I met David Sedaris. It is hard for me to write this without italics or exclamation marks or at the very least a change of font; I’m thinking Garamond. I did wonder if I had dreamt it, but I have proof; I have the book, signed by him, and I have witnesses that we talked. Perhaps I should clarify; I haven’t just read David Sedaris, I have sucked him dry. I have read and reread him to the point where none of his stories hold any surprises. I know what’s coming, always. I read to reassure myself that the world has him in it, with his mass of menial jobs and his need to touch people’s heads at odd times. I feel a sense of possession about the books that borders on the kind of repetitive obsessive detail-orientated disorder of which David himself would be proud.
I waited in the book signing line after the show at Cadogan Hall in Chelsea – my first of his – like a child waiting for Santa Claus. The wait was horrible. He was taking an inordinate amount of time talking to people and also eating from little plastic boxes of feta and olives and greenery. He was actually stuffing his face; he must have been starving. He was drawing a caterpillar on the front page of a girl’s book, while talking animatedly to her about something I couldn’t catch, with bits of salad peeping out of the corners of his mouth. At the end of the show, during the Q&A, he had asked for two things: the hood of his stove had broken and he needed the name of a handyman who could come and fix it, and he needed a psychiatrist for a friend of his who was having a hard time. Could we please meet him afterwards with names and numbers?
It was finally our turn. I hadn’t planned to be here and now here I was, sweating with bright red cheeks and a borrowed coat. I’ve only ever had the books and now, thanks to a fabulous fairy godmother and a returned ticket, I had him. We approached and he immediately started talking about the weird coincidence of being given three recommendations for exactly the same psychiatrist. ‘There are times when I get kind of blue, but this friend really needs help’, he said. We talked about cycling in Sussex, where he now lives. He sometimes cycled as far as Angmering and I sometimes cycled as far as Newhaven. My name means ‘wisdom’ in Greek, did I know that? His face was both familiar and not, small ashen and with a bright and convincing smile. In fact it was his smile that was most in evidence, and gappy teeth. He smiled almost all the time, to himself, to people, while writing. He had a pencil case stuffed with coloured pens, and he doodled as he talked, writing in loopy black ink.
I forgot to say how much I’d loved the show; that’s what happens, you meet your hero and forget to say, that was great, thank you so much for lighting up my life for the past decade or so. That long dark night in Normandy when you tried to drown that mouse in a bucket got me through my own long dark night. The first book I ever read of yours, Me Talk Pretty One Day, was the only good thing that came out of a terrible relationship. I’m sorry your sister died. Do you still have to lick letter-boxes? Instead we talked about cycle paths. He gave me back my book, and I walked away, feeling a weird mix of wretchedness and elation. I had met him and hadn’t found the words. Then I looked at the inscription inside as we walked towards the exit, and it made me laugh so much none of the rest of it mattered. And it was what I’d wanted to say. Those were the words.
On picky eaters
“Neither were we allowed to choose what we ate. I have a friend whose seven-year-old will only consider something if it’s white. Had I tried that, my parents would have said, “You’re on,” and served me a bowl of paste, followed by joint compound, and, maybe if I was good, some semen.”
David Sedaris, Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls
You are so lucky, I love his work, always uplifting, no matter what my mood. I can hear his voice coming through in the quote On picky eaters. Glad you got to meet your hero! Thanks.
Thank you. Glad you like the quote, and that you like DS. he is uplifting you’re right. Sophie
What a great post. He’s such a treasure. But you know what I like even better than reading his stuff? Hearing him do it. I can still remember exactly where I was when I first heard Santaland Diaries on NPR.
Yes, I love the Santaland diaries, and he doesn’t just read his work out loud does he – he makes it even more alive. He is a treasure, you’re right. A truth teller too x
Oh my god you are so lucky Sophie! And it sounds like you had a great rapport. I have only read one of his books…..Squirrel seeks Chipmunk…..and remember thinking I would love to write like that! I have a backlog of a couple of his other books which you have reminded me to get to.
Thanks Deepa – I found Squirrel seeks Chipmunk the least satisfying of all the books somehow. If I could recommend Me Talk Pretty One Day and also Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim – his voice comes through loud and clear in both. x
Oh, dear! I have a hole in my civilized knowledge. I am not acquainted with his work. I will have to patch that spot soon…he sounds like an interesting fellow. Glad you met your hero!
You should definitely read him, Laila. Me Talk Pretty One Day is a great one to begin, which was my first too. He writes so beautifully about his childhood and then moving to France. Funny and true.
How right he is! So am I.
Nerve wracking meeting ones heros. glad he wasn’t a disappointment.
I love him on the radio, never read any though, maybe I will now….X
& how wonderful he wrote your thoughts, a treasured tale forever now. Reminds of that great french phrase ‘l’esprit d’escalier’, in this case he wrote yours….
Thanks Jas. I didn’t know that French phrase, but it’s lovely. Tons of love to you, cuz. xxx
Haha! Great quote and lovely encounter. It sounds as if you found enough words, if not the ones you might have chosen in retrospect, but ones good enough to have kept him entertained and sufficiently moved to write a truly wonderful inscription. I took my then 15 y.o. son to hear him one nights some years and his material was a brilliant combination of hilarious and horribly repellently wrong. Just priceless. Elsewhere, his depiction of Americans denigrating the French as smelly pickpockets is priceless. I’m glad you got to meet a literary hero. Ken
Thank you Ken. I love the story about him on the Paris metro being mistaken for a pickpocket – in fact I love those early stories the best. Have you read his book Naked? And more specifically a story called COG. It is so extraordinary it can only be true. Knew of course you would be a fan. Sophie
It’s refreshing that your hero met up to your expectation, I’m always concerned that they won’t.I’m a big fan of his too.
Hi Paul. I was impressed that he took so long to chat to everyone, and then when I read Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls itwas clear that he sees it as potential material. So I was providing a service 🙂
Oh how great. What a treat!!! And what a wonderful post.
Thank you – yes a treat it was. I like the idea of treats being human as well as edible. x