Being Despicable
Update, 27 October 06:
The author whose inscribed book I mis-sent to the Library sale
instead of the Library archives, John McNally, has written me an
apology, explaining that the whole story started with a entry in his
blog which he intended to be ironical. People read it as true
outrage, and other blogs picked it up, and within a week New York
Magazine found it somewhere on the Web and — without checking with
him or me — ran their snide little jibe. He feels bad, and I'm
sorry. No apology is due, except to both McNally and me from Rupert
Murdoch — and I won't hold my breath waiting for that.
— UKL
A friend sent me a page from a magazine called New York, a feature
called The Approval Matrix, with a picture of me high on the
"Highbrow-Despicable" index, captioned: "A fan who sent Ursula
Le Guin an inscribed copy of his novel later found it for sale
online."
I keep looking at this in amazement. What is the naivety index in
New York, anyhow?
I've bought second-hand books with author inscriptions to somebody
else, and never gave it a thought — people sell books when they need
money, after all. In second-hand book stores I've frequently found
copies of my books, inscribed by me "to so and so." I'm not
surprised, let alone enraged. My reaction is, "Oh, well."
Because my bookshelves are pretty completely stuffed, most gifts of
inscribed books from strangers go in a special box, which goes every
now and then to Special Collections at the Knight Library at the
University of Oregon, thus relieving my bookshelves while the books
are kept in temperature-controlled luxury, pampered by librarians.
All the other books I can't keep go in a give-away box. Obviously I
failed the triage on this one. It got into the give-away box and
went to the Multnomah County Library "Title Wave" bookstore.
I'm sorry that happened.
It was bought by somebody, profits to the Library, who then put it up
for sale online, profits to himself.
The author, finding his book for sale, apparently not only assumed
that I rushed to eBay or Amazon to make a buck out of it, but felt
that it was such an egregiously awful thing to do that a trendy
magazine ought to informed of it so that everybody would know what a
stinker Le Guin is and never send her any presents any more, so there.
This is a fan?
Oh, well.
Copyright © 2006 by Ursula K. Le Guin
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