Postscript
A Lesson in Humility
Going to a literary festival is a humbling experience for journalists. While everyone else is enjoying the rare pleasure of hearing celebrated writers and poets talk about their craft, the journalists are feverishly taking down notes from sessions, hounding celebrities for interviews and agonizing about all the work they have ahead. It also reminds them of all the things they should have done in the past and most likely will never do in the future. Unless of course they are in the middle of writing a masterpiece of a book that will no doubt win them a Pulitzer one day and hence will make them eligible to be a revered guest at the next festival. Did we mention sometimes, like all other normal human beings, journalists can get a little carried away?
But there are other blows to the ego. This is especially true while interviewing. An interview is like a strange examination where the examinee must come up with the clever questions to get the best results. Woe to the journalist who is unprepared and did not have the time to Google the life history of the interviewee. Getting prepared for an interview of a person you have absolutely no idea about is like taking a mini crash course in nuclear physics. It also puts one in the dangerous position of not knowing for sure whether all that information you have fished out is relevant or even true.
The worst case scenario is when the reporter is working with the wrong bio sent by the organisers. A reporter is all ready with questions for an interview with a jazz musician, even listening to a few tracks the night before on Youtube. The interview starts with the usual pleasantries but as it progresses the interviewee is looking rather puzzled. Who are your favourite jazz musicians, did you always want to play the saxophone, have you been influenced by other kinds of music…At one point the interviewee exasperatedly points out that he is only mildly interested in jazz and really prefers hip hop. Why? Because it helps to unwind after a grueling session of writing the interviewee says testily. Writing? What do you write?
The realisation that the interviewee is a novelist, probably with a whole trail of awards and nominations behind him and not a jazz maestro with the same name, is dreadfully mortifying.
There are other trying circumstances.
The ice has been broken and the interviewee is talking animatedly, pleased with the intelligent question and talking at a speed that makes taking notes quite redundant. The recorder is the saving grace. But there is a growing suspicion that it is not doing its job, the red light is off. The choice at hand is painful: either let the celebrity go on speaking which means an excruciating exercise of filling in the blanks from the pathetic notes – or stopping the interviewee, midsentence and explaining the situation. You may helplessly press the various buttons, accidentally switching on a recording of your imitation of a lonely cat – you were testing the machine and the only thing you could say was: mew, mew, mew, mew, mew. Aww is that your child? asks the interviewee indulgently. Yes yes you lie shamelessly. After futile fiddling with the machine that has betrayed you in your hour of need you may have to ask the interviewee to take a look and see if it can be fixed. Surprised, the interviewee may actually agree.
Covering discussions is also another challenge for journalists. A lively session is going on and the reporter's attention is glued to the panel – the tape recorder is on, placed strategically on the lap while notes are being taken. Suddenly the person in the next seat decides to leave, brushing past before the reporter can move out of the way. The recorder, notebook and pen fly off in diametrically opposite directions making sure that the commotion created attracts everyone's attention, including the stunned panelists who forget what they were talking about. The items are retrieved after blindly scrounging around the floor, reaching into the mysterious layers under the seat and coming up with a backless recorder. Little can be done, however, of the loss of face.
Literary festivals for journalists, therefore, produce important epiphanies: one is not as smart as one thought one was; recorders are like treacherous best friends; and transcribing is like doing the Twist in quicksand.
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