Last night’s New York Review of Science Fiction Reading was a tribute to Avram Davidson, whom reader Michael Swanwick called “one of the best American short story writers ever.” As always, the evening was introduced by Jim Freund (pictured at right with Barbara Krasnoff), host of WBAI radio’s Hour of the Wolf (for which he records the event for later rebroadcast).
It was a somewhat smaller audience than usual, about 25 or 30 people, although some of the regulars may have been recovering from the World Fantasy Convention (see our review of that coming soon), but it was a good crowd of interested people. Freund led off the festivities, introducing Henry Wessells, the evening’s guest curator. Wessells is a publisher, bookseller, and Avram Davidson’s biographer. Wessells introduced Avram Davidson and related his biography and their connection (“I only met Avram Davidson through his writing after he died”).
[in the picture, left to right: Tom La Farge, Wendy Walker, Henry Wessells, Michael Swanwick (in front), Thomas M. Disch, and Jacob Weisman]
Wessells then introduced Wendy Walker—author of Knots and the forthcoming Blue Fire—who read Davidson’s “And Don’t Forget the One Red Rose.” Following Walker, Tom La Farge—author of fabulations such as Zuntig—read “One Morning with Samuel, Dorothy, and William,” with wonderful dialects (he said he’d had to practice by watching Monty Python). And then came Hugo-, Nebula-, and World Fantasy Award-winner Michael Swanwick, who read Davidson’s first sf short story, “My Boyfriend’s Name is Jello.” Swanwick introduced his reading by telling us that “one of the basic principles of alchemy is ‘as above, so below,’ and so it is in good fiction—the end is implicit in the beginning. And Avram Davidson never got better because this, his first story, is as good as it could possibly be. Avram said near the end of his life that ‘we spend our lives turning the finest clothes into rags, the finest wine into piss, and the best food into shit. When I die, I want to leave more than rags, piss, and shit.’ And he certainly did.” Swanwick’s reading was wonderful, evocative, and such a good performance that I’m going to have to read the story myself to see what I missed.
After a brief intermission (the first half of the program ran long), was a panel discussion moderated by Wessells, and featuring Tachyon Publications‘ publisher Jacob Weisman, Swanwick, and Hugo-winner Thomas M. Disch. Wessells started by explaining why Freund was handing out paper clips at the beginning of the evening: In the Davidson story “Or All the Seas with Oysters,” safety pins—which in urban legend became paperclips—are the pupa stage of bicycles. This myth has become widespread without attribution; so widespread, Swanwick noted, that it appeared in the comic strip Zits two weeks ago.
Weisman said he first saw Davidson at the World Fantasy Convention in 1989. Davidson was on stage in an interview event, and one large, balding member of the audience kept asking him detailed questions about specific stories, “but I wanted to hear about Davidson himself.” It turned out the questioner was Gene Wolfe.
Disch talked about the fact that Davidson was the second editor to buy one of his stories, when he was editing The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction (he edited the magazine from 1962 to 1965). He talked about Davidson’s work as an editor, noting that that story was 12,000 words long when he submitted it, but 9,000 words when it was published. “He never dealth with me as if I needed encouragement (and I never did), but he was very helpful.” In 1964, Disch continued, he got a contract for his first novel, and knew he’d write better in solitude, so he asked Davidson for suggestions on where to go. Davidson suggested that he rent the place Davidson has been renting in Amecameca, Mexico, so “I walked a mile in his shoes; I slept in his bed. I was the only one in town who didn’t speak Spanish.” And while the language barrier did give Disch the solitude he needed to write, as the non-Spanish speaking American living in Davidson’s place, “I also inherited all of Avram’s Mexican friends; because he’d made such a good impression, everyone assumed I’d be like him.” Disch arrived in October 1964, and finished the book in February 1965, “so I decided I deserved a vacation, and went to Selinacruz and became a pearl fisherman for a week.”
Swanwick said he never actually met Davidson, but corresponded with him. “I can write as brilliantly as Avram Davidson on the tenth draft. It was so depressing to get postcards from him you’d want to keep because they were so brilliantly written, and to realize that they were all first drafts. He was that good.” Toward the end, Swanwick said, Davidson would rewrite his stuff so much that it got clotted. He could be difficult, but it was worth it. He ended up much beloved, but at a distance, because up close he might bite your fingers. Still and all, “he was one of the best American short story writers ever.”
Following the event, about half the crowd adjourned to the nearby Ryan Maguires pub for dinner and further conversation (see the picture at right for a weak image of that part of the evening).
Next month’s reading, featuring Catherynne M. Valente, will be a multimedia presentation, with reading, music, art, statuary, and possibly even some dance. As always, these readings are free, though a small donation to help defray costs is requested at the door.