The Carrying On of A Wayward Son

Not all of the interviews I did during my time at “The Battalion” were conducted in person. In fact, most of the interviews I did took place over the phone where several college students could participate in a conference call roundtable. One interview even took place in a private chatroom.

The elusive Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler

The following interview was with Lemony Snicket, the popular children’s book author who has made a name for himself with his perceived anonymity. Due to his proclivity towards privacy, we conducted the interview through instant message. Rereading this, I am still amazed by (and jealous of) the author’s rapid-fire wit. The interview was originally published in “The Battalion.”

Question: Before the first books became bestsellers, did you realize there was a demand for an unhappy children’s story?

Lemony Snicket: In looking over the shelves of libraries and bookstores, it occurred to me that there was nothing whatsoever telling the miserable story of the Baudelaires and, in fact, very little containing the sort of dreadful detail and general ennui their history contains. I saw that vacuum as a potential gap I might fill.

Q: Why have we never seen you?

LS: Perhaps you have seen Lemony Snicket. He’s nearly always traveling, so if you’re nearly always traveling yourself, then chances are you’ve crossed paths in an airport, train station or holding cell. If you’re never traveling, perhaps you’ve crossed paths during his travels. In the strange, anonymous space of the electronic chat room, it hardly seems fair to poke around the questions of identity.

Q: What sort of activity would land you in a holding cell?

LS: The cross-boundary transportation of suspicious rhetoric. Are you not reading the newspapers?

Q: Why are you always traveling?

LS: My research requires it. Besides, it’s harder to hit a moving target.

Q: How much negative feedback have you gotten from parents of children who have read your books, despite your many warnings against doing so?

LS: From time to time, I get a stern letter complaining about a mention of the Cathedral of the Alleged Virgin, which is mentioned in one of my books. Apparently the devout practitioners of a certain religion feel that this is a reference to their own faith, and have not taken the time to look up what the word “alleged” means. There is also the occasional objection to Count Olaf’s nefarious behavior, particularly his trying to marry a 14-year-old girl. Why this is considered worse than, say, murder, is beyond me, but I always agree with such letter writers: Count Olaf is a terrible man. One ought not to read about him.

Q: Do you think unhappy children’s stories lead to depression among children?

LS: If by “children’s stories” you mean “books,” then perhaps. If by “children’s stories” you mean “the terrible condition of certain children’s lives,” then by all means yes.

Q: Is there a chance the series could end (somewhat) happily?

LS: “Happily” is a comparative term. I predict that the end of the series will be happy compared to some endings we could imagine, and unhappy compared to others – like the endings to our own stories.

Q: Did you draw any inspiration from “The Boxcar Children” books where a group of happy orphans solves mysteries and are raised by a kind, rich uncle?

LS: I keep meaning to read “The Boxcar Children,” but the illustration on the cover of my copy is so hideous I always put it right back on the shelf.

Q: What’s next after the Baudelaires for Lemony Snicket? Any other stories we won’t want to hear about?

LS: My desk is full of pressing cases, but keep in mind that something terrible could happen to any living author at any moment, and nothing would be heard from them again.

Q: Count Olaf seems to be some sort of chameleon. How does he pull off all of his disguises?

LS: Count Olaf is a human, not a chameleon, despite his cold blood and, as you note, his love of disguise. His success owes more to the oblivion of others than his own theatrical skills.

Q: Who would win in a fight: you or R.L. Stine?

LS: I met Mr. Stine some years ago in a disreputable establishment in New Orleans. I cannot imagine why we would get into a fight. If I took issue with his work, I would conduct my disagreement via anonymous letter rather than facing him outright.

Q: Which books keep you reading late into the night?

LS: Currently, the unearthly mysticism of Paul Bowles, but whenever there is a new novel out by Tom Drury or Haruki Murakami, I cancel breakfast the following morning.

Q: Has telling the stories of the orphans helped you with any inner peace?

LS: I am suspicious of the notion of inner peace and have no plans to approach it, let alone attain it.

Q: What are your feelings on the film version of the first three books?

LS: Three books condensed into a two-hour film means that the whole ordeal is over more quickly than reading the books, but that there is more misery per moment, whether from the dreadful events in the story or from the occasional saccharine convention of modern motion pictures. So whether you prefer the film or the books depends on whether you are someone who likes to rip the bandage right off or who prefers to pull it off slowly. Myself, I prefer to sit in a bathtub with a bourbon old-fashioned and let the bandage float to the surface of the salted water.

Q: What’s the most random question you’ve ever been asked?

LS: I was recently asked if I owned a hot tub, and when I said no, the questioner told me that Christopher Paolini, another children’s author, also did not own a hot tub. I suppose that explains why Christopher Paolini and I have never shared a hot tub.

Q: If there is a life to come after the present one and you could bring one book with you, what book would you bring?

LS: “Interesting Places to Travel in the Afterlife” – the newest edition they had.