Kidnapping Peter Carey

Do you remember the Steven King book (or the film of it) Misery? Well, I have this fantasy that when I finally do get to meet Peter Carey, I will be forced to kidnap him and keep him locked up in a little room (though I wouldn't go as far as smashing up his feet with a sledge-hammer) until he writes a sequel to The True History of the Kelly Gang and brings Ned Kelly back to life.

It was my favourite book of 2001 and the one I tipped for the Booker even before I knew it had made the longlist! (Can I pick 'em or what?) I loved the voice of the character and so totally believed in him that I often forgot that Peter Carey was the one actually pulling the strings.

So a story about Peter Carey which is worth retelling, dated as it is:

One day Kee Thuan Chye walked into Silverfish with a friend. They spent some time looking through the shelves which contain the books by local writers. Chye then introduced his companion to Raman:

"Raman, I'd like you to meet ... Peter Carey."

"You mean THE Peter Carey?" stammered Raman, not quite able to believe it. ("Of all the bookshops in all the towns you had to walk into mine.")

"Well ..." said the writer modestly "A Peter Carey."

Raman was so truly gobsmacked that he even forgot to ask Carey (only the second writer to have won the Booker twice) to autograph the copies of his books on the shelves.

Tamil who was working behind the counter that day didn't hear this exchange, didn't quite latch on to what was happening, and struck up a conversation with the writer as he wrapped up his purchases:

"So where are you from?"

"Australia," said Carey.

"Here on holiday?" said Tamil.

"Well not exactly. I'm doing some research here." (He was researching background for My Life as a Fake.)

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a writer."

"That's nice. ... Have you had anything published?"

Did he wish the ground had swallowed him up or what, when Raman explained who the visitor was to him later?

I'm glad I wasn't there. I probably wouldn't have gone to the extent of kidnapping Mr. Carey, but I probably would have ended up on the floor licking his shoes.

I'm a total groupie for those whose words and music furnish my brain. But I never know what to say to them. I always sound so inane ...

I once had tea with Rostropovitch (another name dropped - kaboom!) and all I could do was grin at him! He must have thought that I was a mental defective. Well ...