I will always remember this particular installment in Bryan Lee O’Malley’s Scott Pilgrim series because I read the entire book while waiting in line. You see, while A was in Indiana for Christmas, one of his friends there asked for a favor: the friend’s favorite author was coming to Vroman’s, our local independent bookstore in Pasadena, for a reading and signing, so would A take his friend’s book there and get it signed? Sure! Why not? We like to support people’s literary obsessions! The author in question was George R.R. Martin, a fantasy writer I’d never heard of (although I later realized I’d read an article in Entertainment Weekly about how his book A Game of Thrones is being adapted for an HBO show).We showed up a good 40 minutes before the reading was scheduled to start, only to find that the upstairs room where it was to take place was completely full and a line was snaking down the stairs and throughout the bookstore. Not sure what else to do, we got into line. A did some reconnaissance and counted hundreds of people in line in front of us, and as we waited hundreds more arrived behind us—these were people who knew they weren’t even going to get to see the reading, mind you, but they were still willing to wait just to get their books signed. Most people had brought more than one book; some had their arms full. The George R.R. Martin shelves in the store were completely cleaned out, but clearly a lot of the fans had brought their own well-worn copies from home. It was a pretty amazing spectacle. I’ve been to Vroman’s for readings by writers I’d consider much more “famous”—including Christopher Moore, Julie Powell, and Michelle Huneven—and I’d never seen a turnout like that, except for the one time I happened to be strolling by on the night that Jimmy Carter was signing and there was a line out the door.
A and I kept talking about bailing and going home, but we decided to stick it out and see what happened, even though it seemed as though we might not even have a chance to get our book signed at all; surely Martin would get tired and leave eventually? On the one hand, I was annoyed by the crowd and the thought that I might spend my entire Sunday evening standing in line, but on the other hand, it was inspiring to see so many devoted readers so excited about something, even if it was something that (to me) seemed a little silly. (Yes, I am still a bit of a closet genre snob. And I’ve never been as much into the cult-of-personality aspect of reading. It’s really interesting to see writers in real life and hear them talk about their work, and signed books are nice artifacts, but ultimately I’ve already got the books themselves, and isn’t that the main point? I kept thinking: Who would I be willing to wait so long to see? Joss Whedon? Mary Roach? Connie Willis? Michael Chabon? Maybe.) So A and I took turns holding our place in line and browsing the bookstore, and I found a copy of Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness and started reading to pass the time. It was a perfect choice, because I’ve had a really hard time getting my hands on copies at the library (apparently I’m not the only one who got intrigued after seeing the movie, and my library does this annoying thing with comics/graphic novels where all the books in a series will be cataloged as one entry, so you can’t put a specific volume on hold). Besides, Scott Pilgrim is light enough to read without one’s full attention (when one is standing in a crowded bookstore, for instance) but absorbing enough to keep an otherwise-bored mind entertained and fun enough to keep a potentially frustrating situation mellow.
Obviously Martin must be used to the crowds he draws, because he only spoke briefly rather than doing a full reading. However, everyone who’d managed to get seated at the actual reading still had to get their books signed before our line would even budge. But eventually, after about an hour and a half, it did start to move, and we inched upstairs. As we progressed, I glanced at the book we’d brought with us to get signed. It didn’t look like any of the other books people were carrying; it was actually a collection of short stories that Martin had edited. A said that his friend wants to get the signatures of every author in the collection. “Oh, how many does he have already?” I asked brightly. “Uh, this will be the first.”
All I can say is that George R.R. Martin is a frakking hero, because not only did he valiantly sign every single book a fan put in front of him, but when it was finally our turn, he noted our unusual book choice, signed the title page, and then offered, with absolutely no prompting from us, “You know, if you’d like to get Melinda Snodgrass [one of the other authors in the collection] to sign this too, she’s right behind you.” And darling Melinda Snodgrass cheerfully stepped forward and signed the book. And then A called his friend, who was ecstatic, and then we went out for Indian food. The End.
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