Around noon on a
brilliantly sunny Tuesday, I sat in the back of an auditorium awaiting our
guest writer in the 29th Annual Writer’s Series at the University of
North Alabama. He walked on the stage
slowly, cool, and suave, aged well for seventy-eight years. He had on a white suit, looking like a modern
day Mark Twain, and when he began to read, he had all of the charisma
“America’s greatest satirist” should have.
Ishmael
Reed began to read from his newest novel “Juice.” Though I haven’t read the book myself, the chapter
he read gave me some insight to his prose style. I liked the insight the narrator of the book had
about his own feelings towards the O.J. Simpson trial. I can’t remember exactly what the line was,
but it was something like: I was wondering whether I thought it was for my own
selfish reasons I wanted him to kill himself, or if I actually thought it was
better for him. But I knew what kind of
trouble lay ahead for my brothers because of him.
Though
his prose was well developed and funny, it was his poetry that revitalized my
love of writing. I loved how he uses
humor in his writing, even when dealing with serious topics. I liked how he had fun with his writing. I had an epiphany when he said “poetry can be
fun sometimes too.” I think I forgot
that while reading all my Modernist favorites like T.S. Eliot. I remembered why I started writing: because I
liked it. Some of my classes have made me forget why I chose this major. But old Ishmael helped me remember what it
was I love about literature. Ishmael
also talked about his parents thinking he had wasted his life writing and
teaching because he came from a blue collar house hold. I can relate-- I think my parents think I’m
wasting my time getting an English degree instead of majoring in business or
computer software. He made me feel like
I wasn’t.
After
his reading I got a chance to meet Ishmael Reed and have my book signed. He talked with some people in my Contemporary
poetry about seeing Tennessee Williams in a bar in New York. He said the people he was with called him a
hayseed because he couldn’t contain his excitement. After he signed my
classmates books, he started talking about New Orleans and Jimmy Swaggart
getting caught down there with pants around his ankles. I told him I saw an ad selling holy water the
night before that promised financial security if you bought it at prayed over
your bills. He laughed, even thought I
don’t know why I said that. It made me
nervous to be around someone I respected.