Meeting the Author

Tonight I got to hear Dave Eggers read from his latest book, What is the What?, a book I admire greatly. Afterwards I participated in the tedious ritual of standing on line to get my book (newly purchased because I had left mine home) signed. I was almost the last person on line and, believe me, it was a very long line. At first I almost left, thinking, maybe I'll just send him an e-mail and say, I love the book, the reading was great. But then I waited a little longer and then I started to feel that I had put in too much time to just go home and also that I would feel disappointed if I didn't get to talk to him. So I waited, my feet starting to hurt because I was wearing heels, shuffling forward patiently when everyone else did, wondering what I was going to say when it was my turn. I eavesdropped on the conversation of a very young man and woman in front of me who seemed to be maybe college friends who were catching up. They were also wondering what they were going to say, and they felt embarrassed because they hadn't brought their Dave Eggers books with them for him to sign, but they still wanted to say hello. The line kept moving, slowly. Eggers took time to speak to everyone who came up to him--there were a lot of animated conversations, bursts of laughter.

Finally, there were only about three people in front of me. Besides my feet hurting, I was starting to feel faint, since I had had only a Balance bar for dinner and it was now after 10 o'clock. Maybe because I was so uncomfortable and also slightly nervous about what I would say, I started to wonder if this was what it was like preparing to go to confession--an odd thought since I am Jewish. I wanted to share the thought with the woman in front of me, but then thought better of it. I had the feeling she was Jewish, too. (Have I mentioned that this all took place at a venerable Jewish cultural institution on Manhattan's Upper East Side?)

Then it was my turn. I said my name and that I loved the book and had been telling everyone I knew about it. Eggers thanked me, signed the book, and asked if I had enjoyed the reading, I said yes, and then we chitchatted about the reading for a minute or two and about the work of the other person who had read, a young Nigerian author. Then I said again that I loved his book, gesturing towards it, which he interpreted as me wanting to shake his hand, so we did that, and then I thought I should go, so I said, "Thank you for writing the book," and started to leave. But then I turned back to say, "Tell Valentino also, tell him thank you." (Valentino is the Sudanese refugee whose story is the subject of the book.) Eggers said, "Yeah, I will. I'll tell him you said hello."

In the taxi on the way home (well, I had to get off my feet!), I opened the book to see what Eggers had written. "To [my actual name]," the inscription read, "with thanks and hope."