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James Ellroy, photos by your
humble blogkeeper. |
I got my New York errands done early on Wednesday, slipped into a phone booth to change into my suit, and got to the ballrooms at the Grand Hyatt a few minutes before anything had started at Wednesday night's
Edgar Awards.
At the end of the long anteroom outside the banquet hall, a bald man slouched on a bench, looking not nearly as tall as he does when gesticulating behind a podium.
"Mr. Ellroy," I said. "Congratulations."
"I've met you before," he said, extending his hand.
"You have. Otto's store, when you read from
Perfidia."
"Did you enjoy it?" he said, straightening slightly.
"I did. I read it in a week, a solid hundred pages a night."
"That's the way to do it," Ellroy said with an approving nod. "Steady reading, a couch, a dog."
"Except for the couch and the dog, just how I did it."
"Well, they want me in there. We'll talk later."
"I'll be running up, getting in people's way, shooting pictures."
"Shoot away." Another approving nod.
Ellroy talked about dogs again when he accepted the Mystery Writers of America Grand Master award. "My life," he told the crowd, "has been one long journey to commune with the talking dog."
This was — in part, at least — a tribute to his publisher, Alfred A. Knopf, whose logo is a borzoi, or Russian wolfhound. Ellroy also said that he sees God in everything, offered the frank literary quotation that "a literature that cannot be vulgarized is no literature at all," and said: "My first words were, `Where's the book?'" and then, with a laugh I took as gently self-mocking, "and `Where's the booze?'"
Oh, and Stephen King swore more than Ellroy did.
© Peter Rozovsky 2015Labels: Edgar Awards, Edgar Awards 2015, James Ellroy