My delusions of grandeur

Erik Weijers turned down his publisher's request to write an autobiographical piece about his talents as a writer. ‘You may send someone for an interview’, was his reply.

By Hilde Engelaar

While reading old press cuttings, your reporter had gotten a little worried. Erik Weijers was reported to be ‘conceited’ and ‘a difficult man’. One article mentioned ‘great mood swings’.

However, little of that becomes apparent during this interview. To be sure, Weijers is self-satisfied and his statements testify of his delusions of grandeur. But at the same time he is very courteous and apparently in good spirits. He takes his time and serves fine espresso and a tasty and cute assortment of petit fours. The interview takes place in the living of his modernly furnished town house. His easy, sonorous voice is only interrupted every now and then by the distant barking of dogs. ‘Did you know that they still hunt on those country estates? Exemption granted to a highly placed person.’ A pale evening sun lights the room.

Let us come straight to the point. Where does your talent come from?

I have asked myself that question. Concerning my writing technique: there is a large German branch in my family tree. Maybe that explains my ability to build sentences which contain a subject, a finit form and at least two clauses, all in the correct order and with a nice melodious progress. That stuff. Jee, I don’t know. Maybe it was the constellation of the stars, or the weather conditions under which I was born. My dear and thoughtful mother described those in babybook Me. Wait, let me get it for you.

“Nature was lovely when we drove to the Radboud Hospital that morning around 8.15. The temperature had dropped below zero the previous night and all the trees and the grass were covered with white frost. During the day the weather got very nice, the sun started to shine. In the evening snow fell down in big flakes.”
 
One can see that the talent runs in the family, right? And a beautiful handwriting, too… Look, a little strand of my baby hair is included…

What is your goal as writer?

I want to move the readers and make them laugh. Indeed, a laugh and a tear. I know that is a huge ambition. But to avoid misunderstandings: I don’t want the reader to be conscious he is reading a masterpiece. Instead, the reading experience should be like a warm bath. I don’t force myself on the reader, but allow him to create his own story. If the magic is over, his or her thoughts turn to me, and together we reach a climax. That is… why are you blushing? I only want to say that physical and spiritual erotic are related.

Ah, I see. Do you consider your work of lasting importance?

Who am I to judge, as a mortal human being? However, I do believe that one paragraph of any email of mine has more relevance than the entire oeuvre of A.F.Th. Van der Heijden. But nevermind. What does it all matter in the end? All is vanity. Look outside, if you will. There, on the spot of the summer house, stood an ancient oak tree when I moved in here. I had to fell it. Its time had come.

Once again you phrase it nicely. I guess international recognition will come soon?

It is probably only a matter of time. I am in the same stage as Multatuli before he wrote his Max Havelaar. It wasn’t until he wrote that book before he finally found his subject matter and his style. Before that, he was not known to foreign readers.

Are people jealous of you?

I don’t think I belong to the type of talent that is fiercely envied. I write true sentences, but not in a tiresome manner. I make apparently casual observations, which make explicit certain situations that people subconsciously had already felt. They just had not put them into words yet. Their next reaction is: ‘He happens to write that, but I could just as easily have thought of it myself. He is one of us.’ And that is how it should be. I don’t want to be on a pedestal.

You are a model of modesty.

Thank you. I always try to keep viewing things in the right perspective.

Excellent. Something different now, which I just have to get off my chest. So far in this conversation you have been so amiable. To be honest, I am relieved. Because, excuse me for bringing this up… how shall I put this?

Please continue. Say what’s on your mind.

Allright then. During my preparation I read certain statements about you which… don’t get me wrong, I refused to take these for granted, but… rumours concerning your temper, your capricious behaviour and… the firmness with which you have treated certain people, so to speak.

Ah? I suppose they write a lot of things. What do you believe yourself?

Not much, not much at all. I just want to mention that there seems to be a lot of turmoil around you. Maybe there do exist people who envy you?

I understand that you want to have certain matters discussed and I respect that. The case is as follows. A few years ago there was an ongoing smear campaign against me. It was launched by a certain clique, a circle of people that, to put it briefly, could not stomach the fact that they are less talented than me. And so what was my reward for everything I try to give to the people? Lies, calumny and ongoing attempts to trample and belittle my work. I guess one can never overestimate the narrow-mindedness of some people…

I am sorry I brought it up. Excuse me.

Nowadays I don’t read it anymore. It just doesn’t concern me anymore. But there was a time … at a certain stage they started attacking people who are close to me. At that point I could no longer remain silent. In the polemic that ensued, for once I went full blast. My opponents didn’t stand a chance, I slaughtered them and threw them in the trash. As a consequence, the careers of some individuals of that group were permanently damaged. I haste to say that I am not proud of that. Which is about all I wish to say about it now. By the way, from the large majority of my readers I get heartwarming responses.

No doubt, I believe that. But wouldn’t it be an idea to publish a selection of that polemic correspondence? There appears to be a lot of demand for it.

Who knows, in the distant future. I don’t consider those pieces as important as my other work. Which is not to say that they are not effectively written, nor that they wouldn’t make amusing reading. By the way, would you like another espresso? Yes? I’ll be right back… Taste this one, it is made of my favorite brand of beans. Right. Where were we?

It is delicious. Let us return to literature. What is your opinion of the generation of writers that came before you?

What shall I say? At least they tried, didn’t they? One should applaud that. It only disappoints me that I can’t really get any inspiration from their work. Take for example Arnong Grunberg, who by the way is not much older than me. He claims that he admires, as I do, the American author John Fante. What surprises me, is that in his own work he puts so little at stake, he is so lame and… how shall I put it… displays so little empathy. It is my opinion that a writer should show glimpses of compassion with the characters he portrays. I don’t care for a reptile’s perception of the environment.

So what about Martin Bril?

Again, not an example of warm-bloodedness, don’t you agree? But anyway… I don’t have anything against him. He is not a bad writer, he doesn’t cause harm. Excuse me? You admire Connie Palmen? With all due respect, but… nevermind. Frans Kellendonk? That man wrote with a broom. But wait a minute, I thought this article was for a respectable magazine. Some harsh statements never hurt anyone, but still I prefer to talk about good writers.

Of course. Who are your examples?

If I confine myself to Holland: it was my luck to have been born early enough to have noticed Gerard Reve. And that I was raised on the rantings of Hans Teeuwen. I mention the latter because he is a storyteller, that is why. In my view he justly crowned himself The King of Comedy. And regarding Gerard Reve: he called himself ‘citizen-writer’ to indicate that he was no parasitic, subsidized ‘artist’. He wrote tragicomic, lascivious novels for his people and his Queen. I predict that both gentlemen will survive the ravages of time.

What would be your advice to beginning writers?

Do not try to imitate me too fanatically. Do you really want to write like me, first read the novelists who have influenced me. If you subsequently reread my work, you are better prepared. Also, don’t hurry with your debut. As a teenager or twentysomething it is better to go through the world full of wonder and to try to make conversation with people. And don’t go insane in the process. That’s the way I did it and it proved fruitful.

As a final question, do you have anything to add? Maybe a misunderstanding that should be dealt with at last?

You are adorable, so diplomatic and yet persistent you are. I think I understand what you are referring to and now might indeed be the opportunity to end all speculation: I am only into women.

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August 2007