Welcome To Happy Times

Labor Day is over, and now that E.L. Doctorow is here, things probably aren't going well for the American worker. But Doctorow (to really hit you over the head with his archetypal nature, we'll call him Postmodern Author) does have an entry in the distinguished canon of Books I Read While Working at the Zoo Snackbar, and whatever you might say about Postmodern Author's work, I much preferred Ragtime to cleaning out the popcorn machine, in its patronizing way. Besides, he's the only postmodernist to hit Broadway, and that's something. (So far, I can't get any takers for "Giles Goat-Boy: The Musical," even with goat costumes by Julie Taymor.) Most of what I know about Postmodern Author beyond that, and a few terrifically awkward sex scenes, has slipped away with the passing years. But E.L. seems happy enough with that, and I'm not going to argue.

A heartwarming work of of staggering...er, something.

Against all odds, Dave Eggers is a happy postmodernist. It's inspiring, really, that the man who wakes up each day knowing that he is the editor of McSweeney's*, and has fathered a child horrifyingly named October Adelaide Eggers Vida, can still manage a smile at the Brooklyn Book Festival. Even though he's rubbed elbows with such dark and shady characters as Beck and...shudder...Sufjan Stevens, he's not letting it get to him, and I think that's a message all of us at Happy Postmodernists, whether or not we harbor an irrational dislike for Mr. Eggers, can get behind.


*Actually, I do kinda like McSweeney's. Especially the Icelandic Fiction issue, because I read it while I was hopped up on anaesthetics after I got my wisdom teeth out, and then again in 105 degree heat while I was selling snocones at the zoo in Kansas. Both times it was very good. Delightful, even. But I have the disconcerting feeling that my skin got just a little whiter both times, and has never gone back.

Oh, PS, We actually like Dave Eggers and hope we're not being too hard on the poor guy for some rather unfortunate experiences with high school snobbery that were in NO WAY HIS FAULT. Keep it up, Dave. We mean it! And feel free to name your child whatever you want.