I recently read John Warner's review of Kate Atkinson's most recent book, Started Early, Took My Dog. In said review, he calls himself a, "posters-on-the-wall, commemorative-magazine-with-exclusive-trading-cards fanboy of Ms. Atkinson’s books." I then spent half an hour googling Mr. Warner in an attempt to find out if he's single.
You see, I am a posters-on-the-wall etc etc fan of Kate Atkinson. If required to produce my most embarrassing experience ever, I'd be hard pressed to come up with something more humiliating than the time I met her (though an incident in a high school gym class would put up a good fight). She came to a local independent bookstore when her book One Good Turn came out. I went, dragging a friend. I agonized over what to wear. A formal suit? Something casual? A clever t-shirt? I settled on the suit. In hindsight, this was probably a mistake, as I think it made my craziness more of an unexpected shock.
I read Kate Atkinson's second novel, Human Croquet, when I was a freshman in high school. It changed my life. Too dramatic? I'm sure that's what Ms. Atkinson thought when I told her. But seriously. It was the first modular book I'd ever read. It took place in England. Much of it took place in a forest. It mentioned doppelgangers. It blew my mind.
Kate Atkinson's first few works were the slow unraveling of multi-generational family history. The events were dramatic, but the writing was indifferent—an accomplishment I found fascinating. Then, in a brilliant move, Ms. Atkinson took her talent for writing slowly unfolding family mysteries and began writing novels featuring a detective as the main character.
Even now, it would be too painful to relive many of the details of my terrifically awkward interaction with her. Manic laughter. Presenting a giant pile of books to be signed. Explaining excitedly that I'm currently reading one of her books. Pulling it out of my purse to show her. Talking about how I have a marked up copy of Human Croquet at home, but I brought the British version I got off ebay for her to sign because that's the version the library provided me with when I was 14 and I like the cover better anyway.
Eventually, she started backing away from me. The same way I'm going to back away from this blog post.
Kate Atkinson's first few works were the slow unraveling of multi-generational family history. The events were dramatic, but the writing was indifferent—an accomplishment I found fascinating. Then, in a brilliant move, Ms. Atkinson took her talent for writing slowly unfolding family mysteries and began writing novels featuring a detective as the main character.
Even now, it would be too painful to relive many of the details of my terrifically awkward interaction with her. Manic laughter. Presenting a giant pile of books to be signed. Explaining excitedly that I'm currently reading one of her books. Pulling it out of my purse to show her. Talking about how I have a marked up copy of Human Croquet at home, but I brought the British version I got off ebay for her to sign because that's the version the library provided me with when I was 14 and I like the cover better anyway.
Eventually, she started backing away from me. The same way I'm going to back away from this blog post.
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