Seems cheeky of me to even put myself in the same breath as the doyenne of today’s female crime fiction authors, doesn’t it? (She was also one of the founders and the first president of Sisters in Crime.) But let me explain. I watched an absorbing Zoom interview with Paretsky today and learned a lot—something that people have told me all my life. Other people have the same insecurities that I do. It’s not just me!
I was
not maliciously happy to learn that this famous author harbors some of my
doubts. Indeed, I’m sorry—I thought maybe when you reach a pinnacle of success,
you get beyond that. But she confessed today that there is little disconnect
between what’s on her mind and what comes out in her writing. Reminded me of
the man who once scornfully asked me, “Can’t you write about something besides
what you know?” I guess the answer is “No, I can’t.” Though I can’t remember exactly
how she stated it, Paretsky confessed to a tendency toward verbosity. Sometimes
she wants to tell herself, “Close it down and get out of here.” She also
admitted that the novel she’s working on now is about to bury her—but don’t
most all of us feel like that, especially in the murky middle?
That
she is a Chicago author and was speaking for the Hyde Park Historical Society
further endeared here to me. Hyde Park is, in case you somehow missed it as I
shouted it everywhere, the neighborhood where I grew up and the setting of my
latest novel, Saving Irene. Paretsky talked knowledgeably about the
neighborhood and the opportunities it offers, at least one of them she implied a
safe place to grow old and cherish your idiosyncrasies (none of this is a direct
quote).
Paretsky,
who holds a degree in history from the University of Chicago, has a strong
grasp of the history of both her city and the country. She talked knowledgeably
about the optimism of the eighties, reflected in her early novels, and the
sadness of the later ones when she sees that our government is pretty much run
by men of wealth, though she applauded the emerging voices of both women and young
people these days. Still, most leaders in our Senate count their personal
wealth as at least ten million dollars, and the top leaders approach half a
billion.
I am
about the same age as Paretsky, and yet I felt I was way behind her understanding
of the sweep of history in our lifetime. She became active in the sixties,
first published in the eighties. I may have been a bit before her, but I couldn’t
speak as knowingly about the protests of the sixties as compared to those of
today. Then it occurred to me if the subject was the American West of the
nineteenth century, particularly the history of women, I could probably hold my
own. All reassuring.
I’m
realistic enough to understand that I am not and never will be the writer that
Sara Paretsky is. She crafts more complicated, more realistic novels than I
ever will—and more popular and, surely, more profitable. But it reassures me to
know that, after years of writing and at our age, we share some insecurities.
I
learned something else today. The Zoom program was to begin at noon, but I was
involved in something and a bit slow in tuning in. When I did, I got a message
that the meeting had reached capacity of participants. If someone dropped out,
I might be admitted. Disappointed, I kept trying and finally did get in. Much
later I learned from an email that there was no limit but a Zoom glitch. Guess,
though, it will taste me to be a bit more prompt.
I’m
still in the phase of thinking I look like an old and not very attractive on
Zoom—today I was terribly aware of the stretched-out sweater that keeps me
warm, my lack of makeup (I really could remedy that), and the unflattering
angle of the camera. I looked furtively at the other participants and decided
that they all looked better than I did. But I bravely left the camera on.
Yay
for me!
