Thanks to my new read, Pinky over at pinkyspaperhaus, for this one: Margaret Atwood, recipient of this year’s Kenyon Review Award for Literary Achievement, has come up with a way for writers to do book signings from the comfort of their own messy studies, without all the eco-nasty travel and disruption to the daily writing routine. The LongPen??? is “the world’s first long distance, real-time, real pen and ink autographing device operated over the Internet.” Not only does Atwood’s device “democratize the book tour and eliminate stressful border and airport line-ups for authors,…save publishers money on travel and increase the number of events bookstores [can] host,” it helps to save the planet from the kind of carbon-based apocalypse Atwood imagines in her novel Oryx and Crake (which — he says, slipping in the pitch — many of us have been enjoying as part of the Knox Reads! program celebrating Atwood’s visit to Gambier this Saturday for the Kenyon Review Literary Festival) by reducing greenhouse gas emissions from airplane travel. Check out the video: celebrity authors appear pleased.
As I mentioned above, Atwood will be appearing in person at Kenyon this weekend. We’re thrilled to have her visit us, but it makes me wonder: would a virtual Atwood generate the same excitement if she gave a reading, signed your book by LongPen???, and took a moment to speak to you in person over a small video screen? How much is the excitement of a reading or book signing about being in the physical presence of a writer we admire? Maybe the underlying question should be, why does this matter to us? Isn’t it the writer’s words that excite us? Could one argue that our desire to be in a famous writer’s presence is simply part of our fascination with celebrity, or even that it diminishes the power of the words on the page to attach them so directly to a public persona that the writer adopts in the presence of her readers? What is it that we seek by having our books signed? Recognition of our role as loyal readers? Evidence that we’ve met a famous writer? Increased resale value? (There’s always some guy at every signing who shows up with a stack of unread books, receipt still in hand, and wants them all signed in a way that allows for quick resale on eBay.)
In a sense, we’re talking about the difference between writers and authors here: a writer is the person who spends those long hours in the chair getting the words onto paper, but it’s the author who cashes the check, makes appearances, and signs books. When we first start to write, we all imagine the pleasures of being an author, but not everything about it is so pleasant: along with saving the planet, Atwood’s invention is designed to reduce the many inconviences suffered by authors (those “stressful border and airport line-ups”). Still, even on book tours, I can’t help feeling it’s the writer who sits in the airport departure lounge, while the author shows up when it’s time to hear the applause. (How many writers, I wonder, come to resent that strange evil twin who shows up whenever there’s glory to be claimed?) But the writer’s always around, even when the author’s taking her bows. All it takes to make her appear is the reader who says, in a confidential tone, “I thought your early books were better.” At moments like that, the author vanishes (pop!) and it’s the writer who gets to savor the wisdom that comes with ego-deflation.
I doubt I’ll ever have need of Atwood’s invention. (I should be so lucky.) And all blogger’s cynicism aside, she’s right that it could help to reduce the carbon and career damage caused by endless book tours, as well as “democratizing” the process by allowing readers in small markets to attend events featuring famous authors at their local bookstore. But I have to confess I’m still looking forward to meeting Atwood. I don’t usually ask writers to autograph their books, but a friend who can’t be at the Literary Festival has asked me to get her battered paperback copy of Surfacing signed. It’s a book she rereads every year, and I know it will be meaningful to her to know that this book has been in Atwood’s hands, if only so that she can see how much it’s been loved. I can’t help thinking that’s an ideal exchange between writer and reader.