My First Three Authors—or RIP P.D. James
By Kay Kendall
When I was the age of 20 through 45, I only had occasion to see
live, in person, three authors of note. The first was Truman Capote, soon after
In Cold Blood became a bestseller. He stepped out on the basketball court of
Allen Field House at the University of Kansas, a diminutive figure in a place
usually dominated by giants.
live, in person, three authors of note. The first was Truman Capote, soon after
In Cold Blood became a bestseller. He stepped out on the basketball court of
Allen Field House at the University of Kansas, a diminutive figure in a place
usually dominated by giants.
He smiled faintly at a crowd of a thousand people
and began to read immediately from his non-fiction account of the murder of the
Klutter family on a farm in western Kansas. He hypnotized the audience with his
performance, despite his voice being so high-pitched that it almost squeaked.
In Cold Blood went on to become today’s second highest selling true crime book
of all time—behind only Helter Skelter about the Manson murders.
and began to read immediately from his non-fiction account of the murder of the
Klutter family on a farm in western Kansas. He hypnotized the audience with his
performance, despite his voice being so high-pitched that it almost squeaked.
In Cold Blood went on to become today’s second highest selling true crime book
of all time—behind only Helter Skelter about the Manson murders.
|
| P.D. James, 1920-2014 |
One of my majors in
college was English literature so it was natural for me to be in awe of famous
authors whose work I admired. While I never got closer to Mr. Capote than the length
of three cars, I sat at the feet, literally, of Margaret Atwood when she read
her poetry to an adoring throng of women at the University of British Columbia
some four years later. Strangely, this author’s gig also occurred in a
gymnasium—although much smaller in size of room and audience than Capote had
had. When Atwood finished reading one poem that really captured my heart, I
embarrassed myself by gasping aloud and clapping ahead of the other audience
members.
college was English literature so it was natural for me to be in awe of famous
authors whose work I admired. While I never got closer to Mr. Capote than the length
of three cars, I sat at the feet, literally, of Margaret Atwood when she read
her poetry to an adoring throng of women at the University of British Columbia
some four years later. Strangely, this author’s gig also occurred in a
gymnasium—although much smaller in size of room and audience than Capote had
had. When Atwood finished reading one poem that really captured my heart, I
embarrassed myself by gasping aloud and clapping ahead of the other audience
members.
Twenty years after
the Atwood encounter, I saw a notice in the Houston Chronicle stating that P.D.
James would appear at a Border’s bookstore on a coming Sunday. Excitement
flooded through me at this news. I’d read and enjoyed all her mysteries and
decided to attend this book signing. I’d never been to one before and figured
she would be an excellent choice to start with.
the Atwood encounter, I saw a notice in the Houston Chronicle stating that P.D.
James would appear at a Border’s bookstore on a coming Sunday. Excitement
flooded through me at this news. I’d read and enjoyed all her mysteries and
decided to attend this book signing. I’d never been to one before and figured
she would be an excellent choice to start with.
That hallowed day
dawned wet and gloomy. Undeterred by the rain, I drove half way across Houston
(no small undertaking) to meet P.D. James and to have her sign her latest
mystery, Original Sin. The ninth book in her series starring Commander Adam
Dalgleish featured murder afoot in a publishing company in London.
dawned wet and gloomy. Undeterred by the rain, I drove half way across Houston
(no small undertaking) to meet P.D. James and to have her sign her latest
mystery, Original Sin. The ninth book in her series starring Commander Adam
Dalgleish featured murder afoot in a publishing company in London.
I arrived early at
the bookstore but rather bedraggled from tramping across the parking lot in
torrents of rain. Houston was experiencing what I’d learned to call its version
of a monsoon. Once inside the store, I was told by staffers that Ms. James’s
plane was delayed by the weather, but she was expected to appear shortly. We
were encouraged to wait. A group of thirty did so.
the bookstore but rather bedraggled from tramping across the parking lot in
torrents of rain. Houston was experiencing what I’d learned to call its version
of a monsoon. Once inside the store, I was told by staffers that Ms. James’s
plane was delayed by the weather, but she was expected to appear shortly. We
were encouraged to wait. A group of thirty did so.
After an hour had
passed, the throng had dwindled by half. The restless remnant was told the
author would come, no matter what, but it might be a long while. I turned to a
women beside me and said, in honor of the author’s British heritage, “In for a
penny, in for a pound.”
passed, the throng had dwindled by half. The restless remnant was told the
author would come, no matter what, but it might be a long while. I turned to a
women beside me and said, in honor of the author’s British heritage, “In for a
penny, in for a pound.”
After a total of
three hours, P.D. James finally arrived. By that time only five dauntless
readers remained. I was second in line. She signed my book and talked
pleasantly with me for several minutes. I was so thrilled I thought I might
levitate.
three hours, P.D. James finally arrived. By that time only five dauntless
readers remained. I was second in line. She signed my book and talked
pleasantly with me for several minutes. I was so thrilled I thought I might
levitate.
Looking back two
decades later, I no longer recall what we talked about. I do remember how kind and
gracious she was. Meeting P.D. James remains a high point in my life.
decades later, I no longer recall what we talked about. I do remember how kind and
gracious she was. Meeting P.D. James remains a high point in my life.
When I read of her
passing last week at the age of 94, of course I recalled my shining moments
talking with her. Knopf Vintage, her longtime publisher, calls P.D. James “the
everywhere adored queen of crime fiction,” and she certainly was that for me.
passing last week at the age of 94, of course I recalled my shining moments
talking with her. Knopf Vintage, her longtime publisher, calls P.D. James “the
everywhere adored queen of crime fiction,” and she certainly was that for me.
I
think it is important to meet one’s heroes, to learn that they are flesh and
blood like you, in order to be inspired to follow in their foot steps, in
whatever small way possible. Had the august author been too tired and cranky
after her travel delay to appear or to be gracious when she spoke with me, who
knows if I would have gone on to write my own murder mysteries?
think it is important to meet one’s heroes, to learn that they are flesh and
blood like you, in order to be inspired to follow in their foot steps, in
whatever small way possible. Had the august author been too tired and cranky
after her travel delay to appear or to be gracious when she spoke with me, who
knows if I would have gone on to write my own murder mysteries?
My generation of boomers coined the term groupie. I realize now that term applies to me. I am a
groupie of certain authors. No, not in the regular sense since I don’t want to
sleep with my favorite authors. I simply want to BE them.
groupie of certain authors. No, not in the regular sense since I don’t want to
sleep with my favorite authors. I simply want to BE them.
Have you had similar memorable encounters with authors
who resonated with you? I hope you have, and if so, I’d love to hear your
tales. Please share.
who resonated with you? I hope you have, and if so, I’d love to hear your
tales. Please share.
*******
Kay Kendall set her
debut novel, DESOLATION ROW–AN AUSTIN STARR MYSTERY in 1968. The sequel
is Rainy Day Women, will be out in 2015. Her amateur sleuth Austin
Starr must prove her best friend didn’t murder women’s
liberation activists in Seattle and Vancouver. A fan of historical
mysteries, Kay wants to do for the 1960s what novelist Jacqueline Winspear
accomplishes for England in the 930s–write atmospheric mysteries that capture
the spirit of the age. Kay is also an award-winning international PR executive
who lives in Texas with her husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills.
Terribly allergic to the bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles show
she’s a Bob Dylan buff too.
*******