The most common accessory at The Sydney Writers’ Festival is an umbrella.
Forget the books and cups of coffee. It is either always raining torrentially or so incredibly sunny that you are liable to become blinded by the layer of green film on the harbour waterfront. Either way, some kind of protection is a must for the long stretches of time spent in the equally long queues that, for some free sessions, can stretch right around the wharf’s borders.
I learn this lesson quickly after failing to make it into a session with American writer, Robert Greene. Even turning up half an hour early isn’t good enough and, in the process, I nearly disintegrate under the heat. I take a spot on the edge of the pier, in the shadiest spot I can find, and listen while the session is broadcast for those of us stranded outside.
A male friend of mine has recently become completely obsessed with Greene’s second book, The Art of Seduction - a kind of thesis which looks at the way certain forms of seduction can elicit power. We spent one whole afternoon at the pub deciding what people we know fit into the various categories of ‘seductive characters’ that are listed in the text.
It was immensely satisfying – until we realised that we fell under the category of the type of victim known as the ‘Disappointed Dreamer’. Such characters are described as loners who entertain themselves through the fantasy world of books. They can also be recognised by the type of books they read. We quickly dismiss the self-help label that is on the back of ‘Seduction’ and agree that our reading is a finely tuned exercise into the psychology of others.
In fact, Greene is often described as a high-falutin Strauss figure. The psychological insights found in The Art of Seduction separate themselves from that of The Game, through Greene’s years of classical studies and his use of historical figures to illustrate examples of power.
During his session he refers to himself as a ‘Modern Machiavelli’ and even through reading his body of work it is obvious the he views morality as a superfluous element when it comes to yielding power over others. Perhaps this is why my friend and I, or even other audience members of the festival, have become drawn to Greene’s writing. We represent a sea of ‘Disappointed Dreams,’ voracious readers who live out visions of power and drama through fiction.
My friend isn’t with me today however and in his absence has asked me to get a copy of his booked signed by Greene. To me, signings always seemed quite a strange thing. On one hand you are meeting the author behind the book that you may have come to know, admired or enjoyed in some way or another. On the other hand, you have expectations of the person who has written the work, their persona if you will. In another way, by meeting the writer, you are also attempting to say ‘here I am: the person who has read your work’, as if this counts as a kind of connection.
In this sense writers’ festivals are quite unusual things, and as I leave Greene’s session early to take my place at the signing tent, I can’t help but think there is something surreal about readers and writers being brought together in such a way.
Both reading and writing are solitary acts. There is a degree of social isolation required to inhabit an imaginary world and it is often the authors of the books and their characters, although not physically present, who become a reader’s community. To read is to know that one is not alone in their solitude and this, in turn, transcends into the act of writing. Readers and writers become united in their solitude and by reaching inward through the written world, search for a way out of loneliness.
I wonder if I will say something to Greene when I get to the front of the line. There are already people queuing behind me so I know that the session must have just finished. I start to panic over the interaction that is about to play out between me and the writer. Greene himself has admitted to being a reformed ‘rake’, the seductive character who uses both verbal and physical promiscuity to entice women. On one hand I have an image of him as the Valmont played by John Malkovich in the movie version of Dangerous Liaisons; on the other hand I see him as a socially awkward writer, lured out of isolation to promote his writing at the festival.
I ask the person in front of me if they have a pen I can borrow. I open my copy of ‘Seduction’ and write my friend’s name followed by best wishes from Robert Greene. My fellow queuer looks at me like I am crazy, but I don’t care. As a Disappointed Dreamer, I am happy to keep The writer, The Author – whatever kind of person they are – safe in the confines of my imagination.