The Dubious Honor of Cheesing off Christopher Moore
Twice
Christopher Moore. Renowned, if you can call it renown, for making a career out of being a belligerent troll. I have this from his own lips. He says that he once attended a talk given by some horror great or other — John Carpenter or someone, but don’t quote me on that — and the horror great said this about horror…
“Horror is great,” he said, “because you can mix it with any genre…except whimsy.”
In his belligerent troll brain, Mr. Moore heard that and he said, “says you.”
And he went home and wrote Practical Demonkeeping. Which, in my opinion, is quite a gorgeous volume, and clever and lively in characteristic Moore style. I recommend it to anyone.
In case you did not notice…
I’m giving contradicting attitudes about Mr. Moore.
Dubious honor. I’ve always wanted to say I had one of those and mean it, and I say it now. I have the dubious honor of cheesing off Christopher Moore in person twice.
He probably doesn’t remember. I don’t particularly care if he does.
The first time…
Boulder, Colorado, on a snowy day. I went with a group of friends to see Mr. Moore give a talk and do a signing at a bookstore. That day had many adventures, some of them life-threatening, and I shall tell of some of them later.
The pertinent adventure happened because we got to the talk late. I’d never read anything by the guy, but I got some immediate impressions by the absolute throng we stood at the far back of.
- Mr. Moore gave a damn good talk. Clever in writing. Clever in person.
- Mr. Moore had a huge following, and in the biz, a huge following translates to money and fame.
Even though I had never read anything by the guy, I could tell from those two things that he belonged to an ethereal group that I someday wanted to join: socially ept authors who make a living. And my friends had spoken so highly of his intelligence and verve that I had a high opinion of the guy. I knew that if I bought a book, I’d be able to get it signed, and I’d be able to talk to him briefly. I hurried to get one before the end of his talk. I got A Dirty Job. Another intelligent book of his. I recommend it too.
My group of friends and I had the mixed opportunity of having got to the signing last of everyone. What that meant is that, when we got to the front of the line, no one else was behind us, so we didn’t get hurried along by anyone. For me, that might have meant an opportunity to really talk to the guy.
I didn’t really know his work, didn’t really know his reputation, didn’t really care to impress him, so I didn’t really trip over myself talking to him. I wasn’t feeling too terribly starstruck. It was more like talking to the executive of your company than a celebrity, I think.
And there he sat, this clever human who’d made everyone laugh with his talk about his trip to England which was full of the sort of humor you’d describe as “irreverent.”
And I stood before him, holding my new book out, after standing in line for an hour — a clearly dedicated supporter.
And I thought to myself, well, let’s make him laugh.
He asked me something vague, I think.
I replied…
“Meh. Books.”
It was meant to be ironic.
He looked up and gave me a sort of looking-past-me look, and he said, without a trace of amusement…
“Well, I live in a really big house.”
He gave me my book back.
It’s signed what I asked him to sign…
“Well…that was exciting. — Oliver’s Epitaph.”
The second time…
The Tattered Cover Bookstore. One of the west’s great gems. This tour, he was there to promote Sacre Bleu, and his talk was about his research into the color blue and the expressionist painters, which were featured in the book.
I got to this one early, and had the girl I was, at the time, dating with me. The Tattered Cover Bookstore employs this slim, middle-aged and incredibly stylish woman to organize these signings. I’ve seen her there other times. That day, she wore this sleek, dark blue velvet blazer, and we complimented it. Since we were there early, and had attracted this event organizer’s attention by our compliment, the event organizer got us to give her a little bit of a hand with her crowd management. We watched a couple aisles while this worthy woman conducted other things in the background.
Mr. Moore’s talk commenced. Everything went smoothly. Then, when it was time to line up to get our books signed, the event organizer woman zipped hither and thither to make sure everything continued to go smoothly.
Well, the line only needed her attention for a while, and eventually she found a spot to sit. She sat near the end of the line, near Mr. Moore, and she kept watching the crowd.
Remember, she had on a velvet jacket. It so happens that I had a velvet jacket myself, and I looked rather sleek. So did the girl I was dating at the time. She always looked sleek. The event organizer woman said hello to us again when we got close. We fell into conversation about an art exhibit featuring clothes that was in the Denver Art Museum, and our conversation continued till I got to the table where Mr. Moore sat.
And I said to him, because if our roles had been reversed I would have thought it was funny…
“Oh, hi. I’m not really here to see you. I’m here for her,” I waved at the event organizer woman. “She’s much more interesting.”
I’m not quite sure what Mr. Moore thought of that. I don’t think he said anything about it. Nor did he laugh. He looked at me in the same looking-through-me way he had before, and handed me back my book.
It was Bite Me. I still haven’t read it.
This time, he picked the monograph. It read.
“Best blood.”
I’m not sure what that means.
Both instances left me with the feeling that he didn’t think much of me…
Respect is, I think, an exchange. I respect this man’s work. It’s clever, palatable, interesting, pleasant…fairly good stuff, overall. And I demonstrated that respect of his work by purchasing it and asking him to me.
That’s my celebrity story. There’s no profound moral, I don’t think, except maybe to examine one’s motivations. I’m not entirely sure why I was rude to Mr. Moore. Probably because I had an instinct that I didn’t admire him much. He didn’t seem to respect the craft. That’s the impression I have now that I’ve thought about his talks. He’d talk about how he didn’t enjoy writing as much as he liked touring, but then he didn’t seem to enjoy snarky comments either. That suggests he likes attention more than he likes people, and discovered his books are a way he can get attention. He never spoke with much love for writing that I noticed.
In retrospect, I’m not entirely sure why he’s one of only a few people I’ve got signatures from. He’s not my favorite author at all at all.
Perhaps this is how rivalries are born.
