tedious. Through no fault of hers, she really did try, and a woman in the front row often helped her with translating words into Spanish when she got stuck.
A number of times the Publisher asked if there were any questions, and after two or three, there were no more. So he startd asking some.
And then he commented how, since Francoise (the author) is now living in Rabat, she had brought with her the manuscript for her new novel, which no one else had yet read, for him (the publisher) to bring back to Belgium for her since she didn't trust the Morroccan mails, and he was going to dig out the manuscript and have her read from it.
It was at this point, nearly 9pm, that I got up and walked out, furious with the publisher. Hisbehavior was, I think, totally inappropriate. For one thing, the evening was not an homage to the author, Francois, but a presentaiton of her biography of Rimbaud's mother, and almost all of the people who came were there because they were interested in Rinbaud.
While some of them might also develop a curiosity or have a separate interest in whatever her novel might be about, is possible, but that is a question for another moment.
Certainly not appropriate to keep interminably extending an event (on a Friday night no less, when people almost always have other familial or social obligations to get to).
Grump.
The books themselves look perfectly lovely, they printed the author photos underneath the gate flaps which looks quite sharp, and they have a line called Intempestivos, of shorter length texts in exquisite pocket-sized volumes.
The publisher made some brief introductoryremarks, and thenthe author, whose Spanish was not good, gave a good try of relating in her halting Spanish some of the backstory abotu why she wrote the book, some of the myths about Rimbaud and his mother, and some of the stories she unveiled that proved that their relationshp was actually contrary to how the adolescent Rimbaud portrays her in his work, and also some fun stuff about being a French writer/historian from outside of France and how that affected the reception of her work.
Over half the audience did not speak French, so there were large bits of the presentation that were tedious. Through no fault of hers, she really did try, and a woman in the front row often helped her with translating words into Spanish when she got stuck.
A number of times the Publisher asked if there were any questions, and after two or three, there were no more. So he startd asking some.
And then he commented how, since Francoise (the author) is now living in Rabat, she had brought with her the manuscript for her new novel, which no one else had yet read, for him (the publisher) to bring back to Belgium for her since she didn't trust the Morroccan mails, and he was going to dig out the manuscript and have her read from it.
It was at this point, nearly 9pm, that I got up and walked out, furious with the publisher. Hisbehavior was, I think, totally inappropriate. For one thing, the evening was not an homage to the author, Francois, but a presentaiton of her biography of Rimbaud's mother, and almost all of the people who came were there because they were interested in Rinbaud.
While some of them might also develop a curiosity or have a separate interest in whatever her novel might be about, is possible, but that is a question for another moment.
Certainly not appropriate to keep interminably extending an event (on a Friday night no less, when people almost always have other familial or social obligations to get to).
Grump.
