Letter to David Vann

David Vann – I’m a bit mad at you. You sucked me in. You fed me a few chapters of innocently good writing. You told me the worst thing that was going to happen in your novel Legend of a Suicide in the first few pages. You fooled me. You lured me into your story without preparing me. Most authors give clues to what is going to happen if it is big and essential to the story. You waited till I was complacently admiring your writing style to set an incredibly tense scene of a hopeless, useless, self-obsessed man who takes his 13 year old son to live on a primitive remote Alaskan Island alone for a year. I started that central novella, Sukkwan Island, at 10pm at night after eating too much cheesecake. My stomach was already upset. I had to sit up in bed for an hour or so, thinking I would be reading a well written story of a man who commits suicide.

Now, I don’t usually read books like yours. I don’t shy away from tough subjects in my reading material but suicide is a hard one, especially when I know that this story comes from personal experience. I thought it might be a bit raw for me, a bit too real. I saw you on The First Tuesday Book Club on the ABC and I liked your take on Blood Meridian. I love Cormac McCarthy and his honest portrayal of flaws and accountability. I love his acts of, almost, personal responsibility for telling us these stories. I should have deduced that you would have that same attachment to proclaiming the truth whether we want to hear it or not. ‘Cowboy up, reader, this is real life’ I can hear you say.

And you looked so nice on the TV show. So clean cut and all American. I dismissed those niggling suspicions as I listened to you talk about the terrible conflict which was a test to determine who we are, as humans, in Blood Meridian. I didn’t pay attention to your delight in McCarthy’s dark and grim view of mankind. I loved your eloquence and your descriptive insights. I wanted to fix you a cup of tea and discuss The Road and No Country for Old Men. I wanted to see a whole episode dedicated to you.

I ordered Legend of a Suicide. It is my custom to read, at least, the book just prior to the one getting all the reviews, by an author who is of interest to me. I don’t want to get through the first part of a new book and find out that I missed something vital in the previous book. I started Legend of a Suicide the night before last.

Last night you broke my heart and my good sleeping pattern. You didn’t let me lay down and gently read myself off to sleep (I almost think you promised you would in the first few pages of this book). You kept me sitting up, tossing and turning and finally getting up to make a cup of herbal tea to soothe myself. There was tense screeching violin music playing in the background, there were ‘almost’ disasters and there were times I wanted to yell (I think I might have) out loud to one your characters to take a different path, not to give in. Then the ‘thing’ happened and I was shocked. I didn’t see it coming. Then, the chance for redemption, the making of the man, the fail, the loss. David, I was with you every step of the way.

I think that you may be up there with Cormac McCarthy. I will wait until I read your next book to rank your status in my own little literary world. You write with power and clout. You demand attention – there is no fucking around in your book. There is pressure and release. There is measure without guess work. There is value and ferocious honesty. Damn, David Vann, you have made me love you and you have not asked leave to do so. I will be reading Caribou Island and anything else you write, but only during the day just in case.