Two brief tales, a high and a low, now that I'm back from my visit to the Texas Book Festival, a wonderfully run event with a devoted turnout.
Trip highlight: A visit to the fantastic Harry Ransom Center, which contains the archives of the likes of Mailer, DeLillo and Stoppard. This was a literary geek's dream trip, and we were taken inside the conservation and restoration departments, where I took some lousy cell phone shots that I will try to upload this week. Our group also received a guided tour of the wonderful exhibition The Mystique of the Archive, which includes (among other things) a glimpse of the before/after sorting of Mailer archive, which arrived in a tractor trailer full of boxes; and a 20 page set of DeLillo's opening typescript pages of Underworld, in which he strives to get it just right. Fantastic stuff. If you're in the area and have never been, do go. One thing that makes this archive unique is that it's available to anyone with a photo ID. You don't need to be a professor with seven letters of reference to paw through Mailer's pornographic musings.
The bonus for me, however, was to learn that a letter I wrote to Stoppard from my college paper in 1984 requesting an interview was in the archive. I was taken downstairs after the tour and the letter was wince-inducingly pulled from the file - but what a treat to see it there after all these years.
Trip Nadir: I nearly missed the panel on Character-Driven Fiction I had been asked to moderate. Somehow - don't ask - I got it in my head that the panel began at 1:00, requiring me in the Green Room at 12:30. It actually began at 12:00 and at 11:50 my phone rings. It's co-panelist Andrew Sean Greer asking where I am. The answer was I was having brunch with my friends.
Folks, I am the guy who shows up 15 minutes early and circles the block. I pride myself on my bulletproof reliability. I was mortified, ran to the valet, begged for an immediate, emergency taxi, which got me within two blocks of the Capitol Building. I ran the rest of the way, and entered the Senate Chamber, where the panel was held, at precisely 12:00 panting and pouring sweat. Greer and fellow panelists Ann Cummins, Ann Packer and Francise Prose were already on stage, and my moderator's podium was conspicuously empty. I could barely catch my breath enough to read my carefully written introductions, but once the first question was being answered, I was able to recover myself and the panel went off without any further hitches. An attendee even stopped me at the signing area to say how much she'd enjoyed the discussion.
And then I entered a Texas porta-pottie and was promptly ill. Good times. Literary news download tomorrow. After I vote. And vote again. And vote again ...