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© copyright 2006 by Harry Hunsicker |
This picture was taken during the summer of 2004 at the Biltmore Hotel in Scottsdale, Arizona. I had just met Lee Child, one of my favorite authors, and had asked him for a blurb for my debut novel, Still River. Lee, the bestselling creator of the Jack Reacher series, was the embodiment of graciousness. He readily agreed. (Blurbs are those one or two-sentence snippets you see on a book jacket. Lee wrote that Still River was: "Great new noir. . . if this doesn't light you up, seek immediate medical attention.") A year and a half after this picture was taken, I was on tour, doing a signing in Tulsa at a Barnes & Noble on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Traffic was heavy, and I sold a lot of books. During a lull, an older man approached my table. He was fit, in his early seventies, and carried himself with a certain authority I couldn’t quite place. I had no idea who he was. He picked up my book and read the blurb on the front cover. "Lee Child, huh?" "That’s right." I nodded and told him a little about my novel. "I really like Child's books. He’s probably my favorite living author." The man skimmed the first page of my book. "That Jack Reacher, he’s a great character." I agreed, and we had a ten-minute conversation covering the entire Lee Child bibliography. The old man knew his Jack Reacher, backwards and forwards. We talked about our favorite books and how it was hard to pick just one. We talked about the women in Reacher’s life. We talked about villains like Hook Hobie and the Zec. We also talked about the book business, the old man telling me shyly that he had published a few books of his own, all of them nonfiction. He was coy about their subject matter, merely saying they were academic tomes, dry stuff actually. His latest project was editing a collection of letters at the behest of an estate. After a while another man came up to the table and joined us. He was younger, maybe in his mid-fifties, and friends with the old man. From their conversation I gathered both were professors at the University of Tulsa. Every few minutes the old man would pick up my novel and stare at it, feeling the texture of the paper, skimming a random paragraph while making small talk with his friend. He reread the Lee Child blurb several times. Finally he asked that I sign the title page of my book before he bought it. I happily complied. After he was gone, I asked his friend who he was. "You mean he didn’t tell you?" The younger man said. I shook my head. "Well, he’s much too modest." The younger man mentioned a name which meant nothing to me. Then he said, "He’s regarded as the world's leading expert on William Faulkner and his work." My eyes got wide. I didn’t reply. "Remember that last project he was talking about when I walked up?" The younger man said. "He edited Faulkner’s entire collection of correspondence. The Faulkner estate specifically requested that he work on the project." "Let me get this straight." I frowned, trying to make sense of it. "He's the go-to guy for William Faulkner and his favorite living author is Lee Child?" The younger man nodded. "Well, he's got good taste." I laughed. "Guess I better give Faulkner another try then." The younger man stared at me, a perplexed look on his face. "I was joking." I smiled, trying to ease his concern. "My Faulkner days are long past. I pretty much stick to crime fiction now." © copyright 2006 by Harry Hunsicker |
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The
Power of Blurbs: