Handler interviewed by Leonard Marcus in 2001 - AUDIO
Apr 23, 2016 6:32:37 GMT -5
B., Charlie, and 4 more like this
Post by Cafe SalMONAlla on Apr 23, 2016 6:32:37 GMT -5
About seven years ago, I acquired a cassette of TBB from Penguin Random House’s Listening Library (their children’s audiobook imprint). Tacked onto the end as a special feature was a thingy introduced by the lovely Tim Curry as “A Conversation Between The Author and Leonard S Marcus”. (I remember there was a sticker on the cover of the audiobook advertising it, a staggeringly readable picture of which I found here.)
It consisted of a 27 minute interview between Mr Handler and the aforementioned Mr Marcus, entertainingly presented like a radio play, with sound effects and salsa.
It was the very first Snicket or Handler interview I had encountered, and it was utterly brilliant. In the years since, I’ve realised that it’s impossible (or near enough, ok?) to find on the internets, and that none of you lovely people seem to have heard of it. What’s more, it’s quite a unique interview, full of material that I’ve never heard Mr Handler use at any other time. The audiobook production is copyrighted 2001.
I recently rediscovered my cassette, and spent last night making a transcript for 667. I will attempt to get the audio up here at some point, so you can experience the dialogue’s delivery, but no promises.
Warning: this thing is long. The transcript comes to over 4,300 words, which is why I’ve placed it under a spoiler tag.
START OF TRANSCRIPT
Tim Curry: Listening Library presents: A conversation between the author and Leonard S Marcus.
[The sounds of traffic and some footsteps. A door opens and shuts and the road noise becomes a bit muted. Footsteps walking upstairs. The muffled noise of a vacuum cleaner. Door knocking sounds.]
Leonard Marcus: Hm. I think this is the right place. Let me try knocking again.
[More knocking.]
Mr Snicket, are you there? Can you hear me?
[Vacuum dies. Footsteps come toward the door from inside. Door opening noises. I think it sounds like two: a regular door followed by a screen door, but idk, it might be just one.]
Daniel Handler: Yes, who is it?
LM: Ah, is Mr Snicket there?
DH: And you are?
LM: I’m Leonard Marcus and I’m here from Listening Library to interview Mr Snicket. We have an appointment today.
DH: And you are Leonard Marcus?
LM: Yes, that’s right.
DH: I’m afraid he’s not in.
LM: Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope nothing’s wrong.
DH: Hope springs eternal, Mr Marcus. But I’m afraid… there… well… won’t you come in, Mr Marcus?
LM: Thank you.
[Footsteps. Door closing noises.]
DH: I’m more than happy – well, I’m able – to answer any questions that you might have. I’m Daniel Handler: Lemony Snicket’s legal, literary and social representative. Won’t you have a seat?
LM: Well, thank you. Very nice to meet you.
DH: Can I offer you coffee? Tea? Milk? Brandy? Absinthe?
LM: Uh, brandy sounds nice, thank you.
[Pouring noises.]
DH: Here you are. Now fire away. By which I do not mean “take out a firearm”. I do not mean “remove a gun from your inner pocket and fire it”. I just mean, if you would like to begin asking me questions, you may.
LM: Well. I can assure you I don’t have any firearms with me, Mr Handler, but I am grateful that you’re willing to answer some questions. Why don’t we get started then and maybe you’d like to tell me a little bit about Mr Snicket and how you came to work for him. How long have you known Mr Snicket?
DH: I’ve known Mr Snicket, I’m sad to say, for his entire literary career. I say “sad to say” because as soon as his literary career began, so did the accusations and pursuit that forces him to hire a representative to do things like interviews and such.
LM: I see. So Mr Snicket is trying to avoid something, apparently.
DH: Well, he’s trying to avoid capture, as all of us are trying to avoid capture when it comes up.
LM: Tell me, what do you do as his representative?
DH: Well, I answer the door for him, ask people to sit down, offer them a beverage and then answer any questions that might come up.
LM: Um. What is he like as a person?
DH: I suppose he is like a person who is driven, by a solemn vow, to research and record all the details of the lives of the Baudelaire orphans and present them in literary attractive form for the general public’s perusal and occasionally reading all the way through.
LM: Well, that’s quite a task he’s taken on for himself. Tell me, how does Mr Snicket go about doing his research? Does he spend a lot of time at the library?
DH: He spends a lot of time at many, many libraries. His work involves much, much travel and much, much research. Whenever you’re writing a book, you want to get all the details exactly right; for instance if I – or Mr Snicket – were writing a book on ponies I would go to a pony ride and take notes on the hooves and the mane and the smell of the ponies and the fun we have riding around and around in a circle being lead by an old man in overalls. Mr Snicket, however, is not writing books about a pony ride. He is writing books on children who are forced to travel from place to place, being pursued by a terrible villain so he, being pursued by the people that he’s being pursued by, must venture from place to place, take copious notes on the locations, and write them up into these books.
LM: And then you, as his assistant – do you trail along with him most of the time?
DH: No, I’m afraid that his travel – the nature of his travel is so secret that it must be done in secrecy and in solitude and in many other words that begin with the letter S. Perhaps I should describe a typical day. Would that be helpful?
LM: Sure, I’d love to hear about that.
DH: He usually wakes up about 6am. Breakfast of espresso macchiato and whatever pastries are recommended in the place in which he finds himself. 7am: showering and ascertaining of a safe place to spend the next night. 8am: clandestine – a word which here means secret and often involving tinted windows and/or sailors and/or maitre d's who accept bribes – travel to a location where the Baudelaires have spent some time. Perusal of the said location, copious note-taking, interviewing of eye-witnesses, examination of records, denial of identity to record-keepers, sketching and photographing of important landmarks, hiding in shadowy places when necessary, comparison of previous notes with current notes, collection of samples if available, examination of samples, placing them into airtight bags and/or boxes. 1pm: lunch. 2pm: long walk to clear head, a few hands of bridge if three willing players can be found. 4pm: travel to more or less safe location to spend the night. 6pm: light supper and philosophical conversation if available. 9pm: commence writing. Perusal of last night’s efforts, extensive re-writing of awkward sentences, scrutiny for historical and stylistic consistency and panache, refilling of inkwell, carving of pen nubs if necessary, consultation of notes to ensure accuracy of dialogue and description, frequent pauses to weep and to check spelling. 1am: brandy. 1:15am continue writing. 4:30am: bed. Troubled dreams. And I am afraid that during this entire day I can be of no help whatsoever.
LM: Hm. So how do you spend your time while Mr Snicket is doing all these things?
DH: Well… actually in a quite similar way, as I am also a writer.
LM: Oh. You seem a little shy about that. Does Mr Snicket encourage your own efforts as a writer?
DH: Mr Snicket has been of invaluable help. Our philosophies on literature are so similar that we often become… intertwined. It is as if the two writers become one writer or that one person is… writing for the… other… d-do you have another question?
LM: Sure. I notice that Violet, one of the Baudelaire children, knows an awful lot about knots; that comes up in the story. Did Mr Snicket have to do a lot of research about ropework and are there esoteric subjects that he knows more about than most people?
DH: Sadly yes. He – in order to do research for the Devil’s Tongue and the other knots that Violet knows about – Mr Snicket spent more than three months with the Merchant Marines. And I can tell you that it is a most uncomfortable place to sle – well, I can tell you that Mr Snicket told me that it is a most uncomfortable place to sleep – there on shipboard, learning knots from strange burly men.
He knows more about a variety of subjects than most people know about one subject. He has had to study not only ropes but herpetology, grammar (if one can imagine), the difference between Ossetra and Beluga caviar, and I could go on, really, for days. I could go on until we finish this bottle of brandy in front of us but I think in summary we can say that he is one of the most overly specific experts of our time and that he does not enjoy a moment of this research.
LM: Hm. Has Mr Snicket been able to find out yet what happened to Count Olaf and why he’s so fascinated with images of eyes?
DH: Count Olaf, Count Olaf, Count Olaf: a villain so horrible one can scarcely stand to say his name more than three times in a row. Count Olaf is one of the most difficult aspects of Mr Snicket’s research because he is so dastardly that to read about him for more than ten minutes can cause copious weeping, and also because he is so treacherous that Olaf has tried to cover his tracks. I don’t mean, of course, literally covering his tracks – I don’t mean that he walks around with a broom, trying to brush away the dust left by his footprints – but rather that he tries to destroy any evidence of his wrongdoings.
The eye that you speak of, most prominently, perhaps, featured on his ankle in a tattoo but also featured all over his home, is one of the most terrifying aspects, I think, of Count Olaf. And preliminary research seems to indicate that it has to do with Olaf’s previous profession. Not the profession he has at the time of the Baudelaire children where he is head of an acting troupe and a greedy, repulsive villain, but his previous profession – during which I’m sure he was greedy and repulsive but not an actor.
LM: And what profession was that?
DH: I don’t know why I bring this up, but there’s a curious psychological phenomenon (I don’t know if you have read anything about this) where there is a question – where someone asks a question – that is so frightening and so terrifying to the person who hears it, it’s as if the person did not ask a question at all. I’m sorry, what were we talking about?
LM: Well. Maybe we should try something else then. The Baudelaire children seem fascinated by the goings-on backstage at the performance of The Marvellous Marriage, despite the fact that so many terrible things are happening to them, even at that moment. Does Lemony Snicket have a special interest in the theatre himself and I wonder if he had ever been an actor before becoming this researcher and writer that we’ve been talking about?
DH: Well, Mr Snicket’s interest in the theatre is really just limited to discovering and, if possible, undoing, (I don’t think it’s possible but, if possible, undoing) Count Olaf’s treachery contained in his theatre troupe. Also Mr Snicket, of course, has an interest in finding the nearest exit during the performance of certain musical comedies, but other than that he’s not really involved in the theatre. He frequently has to assume the identity of others; of perhaps a boat captain or a gondolier driver or perhaps an assistant sitting in his home and offering brandy - he frequently has to assume other identities which I guess is a kind of acting.
LM: And what about music? I understand he plays the accordion.
DH: He does, yes. Both of us do.
LM: Does he favour polkas or…? What does he like to play?
DH: [Sighs.] Well, when I am sitting alone in my room, playing the accordion, it’s mostly sad tangos and ballads of times gone by, of happy moments with Beatrice, of pleasant memories of my childhood. Those are the types of songs that I like to play on the accordion when I am sitting alone.
LM: Hm. You mention Beatrice; she’s a mysterious character – the person that The Bad Beginning is dedicated to. Can you tell me who she is and, if I may ask, what terrible thing happened to her?
DH: Those questions, while of great emotional import, are quite interesting, but they’re really the wrong questions in regard to Beatrice. The right question is: what is her last name?
LM: Okay. Um, tell me then, what is Beatrice’s last name?
DH: There are certain questions that are so terrifying that when they’re asked it’s as if they’ve become absolutely inaudible – absolutely inaudible to the person who’s hearing them.
LM: Hm. So you’ve certainly spent so much time with Mr Snicket, I wonder if he’s reminisced about his own childhood from time to time. Do you have any sense of what he was like when he was growing up? Did he have a big vocabulary even then?
DH: I think the best way to talk about his childhood is to tell an illustrative story. Now, Mr Marcus, you’re familiar with the creature the sea anemone, aren’t you?
LM: Of course, sure.
DH: Yes. Now the sea anemone, as all marine biologists, and many lay people, know, is a creature that looks a little bit like a flower and clings to the rocky walls and floors of tidepools. We would consider it to be a calm creature, flowing in the gentle eddies of water found in tidepools, easily finding food and living a solitary yet peaceful life.
LM: A sort of bookish existence.
DH: Exactly. Now picture, if you will, a large wave. Where does this come from? We know that waves are somehow controlled by the moon in a way that’s never been properly explained to me, but picture a large wave coming from who-knows-where, crashing over the edge of this tidepool, ripping the anemone from the rocky wall and tossing it this way and that, only to throw it on an unfriendly shore, covered in sand, with small children gathering around it and poking it with sticks.
Now, when you hear this story, this awful story of this anemone, you may wonder, what does it have to do with Mr Snicket’s childhood? And the answer is: everything, sir, everything, Mr Marcus. Everything.
LM: Do you know what Mr Snicket used to read when he was a child? Was he a fan of Lewis Carroll, possibly?
DH: He was a fan of certain works of Lewis Carroll. His favourite book, which also happens to be mine, from our childhood – or childhoods, I should say – was a book by Dino Buzzati called The Bears’ Famous Invasion of Sicily. We read this over and over and over. I read this over and over and over.
But since then we have both – Mr Snicket and I have both – appreciated such artists as Roald Dahl, Edward Gorey, Louis Sachar, E.L. Konigsburg, Vladimir Nabakov, Virginia Woolfe, Haruki Murakami, Jean-Paul Sartre, and modesty almost prevents me from saying that Mr Snicket has also enjoyed my own work.
LM: Hm. Well, it certainly is a wild coincidence that the two of you would have grown up both loving such an obscure book as that one that you mentioned at the beginning of that very long list of yours.
DH: Well…
LM: Maybe you may have been the only two children who knew that book.
DH: We may have been.
[Awkward silence.]
LM: Hm. Mr Handler, I have a difficult question to ask you. You seem to, in many instances, become a little confused as to whether you and Mr Snicket are really different people. Is that a problem you have to contend with a great deal of the time?
DH: Yes, it is a huge problem that people think I am the same person as Lemony Snicket, and it’s quite, [annoyed exhalation] well, it’s quite easily resolved. Here, let me show you this photograph. [Paper rustling.] You see this photograph?
LM: Yeah?
DH: The person in this photograph is Lemony Snicket. I am Daniel Handler. Lemony Snicket in the photograph – I am Daniel Handler. And if, by chance, there is anyone who is overhearing this interview right now, I beg of you: look as closely as you can at the photograph I am holding in my hand. Look close. Closer. Closer. That is Lemony Snicket – I am Daniel Handler. Lemony Snicket in the photograph – Daniel Handler right in front of you.
LM: Well, I’m glad we were able to straighten that out.
DH: Me too.
LM: Despite Mr Snicket’s many warnings to readers, The Bad Beginning has somehow managed to become quite popular as far as I can see. Why do you think children want to read about other children’s misfortunes?
DH: The only thing that is more upsetting to Mr Snicket than the plight of the Baudelaire children is that the plight of the Baudelaire children have [sic] become so popular among other children. My only guess – and this is a guess – is that children, perhaps, are tired of reading of the same old “once upon a time there was a boy and he was very good, and so he was rewarded” or “once upon a time there was a girl and just when it looked like she was going to be eaten she escaped at the last minute”. Such stories, though they may be pleasant to read when one is very young, get monotonous – a word which here means “just the same thing over and over just the same thing over and over”. So perhaps these books are something of a break in the routine of the usual cheerful stories told to children.
LM: Tell me more about these people who are chasing after Mr Snicket, making his life so troubled. Are they the same people who are chasing after the Baudelaire children? Not only Count Olaf, but his henchmen – that man with the hook, for instance?
DH: [Sigh.] The man with the hook. The hook-handed man. What a dreadful person. Can you imagine somebody meeting Count Olaf, and rather than screaming and running away – which would be the proper reaction – actually applying for a job to work with him? Actually saying “this is a professional mentor”? And the sad thing, really, about the hook-handed man, is that it gives a bad name to hook-handed people everywhere. After all, many people have hooks instead of hands. It doesn’t mean that they’re all villainous. And yet the hook-handed man, in gaining notoriety, in gaining a sort of wicked fame, gives a bad name to hook-handed people everywhere.
And I’m afraid it’s the same with all of his henchmen. We have the two women who always wear powder over their faces. Many people wear powder over their faces – there’s nothing wrong with that! And yet, in allying themselves with Count Olaf and becoming famous for being in Count Olaf’s theatre troupe – and villainous cabal – these powder-faced women give a bad name to powder-faced women everywhere. It is the same with the bald man with the long nose. Many people are bald and have long noses – and it is the same with the enormous creature who looks like neither a man nor a woman; there are many of such pe– well, there are a fe– well, there’s a handful, perha… well, there’s really not very many of those people… at all. But nevertheless if they were these people would be given a bad name by the one who works for Count Olaf.
Now, in terms of the people who are pursuing Mr Snicket, imagine, if you will, a cake, but not a cake made with something delicious such as cinnamon or almonds, but a cake made with something dreadful. Imagine a cake, if you will, made of very, very old eggs. Covered in old, old eggs. Now, you wouldn’t want to give this cake any advertising. You wouldn’t want to go to a billboard and paint “Old Egg Cake! Everyone come and have some!”. It’s the same reason that I prefer not to speak about the people who are pursuing Mr Snicket. They’re terrible people, and the less said about them, the better. The fewer helpings we have of Very Old Egg Cake in our lives, the happier we will be.
LM: Um, tell me, Mr Handler; earlier you mentioned that you’re also a writer and I wonder how you go about writing each day. Do you have a routine of your own?
DH: It is often difficult, I think, for writers to explain what it is that they do all day to people who assume that there is a mysterious process that they are going through. The process is, in fact, mysterious, but the nuts and bolts of it are, hopelessly, every day it consists merely of writing and then, really, the part that is the most fun, rewriting: looking at the sentences and paragraphs and thinking of ways in which they can be improved, looking at the characters and making sure that everything they do is consistent and interesting.
LM: I notice that Mr Snicket uses a lot of big words that aren’t often found in children’s books. I wonder if he made a deliberate decision not to try to keep his books too simple even though he intends them for young readers.
DH: Well, I think Mr Snicket, like all proper authors, derives a great joy and, in Mr Snicket’s case, one of the few great joys, from the use of the English language. It is really no fun to say “my, what a big truck” when you can say “my, what a corpulent truck”. The English language is filled with so many marvellous words that it seems a shame not to use the good ones. For instance, to say “the English language is filled with good words” is not nearly as much fun as saying “the English language is filled with marvellous words”. So I think Mr Snicket, like any author worth his salt, likes to use expressions like “worth his salt” rather than “like any author who is good”.
LM: I imagine that Mr Snicket doesn’t want us to know too much about his family life and his background, but I wonder if you’d tell me where you grew up?
DH: I grew up in San Francisco, attended a college three-thousand miles away in Connecticut, and then spent some time in New York and now live here, in the city where this apartment is.
LM: Mr Handler, as a child, did you think you might become a writer even when you were growing up, or is that a thought that came to you later in life?
DH: No, absolutely, I always wanted to be a writer. When I was in school I thought there was no better joy than to be left alone in a corner and allowed to write down stories. I never was fond of athletics and for a while was on a soccer team that was very, very good, and I was the goalie. I sat – er, stood – actually sometimes sat – right near the goal while the more advanced players kept the ball away. And my parents always called me Ferdinand after the bull, in the story for very young children, that doesn’t want to participate in the bullfight but just sits and stares at the flowers. I would sit, or stand, I guess, near the goal and think up stories on my own and it was a perfectly delightful way to spend my time; I thought perhaps, maybe I liked sports after all.
Then I was, the following year, in a soccer team that was terrible and so, as goalie, I had a great deal of responsibility, and I realised that I really hated it, that I only liked being left alone to make up things, but that actually participating in the sport was no fun at all. So yes, I always wanted to be a writer. I always thought it would be a great thing to do and it’s been a sheer blessing to be able to do it.
LM: Does Mr Snicket get a lot of mail? Is it part of your job to answer the letters that he receives from his readers?
DH: It is part of my job to open the envelopes and read their contents, often. He usually answers for himself. We’ve received hundreds and hundreds of letters and it is quite gratifying to see how many people are concerned over the plight for the three children. We also, surprisingly enough, have received a number of letters from children who have lost one or both of their parents. It is an audience that we never expected would approach these books, and it is gratifying that they have. I think the books in some way offer a sort of comfort, surprising as it may be, to people who have experienced unfortunate events of their own.
LM: In The Bad Beginning, Mr Snicket mentions his own room, and the collection of objects important to him that are found in it. I got really curious about that. Could you tell me a little bit more about some of the things that he considers special?
DH: Well, I can tell you that nearly all – well, a great deal – well, slightly more than half – of those objects have been confiscated, burned, and/or eaten.
LM: Hm. I see we’ve stumbled onto another upsetting topic.
DH: I’m afraid that there’s little in Mr Snicket’s life that is not an upsetting topic. Life seems to be, for me, one upsetting topic after another; really, a series of unfortunate events.
LM: Hm. I hope he won’t mind that we’re taping this conversation now and, for that matter, I hope it doesn’t bother you too much.
DH: Well, I like to believe it is all for the greater good. And Mr Snicket has no overt objections to recording. In fact, he has a recording here that I think he would like you to hear. It is a recording of the song Scream and Run Away, a song composed about Count Olaf and performed by the Baudelaire Memorial Orchestra. It is some music that I think we might find emotionally appropriate for the end of this interview, some music that expresses, in the language of… music, the misery and dread contained in these stories. Well, it’s been a pleasure talking with you, Mr Marcus. Thank you so much for coming.
LM: Well, thank you, Mr Handler.
DH: So perhaps now would be a good time to listen to such a record. Let me just put it on the Victrola.
[Noise of a record being placed and starting up, presumably on a Victrola.]
[Scream and Run Away happens.]
END OF TRANSCRIPT
If you don’t have the stamina right now, you should at least check out this little excerpt which I consider the highlight and have put under here: Mr H describing a typical day in Mr S’s writing lifestyle. (Shh, it’s only 233 words, don’t panic.) I sincerely hope Netflix will take some inspiration from this.
"He usually wakes up about 6am. Breakfast of espresso macchiato and whatever pastries are recommended in the place in which he finds himself. 7am: showering and ascertaining of a safe place to spend the next night. 8am: clandestine – a word which here means secret and often involving tinted windows and/or sailors and/or maitre d's who accept bribes – travel to a location where the Baudelaires have spent some time. Perusal of the said location, copious note-taking, interviewing of eye-witnesses, examination of records, denial of identity to record-keepers, sketching and photographing of important landmarks, hiding in shadowy places when necessary, comparison of previous notes with current notes, collection of samples if available, examination of samples, placing them into airtight bags and/or boxes. 1pm: lunch. 2pm: long walk to clear head, a few hands of bridge if three willing players can be found. 4pm: travel to more or less safe location to spend the night. 6pm: light supper and philosophical conversation if available. 9pm: commence writing. Perusal of last night’s efforts, extensive re-writing of awkward sentences, scrutiny for historical and stylistic consistency and panache, refilling of inkwell, carving of pen nubs if necessary, consultation of notes to ensure accuracy of dialogue and description, frequent pauses to weep and to check spelling. 1am: brandy. 1:15am continue writing. 4:30am: bed. Troubled dreams. And I am afraid that during this entire day I can be of no help whatsoever."
EDIT and here's the audio at long last.
It consisted of a 27 minute interview between Mr Handler and the aforementioned Mr Marcus, entertainingly presented like a radio play, with sound effects and salsa.
It was the very first Snicket or Handler interview I had encountered, and it was utterly brilliant. In the years since, I’ve realised that it’s impossible (or near enough, ok?) to find on the internets, and that none of you lovely people seem to have heard of it. What’s more, it’s quite a unique interview, full of material that I’ve never heard Mr Handler use at any other time. The audiobook production is copyrighted 2001.
I recently rediscovered my cassette, and spent last night making a transcript for 667. I will attempt to get the audio up here at some point, so you can experience the dialogue’s delivery, but no promises.
Warning: this thing is long. The transcript comes to over 4,300 words, which is why I’ve placed it under a spoiler tag.
START OF TRANSCRIPT
Tim Curry: Listening Library presents: A conversation between the author and Leonard S Marcus.
[The sounds of traffic and some footsteps. A door opens and shuts and the road noise becomes a bit muted. Footsteps walking upstairs. The muffled noise of a vacuum cleaner. Door knocking sounds.]
Leonard Marcus: Hm. I think this is the right place. Let me try knocking again.
[More knocking.]
Mr Snicket, are you there? Can you hear me?
[Vacuum dies. Footsteps come toward the door from inside. Door opening noises. I think it sounds like two: a regular door followed by a screen door, but idk, it might be just one.]
Daniel Handler: Yes, who is it?
LM: Ah, is Mr Snicket there?
DH: And you are?
LM: I’m Leonard Marcus and I’m here from Listening Library to interview Mr Snicket. We have an appointment today.
DH: And you are Leonard Marcus?
LM: Yes, that’s right.
DH: I’m afraid he’s not in.
LM: Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope nothing’s wrong.
DH: Hope springs eternal, Mr Marcus. But I’m afraid… there… well… won’t you come in, Mr Marcus?
LM: Thank you.
[Footsteps. Door closing noises.]
DH: I’m more than happy – well, I’m able – to answer any questions that you might have. I’m Daniel Handler: Lemony Snicket’s legal, literary and social representative. Won’t you have a seat?
LM: Well, thank you. Very nice to meet you.
DH: Can I offer you coffee? Tea? Milk? Brandy? Absinthe?
LM: Uh, brandy sounds nice, thank you.
[Pouring noises.]
DH: Here you are. Now fire away. By which I do not mean “take out a firearm”. I do not mean “remove a gun from your inner pocket and fire it”. I just mean, if you would like to begin asking me questions, you may.
LM: Well. I can assure you I don’t have any firearms with me, Mr Handler, but I am grateful that you’re willing to answer some questions. Why don’t we get started then and maybe you’d like to tell me a little bit about Mr Snicket and how you came to work for him. How long have you known Mr Snicket?
DH: I’ve known Mr Snicket, I’m sad to say, for his entire literary career. I say “sad to say” because as soon as his literary career began, so did the accusations and pursuit that forces him to hire a representative to do things like interviews and such.
LM: I see. So Mr Snicket is trying to avoid something, apparently.
DH: Well, he’s trying to avoid capture, as all of us are trying to avoid capture when it comes up.
LM: Tell me, what do you do as his representative?
DH: Well, I answer the door for him, ask people to sit down, offer them a beverage and then answer any questions that might come up.
LM: Um. What is he like as a person?
DH: I suppose he is like a person who is driven, by a solemn vow, to research and record all the details of the lives of the Baudelaire orphans and present them in literary attractive form for the general public’s perusal and occasionally reading all the way through.
LM: Well, that’s quite a task he’s taken on for himself. Tell me, how does Mr Snicket go about doing his research? Does he spend a lot of time at the library?
DH: He spends a lot of time at many, many libraries. His work involves much, much travel and much, much research. Whenever you’re writing a book, you want to get all the details exactly right; for instance if I – or Mr Snicket – were writing a book on ponies I would go to a pony ride and take notes on the hooves and the mane and the smell of the ponies and the fun we have riding around and around in a circle being lead by an old man in overalls. Mr Snicket, however, is not writing books about a pony ride. He is writing books on children who are forced to travel from place to place, being pursued by a terrible villain so he, being pursued by the people that he’s being pursued by, must venture from place to place, take copious notes on the locations, and write them up into these books.
LM: And then you, as his assistant – do you trail along with him most of the time?
DH: No, I’m afraid that his travel – the nature of his travel is so secret that it must be done in secrecy and in solitude and in many other words that begin with the letter S. Perhaps I should describe a typical day. Would that be helpful?
LM: Sure, I’d love to hear about that.
DH: He usually wakes up about 6am. Breakfast of espresso macchiato and whatever pastries are recommended in the place in which he finds himself. 7am: showering and ascertaining of a safe place to spend the next night. 8am: clandestine – a word which here means secret and often involving tinted windows and/or sailors and/or maitre d's who accept bribes – travel to a location where the Baudelaires have spent some time. Perusal of the said location, copious note-taking, interviewing of eye-witnesses, examination of records, denial of identity to record-keepers, sketching and photographing of important landmarks, hiding in shadowy places when necessary, comparison of previous notes with current notes, collection of samples if available, examination of samples, placing them into airtight bags and/or boxes. 1pm: lunch. 2pm: long walk to clear head, a few hands of bridge if three willing players can be found. 4pm: travel to more or less safe location to spend the night. 6pm: light supper and philosophical conversation if available. 9pm: commence writing. Perusal of last night’s efforts, extensive re-writing of awkward sentences, scrutiny for historical and stylistic consistency and panache, refilling of inkwell, carving of pen nubs if necessary, consultation of notes to ensure accuracy of dialogue and description, frequent pauses to weep and to check spelling. 1am: brandy. 1:15am continue writing. 4:30am: bed. Troubled dreams. And I am afraid that during this entire day I can be of no help whatsoever.
LM: Hm. So how do you spend your time while Mr Snicket is doing all these things?
DH: Well… actually in a quite similar way, as I am also a writer.
LM: Oh. You seem a little shy about that. Does Mr Snicket encourage your own efforts as a writer?
DH: Mr Snicket has been of invaluable help. Our philosophies on literature are so similar that we often become… intertwined. It is as if the two writers become one writer or that one person is… writing for the… other… d-do you have another question?
LM: Sure. I notice that Violet, one of the Baudelaire children, knows an awful lot about knots; that comes up in the story. Did Mr Snicket have to do a lot of research about ropework and are there esoteric subjects that he knows more about than most people?
DH: Sadly yes. He – in order to do research for the Devil’s Tongue and the other knots that Violet knows about – Mr Snicket spent more than three months with the Merchant Marines. And I can tell you that it is a most uncomfortable place to sle – well, I can tell you that Mr Snicket told me that it is a most uncomfortable place to sleep – there on shipboard, learning knots from strange burly men.
He knows more about a variety of subjects than most people know about one subject. He has had to study not only ropes but herpetology, grammar (if one can imagine), the difference between Ossetra and Beluga caviar, and I could go on, really, for days. I could go on until we finish this bottle of brandy in front of us but I think in summary we can say that he is one of the most overly specific experts of our time and that he does not enjoy a moment of this research.
LM: Hm. Has Mr Snicket been able to find out yet what happened to Count Olaf and why he’s so fascinated with images of eyes?
DH: Count Olaf, Count Olaf, Count Olaf: a villain so horrible one can scarcely stand to say his name more than three times in a row. Count Olaf is one of the most difficult aspects of Mr Snicket’s research because he is so dastardly that to read about him for more than ten minutes can cause copious weeping, and also because he is so treacherous that Olaf has tried to cover his tracks. I don’t mean, of course, literally covering his tracks – I don’t mean that he walks around with a broom, trying to brush away the dust left by his footprints – but rather that he tries to destroy any evidence of his wrongdoings.
The eye that you speak of, most prominently, perhaps, featured on his ankle in a tattoo but also featured all over his home, is one of the most terrifying aspects, I think, of Count Olaf. And preliminary research seems to indicate that it has to do with Olaf’s previous profession. Not the profession he has at the time of the Baudelaire children where he is head of an acting troupe and a greedy, repulsive villain, but his previous profession – during which I’m sure he was greedy and repulsive but not an actor.
LM: And what profession was that?
DH: I don’t know why I bring this up, but there’s a curious psychological phenomenon (I don’t know if you have read anything about this) where there is a question – where someone asks a question – that is so frightening and so terrifying to the person who hears it, it’s as if the person did not ask a question at all. I’m sorry, what were we talking about?
LM: Well. Maybe we should try something else then. The Baudelaire children seem fascinated by the goings-on backstage at the performance of The Marvellous Marriage, despite the fact that so many terrible things are happening to them, even at that moment. Does Lemony Snicket have a special interest in the theatre himself and I wonder if he had ever been an actor before becoming this researcher and writer that we’ve been talking about?
DH: Well, Mr Snicket’s interest in the theatre is really just limited to discovering and, if possible, undoing, (I don’t think it’s possible but, if possible, undoing) Count Olaf’s treachery contained in his theatre troupe. Also Mr Snicket, of course, has an interest in finding the nearest exit during the performance of certain musical comedies, but other than that he’s not really involved in the theatre. He frequently has to assume the identity of others; of perhaps a boat captain or a gondolier driver or perhaps an assistant sitting in his home and offering brandy - he frequently has to assume other identities which I guess is a kind of acting.
LM: And what about music? I understand he plays the accordion.
DH: He does, yes. Both of us do.
LM: Does he favour polkas or…? What does he like to play?
DH: [Sighs.] Well, when I am sitting alone in my room, playing the accordion, it’s mostly sad tangos and ballads of times gone by, of happy moments with Beatrice, of pleasant memories of my childhood. Those are the types of songs that I like to play on the accordion when I am sitting alone.
LM: Hm. You mention Beatrice; she’s a mysterious character – the person that The Bad Beginning is dedicated to. Can you tell me who she is and, if I may ask, what terrible thing happened to her?
DH: Those questions, while of great emotional import, are quite interesting, but they’re really the wrong questions in regard to Beatrice. The right question is: what is her last name?
LM: Okay. Um, tell me then, what is Beatrice’s last name?
DH: There are certain questions that are so terrifying that when they’re asked it’s as if they’ve become absolutely inaudible – absolutely inaudible to the person who’s hearing them.
LM: Hm. So you’ve certainly spent so much time with Mr Snicket, I wonder if he’s reminisced about his own childhood from time to time. Do you have any sense of what he was like when he was growing up? Did he have a big vocabulary even then?
DH: I think the best way to talk about his childhood is to tell an illustrative story. Now, Mr Marcus, you’re familiar with the creature the sea anemone, aren’t you?
LM: Of course, sure.
DH: Yes. Now the sea anemone, as all marine biologists, and many lay people, know, is a creature that looks a little bit like a flower and clings to the rocky walls and floors of tidepools. We would consider it to be a calm creature, flowing in the gentle eddies of water found in tidepools, easily finding food and living a solitary yet peaceful life.
LM: A sort of bookish existence.
DH: Exactly. Now picture, if you will, a large wave. Where does this come from? We know that waves are somehow controlled by the moon in a way that’s never been properly explained to me, but picture a large wave coming from who-knows-where, crashing over the edge of this tidepool, ripping the anemone from the rocky wall and tossing it this way and that, only to throw it on an unfriendly shore, covered in sand, with small children gathering around it and poking it with sticks.
Now, when you hear this story, this awful story of this anemone, you may wonder, what does it have to do with Mr Snicket’s childhood? And the answer is: everything, sir, everything, Mr Marcus. Everything.
LM: Do you know what Mr Snicket used to read when he was a child? Was he a fan of Lewis Carroll, possibly?
DH: He was a fan of certain works of Lewis Carroll. His favourite book, which also happens to be mine, from our childhood – or childhoods, I should say – was a book by Dino Buzzati called The Bears’ Famous Invasion of Sicily. We read this over and over and over. I read this over and over and over.
But since then we have both – Mr Snicket and I have both – appreciated such artists as Roald Dahl, Edward Gorey, Louis Sachar, E.L. Konigsburg, Vladimir Nabakov, Virginia Woolfe, Haruki Murakami, Jean-Paul Sartre, and modesty almost prevents me from saying that Mr Snicket has also enjoyed my own work.
LM: Hm. Well, it certainly is a wild coincidence that the two of you would have grown up both loving such an obscure book as that one that you mentioned at the beginning of that very long list of yours.
DH: Well…
LM: Maybe you may have been the only two children who knew that book.
DH: We may have been.
[Awkward silence.]
LM: Hm. Mr Handler, I have a difficult question to ask you. You seem to, in many instances, become a little confused as to whether you and Mr Snicket are really different people. Is that a problem you have to contend with a great deal of the time?
DH: Yes, it is a huge problem that people think I am the same person as Lemony Snicket, and it’s quite, [annoyed exhalation] well, it’s quite easily resolved. Here, let me show you this photograph. [Paper rustling.] You see this photograph?
LM: Yeah?
DH: The person in this photograph is Lemony Snicket. I am Daniel Handler. Lemony Snicket in the photograph – I am Daniel Handler. And if, by chance, there is anyone who is overhearing this interview right now, I beg of you: look as closely as you can at the photograph I am holding in my hand. Look close. Closer. Closer. That is Lemony Snicket – I am Daniel Handler. Lemony Snicket in the photograph – Daniel Handler right in front of you.
LM: Well, I’m glad we were able to straighten that out.
DH: Me too.
LM: Despite Mr Snicket’s many warnings to readers, The Bad Beginning has somehow managed to become quite popular as far as I can see. Why do you think children want to read about other children’s misfortunes?
DH: The only thing that is more upsetting to Mr Snicket than the plight of the Baudelaire children is that the plight of the Baudelaire children have [sic] become so popular among other children. My only guess – and this is a guess – is that children, perhaps, are tired of reading of the same old “once upon a time there was a boy and he was very good, and so he was rewarded” or “once upon a time there was a girl and just when it looked like she was going to be eaten she escaped at the last minute”. Such stories, though they may be pleasant to read when one is very young, get monotonous – a word which here means “just the same thing over and over just the same thing over and over”. So perhaps these books are something of a break in the routine of the usual cheerful stories told to children.
LM: Tell me more about these people who are chasing after Mr Snicket, making his life so troubled. Are they the same people who are chasing after the Baudelaire children? Not only Count Olaf, but his henchmen – that man with the hook, for instance?
DH: [Sigh.] The man with the hook. The hook-handed man. What a dreadful person. Can you imagine somebody meeting Count Olaf, and rather than screaming and running away – which would be the proper reaction – actually applying for a job to work with him? Actually saying “this is a professional mentor”? And the sad thing, really, about the hook-handed man, is that it gives a bad name to hook-handed people everywhere. After all, many people have hooks instead of hands. It doesn’t mean that they’re all villainous. And yet the hook-handed man, in gaining notoriety, in gaining a sort of wicked fame, gives a bad name to hook-handed people everywhere.
And I’m afraid it’s the same with all of his henchmen. We have the two women who always wear powder over their faces. Many people wear powder over their faces – there’s nothing wrong with that! And yet, in allying themselves with Count Olaf and becoming famous for being in Count Olaf’s theatre troupe – and villainous cabal – these powder-faced women give a bad name to powder-faced women everywhere. It is the same with the bald man with the long nose. Many people are bald and have long noses – and it is the same with the enormous creature who looks like neither a man nor a woman; there are many of such pe– well, there are a fe– well, there’s a handful, perha… well, there’s really not very many of those people… at all. But nevertheless if they were these people would be given a bad name by the one who works for Count Olaf.
Now, in terms of the people who are pursuing Mr Snicket, imagine, if you will, a cake, but not a cake made with something delicious such as cinnamon or almonds, but a cake made with something dreadful. Imagine a cake, if you will, made of very, very old eggs. Covered in old, old eggs. Now, you wouldn’t want to give this cake any advertising. You wouldn’t want to go to a billboard and paint “Old Egg Cake! Everyone come and have some!”. It’s the same reason that I prefer not to speak about the people who are pursuing Mr Snicket. They’re terrible people, and the less said about them, the better. The fewer helpings we have of Very Old Egg Cake in our lives, the happier we will be.
LM: Um, tell me, Mr Handler; earlier you mentioned that you’re also a writer and I wonder how you go about writing each day. Do you have a routine of your own?
DH: It is often difficult, I think, for writers to explain what it is that they do all day to people who assume that there is a mysterious process that they are going through. The process is, in fact, mysterious, but the nuts and bolts of it are, hopelessly, every day it consists merely of writing and then, really, the part that is the most fun, rewriting: looking at the sentences and paragraphs and thinking of ways in which they can be improved, looking at the characters and making sure that everything they do is consistent and interesting.
LM: I notice that Mr Snicket uses a lot of big words that aren’t often found in children’s books. I wonder if he made a deliberate decision not to try to keep his books too simple even though he intends them for young readers.
DH: Well, I think Mr Snicket, like all proper authors, derives a great joy and, in Mr Snicket’s case, one of the few great joys, from the use of the English language. It is really no fun to say “my, what a big truck” when you can say “my, what a corpulent truck”. The English language is filled with so many marvellous words that it seems a shame not to use the good ones. For instance, to say “the English language is filled with good words” is not nearly as much fun as saying “the English language is filled with marvellous words”. So I think Mr Snicket, like any author worth his salt, likes to use expressions like “worth his salt” rather than “like any author who is good”.
LM: I imagine that Mr Snicket doesn’t want us to know too much about his family life and his background, but I wonder if you’d tell me where you grew up?
DH: I grew up in San Francisco, attended a college three-thousand miles away in Connecticut, and then spent some time in New York and now live here, in the city where this apartment is.
LM: Mr Handler, as a child, did you think you might become a writer even when you were growing up, or is that a thought that came to you later in life?
DH: No, absolutely, I always wanted to be a writer. When I was in school I thought there was no better joy than to be left alone in a corner and allowed to write down stories. I never was fond of athletics and for a while was on a soccer team that was very, very good, and I was the goalie. I sat – er, stood – actually sometimes sat – right near the goal while the more advanced players kept the ball away. And my parents always called me Ferdinand after the bull, in the story for very young children, that doesn’t want to participate in the bullfight but just sits and stares at the flowers. I would sit, or stand, I guess, near the goal and think up stories on my own and it was a perfectly delightful way to spend my time; I thought perhaps, maybe I liked sports after all.
Then I was, the following year, in a soccer team that was terrible and so, as goalie, I had a great deal of responsibility, and I realised that I really hated it, that I only liked being left alone to make up things, but that actually participating in the sport was no fun at all. So yes, I always wanted to be a writer. I always thought it would be a great thing to do and it’s been a sheer blessing to be able to do it.
LM: Does Mr Snicket get a lot of mail? Is it part of your job to answer the letters that he receives from his readers?
DH: It is part of my job to open the envelopes and read their contents, often. He usually answers for himself. We’ve received hundreds and hundreds of letters and it is quite gratifying to see how many people are concerned over the plight for the three children. We also, surprisingly enough, have received a number of letters from children who have lost one or both of their parents. It is an audience that we never expected would approach these books, and it is gratifying that they have. I think the books in some way offer a sort of comfort, surprising as it may be, to people who have experienced unfortunate events of their own.
LM: In The Bad Beginning, Mr Snicket mentions his own room, and the collection of objects important to him that are found in it. I got really curious about that. Could you tell me a little bit more about some of the things that he considers special?
DH: Well, I can tell you that nearly all – well, a great deal – well, slightly more than half – of those objects have been confiscated, burned, and/or eaten.
LM: Hm. I see we’ve stumbled onto another upsetting topic.
DH: I’m afraid that there’s little in Mr Snicket’s life that is not an upsetting topic. Life seems to be, for me, one upsetting topic after another; really, a series of unfortunate events.
LM: Hm. I hope he won’t mind that we’re taping this conversation now and, for that matter, I hope it doesn’t bother you too much.
DH: Well, I like to believe it is all for the greater good. And Mr Snicket has no overt objections to recording. In fact, he has a recording here that I think he would like you to hear. It is a recording of the song Scream and Run Away, a song composed about Count Olaf and performed by the Baudelaire Memorial Orchestra. It is some music that I think we might find emotionally appropriate for the end of this interview, some music that expresses, in the language of… music, the misery and dread contained in these stories. Well, it’s been a pleasure talking with you, Mr Marcus. Thank you so much for coming.
LM: Well, thank you, Mr Handler.
DH: So perhaps now would be a good time to listen to such a record. Let me just put it on the Victrola.
[Noise of a record being placed and starting up, presumably on a Victrola.]
[Scream and Run Away happens.]
END OF TRANSCRIPT
If you don’t have the stamina right now, you should at least check out this little excerpt which I consider the highlight and have put under here: Mr H describing a typical day in Mr S’s writing lifestyle. (Shh, it’s only 233 words, don’t panic.) I sincerely hope Netflix will take some inspiration from this.
"He usually wakes up about 6am. Breakfast of espresso macchiato and whatever pastries are recommended in the place in which he finds himself. 7am: showering and ascertaining of a safe place to spend the next night. 8am: clandestine – a word which here means secret and often involving tinted windows and/or sailors and/or maitre d's who accept bribes – travel to a location where the Baudelaires have spent some time. Perusal of the said location, copious note-taking, interviewing of eye-witnesses, examination of records, denial of identity to record-keepers, sketching and photographing of important landmarks, hiding in shadowy places when necessary, comparison of previous notes with current notes, collection of samples if available, examination of samples, placing them into airtight bags and/or boxes. 1pm: lunch. 2pm: long walk to clear head, a few hands of bridge if three willing players can be found. 4pm: travel to more or less safe location to spend the night. 6pm: light supper and philosophical conversation if available. 9pm: commence writing. Perusal of last night’s efforts, extensive re-writing of awkward sentences, scrutiny for historical and stylistic consistency and panache, refilling of inkwell, carving of pen nubs if necessary, consultation of notes to ensure accuracy of dialogue and description, frequent pauses to weep and to check spelling. 1am: brandy. 1:15am continue writing. 4:30am: bed. Troubled dreams. And I am afraid that during this entire day I can be of no help whatsoever."
EDIT and here's the audio at long last.
