One of my Dutch publishers (recently he started a publishing house called Lebowski) visited New York and yesterday he invited me to a book party. I’m not sure what exactly the party was for; it had something to do with e-books. I hate these book parties. The music is too loud, the wine tastes like vinegar and the people who are there are all looking for help with their career. (Or help with their sex life, but when it comes down to dust they would prefer a career without sex to sex without a career.)
I might not have a career (it all depends on how you define career) but at least I don’t go to book parties to get one.
After the party the publisher and I went to eat something (I could not find restaurant Apizz; in my memory it was on Orchard but afterwards I found out it was on Eldridge, the publisher cursed me a few times and we ended up in Barolo) and over his plate of pasta the publisher got gloomy.
He told me while modestly enjoying his truffle sauce: “I’m going to destroy your career.”
The least you could say is that he was honest and original.
It’s a thin line between melancholy and depression but especially for a publisher it’s better not to cross that line.
(After reading this the publisher in question sent me a mail in which he stated that he enjoyed the chocolate tagliolini with mushroom/truffle sauce very much.
I myself like to add that he didn’t finish his plate but these are all minor details.)