simmering. And there’d be music on, and they’d be reading, and we’d be reading. We’d all sit around the living room, and we’d each be reading our own thing. And every once in a while, we’d talk about what we were reading. And I for a long time, I think, thought all families were like that. And didn’t realize that …
When did you?
When I was at school, and met—there were a lot of kids at Amherst, I met a lot of people who were fiercely smart, like great test-takers.Who were really talented at like science or something, but you realize that they (a) didn’t read, and (b) didn’t like to particularly. That it wasn’t something they dug a lot.
Encouraged to in the house, though?
It was probably the same for you. Overtly, no. It was just what you did. I remember I liked to more than Amy did. I remember Amy liked to draw and play with things, and partially play with the phones. And I would much prefer being by myself with a book. And that Mom and Dad were basically, “Oh cool, look: David and Amy are different.” They were really ’60s parents, and I don’t think—there was if anything a conscious attempt to
not
give overt direction. Although of course you end up becoming yourself.
Did they want you to be a writer or no?
Oh no, I was gonna be—the big thing I was when I was little was a really serious jock. You know, I played like citywide football as a little kid, I was really big and strong as a little kid.
And then for four or five years, I was seriously gonna be a pro tennis player. And it was like my great dream. Reading was this kind of fun, weird thing that I did on the side. I mean, I had no artistic ambition.
Harper’s piece, “Tennis and Trigonometry.”
It’s pretty good—but
Harper’s
changed it a lot. It’s real different than what the original is. The original was about math. He made it this really neat essay about failure. I’m really bad at saving stuff. I’m just poorly organized.
Pee-Wee—Pop Warner?
Pop Warner is slightly older—that’s nationally. Here, there’s a weirdthing called Gray-Y, which was done through the YMCA. You could say Pee-Wee and it wouldn’t be far off. But I was really good. I mean, when I was a little kid I was really good. And then I got to junior high, and there were like two other guys in the city who were better quarterbacks than I was. [Even then very competitive: knows the exact number.] And people started hitting each other a lot harder, and I discovered that I didn’t really love to hit people. That was a huge disappointment. And then I discovered tennis when I was twelve, and then I got totally addicted to that.
But too late for pro?
It turned out later I think that I started too late. It also turned out, I just didn’t quite have the goods. I mean, I could have been, I think, a good college player if I started earlier. And I never—one thing about me and Michael Joyce [the tennis star] this summer, and seeing these guys up close, is they’re playing an entirely different game. I mean, it’s like what you and I were doing last night versus serious, devoted chess players.
Did hanging around Joyce confirm your guesses about tennis?
He’d had some media coaching, clearly—he gave me level one of the thirteen levels, the thirteen levels of consciousness that would be going on. I think the best nonfiction I’ve ever done that I could not get published anywhere, is a long review of Tracy Austin’s book that talks about—that’s all about what kind of mentality would be required to go, like, “OK, I really need to get this point. So I’m gonna focus and bear down and not get distracted.” And to be able to do that, and whether that’s a kind of genius or a kind of stupidity. And which one. And why it results in such execrable writing.
It’d be cool to do the reverse, in a sports book: an as-told-to, but with full prose
.
Couldn’t do it … Someone else kind of did.
When you were at Brown, did you study with
Jacqueline E. Luckett
Gilbert Sorrentino
Brian Lumley
Lisa Greenwald
Donna Grant
Ariel Lawhon
Margaret McMullan
Melody Anne
S. Evan Townsend
Anthony Eaton