The Other Hat

by Libby Hellmann

I loved Sara’s post on Friday. Eloquent as usual, she talked about the need for quiet… a sustained quiet in order to dig down and pull out the words and ideas and feelings that are burbling beneath our psyches. I long for those periods, too, and wish they came more frequently. Like her, I face many distractions, some of my own making, some not. But that’s not really what I wanted to talk about.

The Printers Row Lit Fest was held this weekend, and for many authors, Printers Row represents the other hat we wear these days… the promotional one. Many of us appeared at booths, including Mystery Writers of America and the Society of Midland Authors, and Big Sleep Books, hoping to sell our books, because, after all, that’s what you do at a book fair.

I don’t mind doing promotion. But I’m certifiably schizophrenic. Promotion -- especially at a book festival -- is completely antithetical to writing. There I am at a booth, books stacked in front of me, watching hundreds of strangers pass by on their way to ... somewhere. I’m aware that a host of additional authors at other booths sit with their books stacked up in front of them, also eagerly hoping to sell. And that doesn’t include the dozens of author panels, which have their own signings.

This year was especially challenging. It was cold and rainy on Saturday, warm and rainy on Sunday. Last year, if you remember, it was so hot we were shvitzing all day. On top of the elements, someone was either singing or playing French ballads over and over. Very loud, very minor key, very depressing. Note to organizers: no more French songs or I may have to ask my friend Vinny to handle things. Vinny is the type of guy you do not want to meet in a dark alley.

In fact, Printers Row can be overwhelming to an author who is not an extrovert, which is most of us. We have to be enthusiastic, cheerful,and eager to talk, but we can’t be too pushy. We have to smile, knowing most of the people couldn’t care less about us and our books. As opposed to the sensitivity with which we pride ourselves in our books, at book fairs we have to have a thick skin. We have to toss off the dismissive waves of the hands, the “don’t-bother-me” glares when you ask passers by whether they read mysteries. We have to recognize that most people don’t read crime fiction and still think the only books worth buying are “literature.” And that more than half of the others don’t read at all and are just looking for posters, blank journals (someone asked me if I had any for sale) or gifts.

We have to be pleasant, even when they hold your book in their hands (marketing people say it’s a good sign if they pick up the product and actually examine it) but then put it back down. We have to realize that most of the flyers we printed up so carefully and expensively will end up in the trash. We have to understand that we’re competing, not just with other mystery authors, but every author who’s ever written a book. And while we may want to turn up our nose because none of them could possibly write as well as us, most fair-goers don’t know that. And we can’t say anything.

Given all those obstacles, it’s a wonder any author would willingly put themselves in this position. But I do, year after year, because of one reason: when I do sell a book, it’s magic. I am acutely aware that someone has parted with their hard-earned money because they think I might offer them something of value. Usually, it’s someone I don’t even know. Someone with whom I’ve chatted for only 30 seconds.

It’s amazing to me. Absolutely frigging amazing that a stranger is willing to take a gamble on an intangible idea that happens to be my story. I feel humbled, grateful, and slightly awed. It’s why I write in the first place. And if I feel that way, imagine how the hundreds of other authors feel who sell one of their books to strangers. It really is magic.

So thanks, Printers Row and the Tribune, for making the magic happen. I’ll be back again next year... assuming the French music is gone.

For now, though, I’m happy to take off the other hat for a while and along with Sara, hope for a golden day.

What do you think?

Everybody Wants a Thrill

By Kevin Guilfoile

Lots of people have asked me what I thought of The Sopranos finale last night. Many of those people are angry. Like them, I had been expecting something different from the show and so I went to bed not certain how I felt about it. When I woke up this morning (no A3 reference intended) I realized the profound statement Sopranos creator David Chase had just made about storytelling and I was sure that I loved it.

In fiction characters live their lives episodically. We drop in at a particular point and drop out at a particular point and everything that happens in between ties up nicely along the way. Presumably the characters get up the day after the story ends with blank slates. No worries, no debts, no obligations until the next episode starts. It's a manipulation done to satisfy us. Real life, we all know, is a lot messier and a lot weirder.

[BEGIN SOPRANOS SPOILERS]

In the final scene Chase pulls out every manipulative trick in the filmmaker's bag. The two strangers in the restaurant are doing nothing suspicious and there is no reason to think they have designs on Tony except that Chase keeps cutting back to them. Outside Meadow is having trouble parking. Perhaps this happens every time she tries to parallel park but Chase keeps returning to it and suddenly it's ominous. One of the strangers gets up and walks into the bathroom. Anyone who has seen The Godfather knows there's always a gun hidden in the restaurant toilet and we just saw Phil Leotardo killed in front of his wife and grandchildren. The automatic symmetry creator in our heads is already storyboarding the next cut. It's a brilliant scene.

Much has been made about the fact that Journey's Don't Stop Believin' is playing in the restaurant at the time. Some think it's ironic and we're supposed to assume the worst after the screen goes black. Others try to sap meaning from the song's title. But it's obvious why Chase chose it:

Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on

There is no place to end this story. Endings are arbitrary and artificial. It doesn't matter if Tony is about to be whacked in front of Carm and the kids, or if they will just finish a quiet meal and go home. Either way it's not an end to the story, it's middle. The Sopranos was all middle, riddled since the series premiere with red herrings and slow parts and unresolved storylines. Our lives are all middle, too. We never get many answers, and the real story just goes on and on and on and on.

[END SPOILERS]

It goes on this month in a federal courtroom where "the last big Outfit trial in Chicago history" begins. Among the 14 defendants will be reputed former boss Joey "The Clown" Lombardo (not to be confused with fictional New York boss Phil Leotardo). Lombardo is alleged to be a brutal gangster who ordered the killings of even close friends including the father of his own godson. A famous cut-up, Lombardo is employing a bizarre defense, claiming that he was never really a part of the mob and even if he was he voluntarily left that life a long time ago. To bolster that claim, Lombardo's attorneys will show the jury a full page newspaper ad that Lombardo took out in the early nineties daring anyone who saw him associating with mobsters to call his parole officer. Um, yeah, no one took him up on that.

One of the main witnesses for the prosecution is former Outfit hit man Frank Cullotta. Cullotta's been a federal informant for over two decades and unlike Lombardo he flaunts his long ago connections. In one of the most bizarre turns in mob (or mob movie) history, Cullotta actually played himself in Martin Scorcese's film Casino, graphically reenacting his 1979 murder of barber union head Jerry Lisner. (Cullotta was also the inspiration for another character in Casino, Frank Marino. Marino was played by Frank Vincent, who by the way played Phil Leotardo on The Sopranos.)

During a Saturday break from the Printers Row Book Fair we were sitting at Kasey's Tavern on Dearborn, just blocks from the skyscraping correctional facility where Lombardo is awaiting trial, and I told Cullotta's story to CJ Box. He shook his head and said, "If you tried to put that in a novel you'd never get away with it."

And David Chase knows it.

Outfit Events - This Weekend, Chicago...

Chicago is a hell of a town for sumer fairs and festivals, and this weekend is the PRINTERS' ROW BOOK FAIR - a must visit for all book lovers. South Dearborn, from Harrison to Polk, will be buzzing with booksellers, author panels, and much more.

If you look to the sidebar on the right, you'll see where various Outfit members will be speaking. We'll also be signing books at various bookseller's tables, wandering around buying far too many books, and drinking at the local watering holes (we recommend Kasey's Tavern and Hackney's, both on Dearborn). So come on down and say hello!

As an added bonus, this is also the weekend of the Chicago Blues Festival in Grant Park - a short walk from Printers' Row. And once the outdoor music ends, the party continues at Buddy Guy's Legends, right around the corner, on Wabash.

We hope to see you this weekend!