Michael Perry reads at the Shaman Drum bookstore

Yesterday, against my better judgment, I decided not to go home early from class, and attended a reading instead. The fiction workshop had let out an hour ahead so that anyone who was interested could go to the reading by Wisconsin writer Michael Perry. I'd never heard of him, but when a classmate told me how Perry, a trained nurse and volunteer at the fire department, returned to his hometown of New Auburn (population: 485), and that he was invited to sit on a chair atop a float with the banner "WRITER" across it, I knew I had to go listen to what he had to say about the world he came from. This strange, tiny town in Wisconsin where the most senior member of the volunteer fire department is a cross-eyed butcher with one kidney and two ex-wives (both of whom work at the only gas station in town) and where the Amish rollerblade down the road and cuss if you ask for a photo. (I got these little titbits from the blurb of his book and at his reading.)

I like writers who care about their readings. Many famous ones are blase at these functions and are present only because their agents send them out there (not Terry Pratchett, of course, who was a delight and never came off as conceited). Michael Perry was humble, he did voices well as he read, and he made me laugh so much, I nearly knocked some books off the table I was leaning against. He looked like a worn-out regular Joe. A little odd, a little quiet. But when he spoke, he sounded intelligent and sharp, the kind of qualities you'd expect an observant writer to possess.

When I introduced myself and thanked him for an entertaining reading, he told me he liked adding anecdotes that weren't in the book - "it makes the readings more value-added," he said, with two fingers on each hand twitching to indicate quotation marks. His anecdotes included how he'd finally come to cut off his waist-length hair (because it'd caught fire while he was on putting out someone else's fire and because of "crop failure"; at this, he leaned forward so that we could see the top of his head), how his brother, who at 35 had never had a girlfriend before, finally met a girl, a perfect match because she had her own dump truck (as his brother had one), and how this same brother, in order to get his girlfriend to agree to matrimony, installed an indoor toilet in his small cabin (she said the toilet had to be working by the time they married on a Saturday in July), and when it was ready (on Friday evening), he called her, got the answering machine, and with a strong mid-West accent, mumbled into the receiver, "Erm, so...gotta a message for you...," and gave the new toilet its inaugural flush. Perry told us how he'd chastised his brother, "See, I told you about women. First they want an indoor toilet, and then what's next? Where will it end!"

At the end of a swift thirty-minute reading, I chose a copy of the book and went to pay for it before getting in the queue for an autograph. A friend and I were discussing what we would say to him. This being Shaman Drum bookstore, readings tend to have small audiences and the sessions are really like gatherings of friends who nod and wave at each other across the room. Getting a book signed doesn't involve a long queue, and everyone gets to chat with the author. My friend and I are pretty apprehensive in such circumstances. What do you say to a writer whose books are reviewed by the New York Times and Los Angeles Times and other major newspapers? He's met famous people, he's a renowned writer himself, and he also milks cows in the dark. The cashier overheard our discussion, and she said, "I know what you could say. You could say, 'I'll move in with you!'" At this, my friend quipped, "Vanessa can't say that, she's married!" So the cashier came up with another suggestion. "I really like pickup trucks!" I thanked her, but when it came to my turn to shakes hands with Michael, I stuck to the truth. "Hi, I'm from Singapore, so what you're writing about is all new to me. I've never been within ten feet of a cow." He laughed and said he had a classmate from Singapore and didn't know how to pronounce his last name, "N-G?" I set him straight and he told me the local name for New Aubern - Nobbern.

Perry's book Population: 485, Meeting Your Neighbors One Siren At A Time is searingly funny and poignant. I won't describe it here since I've already written too much, but I'll lend out my copy if anyone's interested. I've read the first chapter and it's just terrific writing.

And another reason why I'm impressed - he's got a weblog! Well, of some sorts. Here's his website: it's called SneezingCow

Posted by Monoceros at October 23, 2003 12:18 AM