A professor at Utrecht University in the Netherlands was going to give his inaugural lecture about my work. I was extremely honored to hear about this, of course. Academic prose can be dry and dull—although this is not always the case—but it’s terrible for any serious author if the academic world ignores you.

When the professor asked me if I would be willing to attend his inaugural lecture, I was tempted to say yes. Since my schedule allowed me to attend the festivities, I decided to give in and go.

It turned out that merely attending was not good enough. I would be the subject of an interview by the professor himself, and before his inaugural lecture three other professors would comment on my work. Two of them were professors in Dutch literature, and the other was a theologian.

The professor had decided that you don’t give an inaugural lecture every day. He wanted it commemorated with a series of lectures. I don’t blame him for that.

One of the difficulties of being an author lies in knowing how to react to opinions about your work. Usually these opinions don’t go further than niceties or subtle offenses during dinner parties. However, in the case at hand I would be forced to listen to scholarly opinions about my work all day long.

The lectures would be held in an auditorium that also functions as a church. Due to a traffic jam, I arrived late. One of the professors was halfway through his lecture. I sat down as quietly as possible on one of the benches in the back of the auditorium.

Even though I was jetlagged, I listened with great interest to the remarks and thoughts about my work.

The theologian turned out to be the most passionate speaker, which is probably not surprising. You need a certain amount of passion to be a theologian in Western Europe in these days.

After a few hours of lectures, questions, remarks and interruptions, the lunch break was announced.

I mingled with the professors and the audience. They were a mixture of students and readers who for one reason or the other didn’t have to go to work that day.

There were no chairs. We were forced to eat our sandwiches standing up. Some of the members of the audience ignored me, but others started polite conversation.
“What do you think about these rather educated remarks?” was one of the questions I was asked.

It would have been haughty to dismiss the lectures, which I didn’t feel like doing, anyhow. But it would have been even more awkward to blindly subscribe to the opinions of the lecturers. I felt as if I were merely the patient and the professors were the doctors, giving their opinions and their risk assessments before the start of the operation.