Author's Day

-- Warning, massive entry ahead--

Today, tickets for the events during the Lund carnival were released at ten am. We were there at a quarter to ten, planning on getting tickets for the farce, the cabaret and the variety show, and then go and get some breakfast before heading off to City Hall to listen to Jonas Khemiri at half past twelve.

Around eleven we figured we probably wouldn't have time to eat in between, so I made a run to Espresso House to pick up scones and coffee to have while we waited. At half eleven we started getting nervous about the long, winding queue which was still ahead of us. At noon, we realised we'd have to leave before we'd actually gotten tickets, and five minutes after that we left the queue, cursing our own stupidity being such time optimists and not realising we should have been there earlier. So, in short, we didn't get the tickets we were after.

But the lecture was worth having to leave. No question about it. I have a new hero, and his name is Jonas Hassen Khemiri. He was nothing like you'd imagine a celebrated writer - so humble, self-deprecating, humorous, relaxed. He seemed like the kind of guy you'd love to hang around with. The anecdotes, how we laughed... I could see everything happening as if I were there - like the lady on the tube gushing after hearing him talk on his mobile and leaning in to commend him on how much his Swedish had improved, because it was obvious that he still had some trouble with it when writing his first book.
Oh my. Who wouldn't be overwhelmed by such lovely, condescending praise?
And what a writer he is, his way with words, the way he plays with the language... He read a bit out of 'Montecore', his new book, and I'm not joking, I could've sat there with my mouth open had I not contained myself.

But for all the amusing anecdotes he shared, he also talked about something very interesting that had to do with how 'A Red Eye' was recieved by the critics. The main character in the book is fifteen year old Halim who has Arabic roots, and who sort of revolts against everything Swedish. And the thing was a lot of people read it as a biography. In his first interview all the reporter wanted to know was 'Is this true? Is that true?' and refused to accept that is was fictional novel, this despite the fact that Jonas actually let himself make a guest appearance in the book as Halim's neighbour to separate the two of them (a move I loved).

Why is it that we often seem to enjoy a book more if we know, or think it's a true story? Because we do, there's no denying it. I'd love to say that it's not the case for me, and at least it wasn't with 'A Red Eye', but I do have my own experience of it with 'Sleepers'. I. Love. That. Book. Always have, ever since I first read it when I was fifteen. But the main reason I read it with such, well, devotion, was that I knew all the horrible things had actually happened. These characters I knew and cared for really existed, and that made the book ever so much more heartbreaking.

Then, I read somewhere that Lorenzo Carcaterra had made the whole 'true story' up to boost sales, and I felt cheated. I felt cheated on my love for the book and the people in it, which makes absolutely no sense at all! The book was as amazing now as it was when I first read it, the characters were still as well written and alive, and yet it didn't feel the same. It's silly, but true. Some of its greatness lay in its origin.

As it is now, I don't know whether the book was made up, or whether it was made up that it was made up (I can play with words, too...), and I've decided that I don't care. But at the time I did, and JHK made me remember that as well as wonder why that was. I mean, Oprah Winfrey actually apologised on national TV for recommending a book she loved after it turned out the author had lied when he claimed it was all his own experiences, and the publishing house offered compensation to people who felt cheated.
Does it really matter all that much?

This debate on fiction vs truth is one of the reasons I'm looking forward to reading 'Montecore' - this time, the main character in the book is actually himself. Or, at least they have the same name. I don't think it will ever be clear how much comes from his imagination and how much is 'true'. We'll see after I've read it.

To end this and just to give you an idea of JHK's sense of humour, this is how he lets his main character describe him in 'A Red Eye'. And sorry to those of you who don't speak Swedish, but I could never translate this properly without losing its charm.
... från hissen det kom en galet lång shunne. Kanske han var två meter lång med för liten kavaj och ansikte som liknade en tjejs.

I love this guy. If he'd been a girl he'd have been such a gussilago.
Perhaps it should be shunnilago in his case, but then it wouldn't have the same ring to it.
The only bad part about the whole thing is that my copy of 'A Red Eye' was sitting on my bedroom shelf the entire time. I'd planned on bringing it and hopefully get it signed - oh, you can laugh at me all you want, but there is something special about having a signed copy of a book that you love and by a writer you admire!