On the topic of avuncular British fantasy writers
When I was small I adored the Redwall series, which was about the medieval-Esque fighting and snacking habits of cute anthropomorphic woodland creatures. The author, Brian Jacques, was British. And one day he came to a REMARKABLY TINY RURAL AMERICAN TOWN that was close to my EVEN TINIER RURAL HOMETOWN for a book signing. Still don’t know why; he was probably visiting friends. Still, it was bizarre and amazing and felt practically religious.
I was about 11. This was beyond important to me. I was going to observe and record everything about my idol.
The book signing was crowded with kids and everyone was hyped, but I was just rigid with Paying Total Attention. Brian Jacques read aloud a passage of a book in his lovely resonant voice. He talked about writing, about the craft of sentences, and how all of his stories were meant to be read aloud, or to sound like they were in your head.
Lots of the other kids were romping and chattering for attention. They were doing that thing that kids do where they suck up to adults, and the adults don’t perceive it, but other kids side-eye them hard. And there was this one lady, this wonderful 90s Mom, who was a Huge Fan and she was British. “Me! I’m British!” She said at one point, bouncing on her feet and waving her hand in the air. I was not a charitable child. I hated her. She was messing with my Paying Total Attention.
The more everyone else giggled encouragingly, the more my expression froze into a frown of Piercing Focus.
We lined up to get our books signed and I noticed he was suddenly looking very old and wearing a wrist brace. He laughed and joked with everyone ahead of me in the line, but I realized: oh my god!! He’s hurt! Signing the books hurts his hands!! And he’s signing SO MANY!! There were people ahead of me with their whole Redwall collections! And you could see in between his smiles that he was tired and aching!
And I was like: this man is my IDOL and we are using him up!
When it was my turn I was almost sick with dread and disgust with myself, but I handed over my single book, a brand new hardback copy of “The Legend of Luke.” I was also doing the Piercing Focus Frown.
He looked at me and was all warm and said “hello, Smiler.”
Oh my god. Obviously I burst into smiles.
“Ah,” he said, “I knew it would be the loveliest smile,” and chucked me under the chin, this would have resulted in most people losing a finger but it was BRIAN JACQUES,
I asked if his hand hurt and he said “Yes, but I love doing this,”
BRIAN !!!!!! JACQUES!!!!!
…. anyway, my smile is my one beauty; my name in American Sign Language is Smiler; I felt for all those years like Brian Jacques had seen my soul, had understood me, had known that there was something in this frowning child in dark clothing that was reaching towards him like he was the Sun; and, you know, I am still that kid inside, twisted and weird and a little hateful, always observing, never quite part of things, always narrating;
But Brian Jacques!! Called me Smiler!!
…. anyway, I got married and moved to England and had a baby. A very attractive baby, whose beautiful smile is NOT its only beauty, but which is a big beautiful sunflower smile that creates a Smile Feedback Loop.
And all the British people, all the old men and ladies, they make my baby smile. And they say, “ah, Smiler!” And chuck my baby under the chin.
I asked my husband: “is Smiler a nickname, here?”
“Eh, it’s just something you’d say to a cute kid.”
All idols have the right to be human, you see. Most of what we give them to hold are our own reflections. Little treasures, little pieces of our hearts, and then we grow up. So I just took my little piece back from Brian Jacques, who passed many years ago, with gratitude. Something sweet and small, that I once grew towards like the Sun.