Back in the Golden Age of Blogging, the decline of which roughly coincided with the arrival of Anecdotal Evidence in 2006, literary memes were far more popular. Some were trivial parlor games, a way for certain readers to safely show off without having ever opened a book. Occasionally I took part, usually at the request of a friend among fellow bloggers. The late David Myers enlisted me in “15 in 15.” The late Terry Teachout revived that meme a decade later. Another I stumbled on myself. Today they read like cultural curiosities, of interest to me only for what they reveal about my younger self and his tastes, some of which I retain while others were jettisoned years ago.
Here’s a new one that came to me while I was
reading an interview with the Indiana poet Jared Carter. The interviewer asks, “If
you could invite any three writers or historical figures to dinner, who would
they be?”
Carter: “Henry James, Turgenev, and Sarah Orne
Jewett. No, wait, it would have to include Flaubert and Willa Cather. Make that
dinner for six.”
Interviewer: “No poets?”
Carter: “No, but John Clare could stop by and we’d
give him dessert.”
His first five are all novelists, and the names suggest no desire on Carter’s part to show off. James would show up as an honorable mention on my short list of nominees, as would Cather. Jewett, a wonderful writer, is certainly an interesting choice but I know almost nothing about her life and can’t say if she would make a stimulating dinner companion, a gifted conversationalist.
If we allow for U.N.-style instant translation, my choices would be Dr. Johnson, A.J. Liebling and Anton Chekhov. In the proper setting, all possessed a gift for interesting gab. The risks: Johnson’s impulse to dominate; Liebling’s occasional spells late in life of depressive silence; Chekhov’s tubercular coughing. But the odds are promising. Boswell recounts Johnson saying: “The happiest conversation is that of which nothing is distinctly remembered but a general effect of pleasing impression.”
3 comments:
I'd invite Matthew, Mark and Luke, and let John show up for desert. Then I'd lock the door and say, "All right boys, get your stories straight".
Easy.
Hitler, Socrates, Dr Johnson.
Dolphy goes off on a rant about vegetarianism.
Socrates does his usual "Ah, you are a wise man, a follower of Pythagoras. I wonder, my dear man, if you can help me to understand the nature of carrots, for I so far have been unable to grasp what, in essence, is a carrot! Tell us, is a carrot all that is orange of colour?" schtick.
At some point Johnson merely leans forwards & bellows, "No no no, sirs! This will not do! You sir, are not favoured by nature, but you will not have us suppose you an imbecile. I think, sir, this is a highwayman's bluff, you must not practice upon us so, no no. And you, sir, your name proves either too common or too peculiar to be remembered at will but your moustache, such as it is, will not slip even an old lexicographer's memory, this vegetarian heresy must be abandoned at once, sir, or I perceive it will lead you astray, you will take to many curious fancies."
Hitler: "Ja! Du hast recht!"
Allow me to be the odd man out. Most writers would try to dominate the conversation, making for a very unpleasant dinner. I much prefer a meal with good friends and good food. Nobody too big, nobody too small, everybody medium. The exception that proves the rule: Abraham Lincoln.
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