When I heard that
Gregory Maguire, the author of "Wicked," "Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister" "Mirror, Mirror," and "Son of a Witch" was coming to Akron to speak as part of the Main Library's
Main Event Speaker Series, I knew what my plans for that Thursday evening were. Even if his lecture was dull, I figured, perhaps I could hang around afterward and get my copy of "Wicked" signed.
I arrived at the new library downtown about an hour before the event. Already a line had formed to get into the auditorium. I queued up and made small talk with the other folks in line, all of whom seemed to bring their own copies of his books.
Maguire's talk was anything but dull. Many writers I've met tend to be a bit dry in person, although they "feel" entirely different on the written page. Maguire was the complete opposite. His talk was lively and engaging, punctuated with stories from his childhood and admiration for his own children. The hour flew by and was followed by a short Q&A session. Of the generally intelligent questions (which surprised and delighted me, have been to many such affairs that seemed a waste of time and precious oxygen) my favorite involved Maguire's reactions to the musical version of "
Wicked," particularly the ending. (See my very first blog
here.)
Maguire replied, without spoiling the ending to the musical for anyone who had not yet been blessed with an opportunity to see it, that while originally somewhat taken aback by the changes, he grew to love the musical as its own experience. I thought this was a fair and diplomatic response. Classy.
After the Q&A, the library arranged a signing and sold copies of Maguire's books. I hustled into the line and managed to be fairly close to the front. The familiar pattern for these kinds of things emerged immediately, sign, make a few words of small talk, move on. Sign, chat, move on. Then, when I got to the table and expressed my appreciation for his work, Maguire smiled, opened my copy of "Wicked" and grinned, stroking the end pages. He remarked that the particular color of the Oz maps was a feature of the first edition -- later editions had the maps colored the same as the dust jacked. Maguire then started drawing on the blank inside page, telling me that if I wanted the book to be more valuable, I should not ask to have my name added. If, for example, I wanted to have the money to put some elderly family member in a rest home, I shouldn't have the book personalized. People occasionally ask him just to sign his name because "they are putting it on eBay that night." He took a great deal of time and finished a sketch of the witch Elphaba with his signature. Since I never have any intention of selling my precious signed books, I asked him to sign it "To Tim." "There you go," he told me. "I only draw in first editions."
I was thrilled. I clutched the book to my bosom as I left the library lest anyone try to separate me from my beloved, and now memorably personalized, tome.
It just doesn't get any better than that.
Now, if I could just get Robert B. Parker to sign my copy of "The Godwulf Manuscript," the first Spenser novel, life would be near-perfect. I think it might be a bookclub edition, but it's not the value that I want to add. It's the experience.
