My Very Brief Chat with Legendary Writer John le Carre'

So something rather remarkable happened recently. I'm a big fan of writing to my favorite luminaries, whether musicians, actors, authors, intellectuals, what have you. And I'm a big fan of John le Carre' (that's a pen name; his real one's David Cornwell), the writer of such classics as The Spy Who Came In From the Cold, The Russia House, The Constant Gardener (a novel about modern-day Africa) and Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. He's regarded by those who don't know what they're talking about as a "spy novelist", and by those who do know what they're talking about as one of the greatest living writers in the English language.

Naturally, I decided to write him a letter. The catch is, being in his 80s and one of the most popular and recognized authors in the world, he chooses not to respond to fan correspondence, and has famously stopped doing interviews. It says so right there on his website, albeit in very friendly verbiage that explains he's not a crank, just an extraordinarily busy octogenarian who's got better things to do than chat with admirers. The guy's been ranked #22 in a list of the 50 greatest British writers since 1945 by the UK paper The Times. He's no slouch, is what I'm getting at.

Which makes the fact that he did indeed respond to me, and the manner in which he did so, rather remarkable. More than that, it's something I'll cherish till the end of my days. Admiring him the way I do, and seeing the words he chose to share with me, I'm not ashamed to say I nearly cried the first few times I read his reply.

I never thought a simple email from a stranger would become one of the happiest experiences of my life.



　
Dear Mr. Cornwell,

My name is Brandon Tucker. I am American, the father of three young children and like countless others the world over, an admirer of your work for many years. I know you value your privacy, and are no doubt busy with current projects, and that you will not respond to this letter, if it even comes to your attention. I am not asking for any sort of response. I simply wish to thank you.

About a year ago I received a certificate of appreciation from the Blood Bank of Alaska (my wife and I, both proud liberals, moved up here from northern California in 2005, shortly before Sarah Palin was elected Governor and began her rise to infamy). The certificate thanked me for my donations going back to our first year here, and celebrated in large, bold print the number of gallons of blood I'd given in that time.

I had never donated blood before, being irrationally afraid of the needle. But I had recently read The Constant Gardener. Your books have always inspired my imagination, but here was one which inspired my conscience. I felt awful and challenged at the same time, and realized I had been living too selfishly. I wanted to lend a hand, somehow, to someone. Raising three kids on a low-level state employee's salary leaves little room for discretionary spending, but blood, I thought, was one commodity I could well afford to part with. And so I have, every two months since.

When the earthquake struck Port au Prince in 2010, we enlisted our kids to help send small donations to Relief International and Partners in Health. We did the same a year later after Japan's earthquake and tsunami, showing the children videos of the destruction, letting them read what emergency services were doing for victims and having the kids type and click to send the funds on their way.

Just prior to a recent Christmas, we all went on a grocery shopping spree, then as a family unloaded several bags of food and toiletries at a local church for distribution around our area. We told the kids many of their own school friends would no doubt be eating from what we were donating, and that there is no shame in it. I want them to understand that whether down the street or around the world, there are people who need help, and that we are in an unusually advantageous position to offer it.

If you have read this far, I've already taken too much of your time. Just please know that while I have long adored your books, I feel I have become a better person because of The Constant Gardener - a gift which I try hard to share with my children. The fact that I am now hungrily reading The Mission Song only affirms my decision to do so.

Thank you, Mr. Cornwell, for your priceless storytelling. But thank you also for wielding that rare ability to help us all see the world more clearly - that so much of it is cruel and unbalanced, and that we have the obligation and means to help make it a better place.

I wish you all the best.

-Brandon Tucker

______________________________________________________________


Dear Brandon Tucker,

Your message has been forwarded to John le Carré, and he sends the following reply::


'Dear Mr Tucker,

I was deeply touched by your email and thank you sincerely for it. It has been a continuing delight to me that readers have responded so warmly to The Constant Gardener. At the time of its publication, I was overwhelmed by letters of thanks from Oxfam and a bunch of equally admirable NGOs. But such a personal letter as yours brings a tear to my eye, and I thank you profoundly for it. How perfectly awful to think of Sarah Palin presiding over your life, but I am sure that she too will pass her sell-by date quite soon.

With warmest wishes,

David Cornwell'

 

 

Summer, Seattle and the Death of a Saab

Every James Bond fan knows you open the film with a bang, and so it is with today's blog entry.  Literally.  On June 24th, shortly after leaving work, Brandon was rear-ended by some lady who apparently didn't notice all the stopped traffic ahead waiting for the red light to turn green.  Or maybe she just really hates Saabs.  Regardless, the result was a collision hard enough that it shot the radio out of Brandon's dashboard and gave him a lovely concussion.  That last bit was confirmed after a visit to the ER and a couple days of absent-minded stupidity (completing sentences was a particular challenge for a day or two).  As for the car - Brandon's beautiful, beloved Saab - it's been deemed by our insurance as a total loss.  Someone will come pick it up soon to haul it off to auction, and ultimately, a scrapyard.  The kicker is we'll be receiving about 1/6 what we initially paid for it.  Ah, well.  Robert Frost knew a thing or two, it seems...  "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."  And so it does.

We've been busier than ever this summer, and a gorgeous, warm and sunny summer it's been. Calvin is following in his brother's footsteps and playing t-ball, and he's gotten quite good at it.  Malcolm has moved up a level, to the point where he dons a Marlins uniform for every game, instead of the standard local business sponsorship outfit.  He intends to continue playing as he prepares to enter middle school in the fall.  Chloe, of course, is still all about gymnastics.  We expect before long she'll finally relent and follow her coaches' advice about joining the competitive team.

Calvin turned the big 5 on June 13th, and Chloe's getting ready to hit 9 on August 31st.  And since Stephanie's birthday on May 29th was her fortieth such celebration, Brandon flew her down to Seattle for a surprise performance by our favorite Irishman, Dylan Moran.  Between the secret preparations (read: flowers and chilled bottles of stout) by the concierge of the W Hotel (we can't recommend W Hotels highly enough), the dinner reservations, the tickets to the EMP Museum and the autographed photo Brandon managed to have Mr. Moran sign to Stephanie, needless to say, she was satisfactorily pleased with the whole affair.  The only downside is our return flight was delayed, then canceled, and we had to stay the night slumming around the ghostly halls of Sea-Tac airport.  One wonders if Robert Frost ever had to try sleeping on a metal airport bench under fluorescent lighting.

Otherwise, it's been more of the same.  Which in our case, is always a good thing.  The sudden lack of a car will work itself out somehow, and in the mean time, we'll keep going on hikes and picnics and assorted family outings.  In a few weeks we meet family in Maui, which we're thrilled about.  Then we'll have the Alaska State Fair, Chloe's birthday, blueberry picking in Hatcher Pass, the start of the new school year and so much more.  In light of all that, complaining about a lost car seems rather petty.

But it was a really nice car.

♥

You've got red on you.