A Weekly Series of Riffs in 200 Words
If you could invite just five authors to your dinner party, who would be getting one of your coveted gold-embossed cards?
I wouldn’t want a table full of seriousness so I’d go for an eclectic mix.
Peruvian-born Isabel Allende, for example, with her 12 honorary doctorates and over fifty awards, would bring a touch of beauty and class and might tell us about being fired as a translator when she started altering fairy-tale endings.
I think I’d seat Melbournian Christos Tsiolkas next to the American novelist Kaye Gibbons. I’d hope for a bit of dirty-grunge talk from Tsiolkas and I’d sit opposite so I could lip-read if he mutters under his breath. Gibbons is here because she wrote one of my favourite books Charms for the Easy Life.
Down the other end of the table, I’d seat Les Murray because what’s a dinner party without a spot of poetry? Some of my friends are groaning but that’s just because they haven’t had the pleasure of studying Murray’s masterpieces. Anyway, they are not invited.
Who would you invite?
The Answer to Friday’s Fictionary Dictionary
A Nymphalid is a Butterfly