It was a warm, humid mid day when we ventured down the Lothian Road for a meeting with Tracy Chevalier during the Edinburgh Book Festival which traditionally takes place at Charlotte Square. Surprisingly we got there 15 minutes before the start of the meeting but the queue was already well formed around the central lawn of the Festival's Square and as we have roughly counted they managed to squeeze about 700-800 people into the tent.
I must say that I really like Tracy Chevalier's writing - actually I have realised today that if I ever were to become a writer (which of course I will not as I deal more with visual than verbal stuff) I would specialise in the area she does - historical fiction. I liked a short discussion that occured after a question posed by Antony Beevor (author of 'Stalingrad') when Tracy Chevalier joyfully stated that she does not envy him in his writing to be limited by pure facts. I like the elegant way in which she uses language in her novels, with main characters talking directly to the reader; I like all the meticulously researched facts (she called the research her procrastination). Actually all her books I have read seemed to be written by a tiny brunette, while actually a solid blonde came up on the stage and merrily talked about her work with a strong American accent.
After a meeting I decided to queue to get my brand new hardback of her latest novel signed while Simon went to get some coffee (it was an early afternoon by then and we desperately needed a caffeine injection). Do you also get this frantic urge to say something extremely brilliant, something very significant, something that would separate you form the rest of the queue of waiting fans to say to your favourite writer? In the end I decided to spare Mrs Chevalier of my carefully proepared tirade and just asked her to dedicate the book to Simon. She looked very tired and when I had a look at her I mostly wanted to be remembered as a girl who did not create too much fuss.
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