The three-balled cat’s meow
Bill Richardson brings a literary pantheon back to life in feral form
WAITING FOR GERTRUDE
by Bill Richardson
Douglas & McIntyre
184 pp.
Dapper in a sleek, black single-breasted suit and possessed of true wit, Bill Richardson has written the insanely hilarious Waiting for Gertrude, a graveyard gothic that explores the possibility that the feral cats of the Paris cemetery Père-Lachaise are inhabited by the souls of historical characters like Oscar Wilde, Alice B. Toklas (Gertrude Stein 's lover and friend), and the singular Jim Morrison of the Doors, among others. Richardson 's speech is like his writing – smooth, elegant, and funny as hell:
What the hell is going on in this book? Where'd you get the idea?
Oh, the preamble is true. (Here we need a quote "… I was twenty-one. Père-Lachaise is famous for the number and beauty of its monuments, and for the illustrious people buried or otherwise commemorated there… it 's my favourite place in all of Paris. My fondness was fixed on that first visit… sitting by the (Sarah) Bernhardt grave, looking very much at ease, was a… cat. She looked at me. I looked at her. We shared a moment of communion. Then she turned her attention to laundering a paw. I moved on. No doubt she put me from her mind straight away. But I never forgot her… the confident feral cats I saw [in the cemetery] started me wondering what it would be like to inhabit the body of a cat.")
Did you do any research on the characters?
Well, because I was 21 (years-old) 25 years ago – pause and do the math.
So you're 31?.
Ha! I have a rule – never date anyone whose age is under my waist size. It's a good reason to stay slim. But anyway, I had read a lot about these people over the years, so I didn 't set out specifically to do research, with a couple exceptions. There are some references to their two-legged lives, but not so much to put anyone off.
Some of the references to the characters are apropos, but Morrison as a three-balled brute?
Well, he was the incarnation of everything sexual. Of course, he was hugely intelligent and a wonderful poet – and, of course, that doesn 't turn up here.
Why this particular book?
You have an obligation to try and make something out of ideas if they don't go away too quickly. And because it was fun.
Why the use of letters rather than straight narrative?
I like different voices, different strains of thought, and my day job is quite demanding, so writing piecemeal makes it manageable. In this case, style is born of necessity. But I don't write just to be funny. I set out to write well.
How 's the book been received?
It's still very freshly out. There was one review in the Globe and Mail that was, you know, pleasant, but it was appropriate to the book. It 's a diversion, nothing more. But that being said, I meant it to be a well-written diversion.
Which parts do you like reading for the public?
The poetry of LaFontaine. (Here we need a quote: "The question tourists ask the most/Concerns our usage of the post./Visitors, surprised to see/Epistolary tendencies,/Will always want to have revealed/Why cats trade letters, stamped and sealed./That answer, easy as they get,/Is: e-mail hasn 't reached us yet./Look! Here 's Colette. Her Cheshire grin/Suggests she 's swallowed cream or gin./Her smirk –post coital –plainly tells/That someone 's been in pussy 's well.)
Why does Proust, then a two-legged famous author, now the feline private investigator –
Why are his investigations anal?
Why does he shove his head up his ass?
He wants to find the secrets that lie in his heart. He 's got a kind of interiority complex. And it 's a bit of a jibe at the writerly life. Proust was very social until he began working on the big novel, and then he had many allergies and illnesses – that 's why Proust the cat is locked in his room. The irony is one of a private investigator investigating his privates.
And last: Morrison comes flying in using his three balls like helicopter blades.
Better not reveal that in the article.
I won 't. But where 'd you get the idea? |
