Which three authors, dead or alive, would you invite to a literary dinner party? is a question often asked of authors interviewed for The New York Times Book Review. What Edmund White said James Merrill said about a young fan: “Why does he want to meet us in the flesh? Doesn’t he realize the best part of us is on the page and all he’ll be meeting is an empty hive?”
I have a different objection. Wby would I invite people, however talented, however much I admire their works, who might be bad company, either because being a good writer doesn't entail being a good guest, or because they didn't particularly like me? I wonder why no one says that in the NYT Book Review?
