A teenage literary giant, there is nothing that isn’t impressive about Shelley. Whether it’s the famous tale about the creation of Frankenstein, her tumultuous relationship with Percy or even the fact that she was a woman navigating here way through an overbearingly sexist industry (hence the pseudonym), it’s hard to say how she wouldn’t be thoroughly engaging. Also, she kept Percy’s heart wrapped in one of his poems. Now that is someone who I would like to meet.
Neil Gaiman is a bit of a legend. So much so that he writes free short stories on his website (check it out here) and seems to be a half-ghostly, half-firmly entrenched in reality type of guy. I don’t quite know why he appears to be so intriguing, although I suppose the subject matter of his books speak for themselves.
Come on. Even if you haven’t read any T.P books, wouldn’t you want to have met him based on this picture? I was so keen when was I younger to tell Pratchett how much I loved his work that I even wrote him a letter and included a hand-drawn dragon. (Which I was very proud of, by the way). Unfortunately he never wrote back, although some vaguely pessimistic part of me did expect never to hear from him again anyway. It’s a real shame, but at least I can say that I tried. That said, Pratchett was a thoroughly engaging man; before becoming a writer he worked at a nuclear plant, and he seemed like the kind of man who was not only is witty, but had his fair share of outrageous anecdotes to tell.
DAPHNE DU MAURIER
Not only has her book Rebecca never gone out of print, but du Maurier herself was quite the character. Her father was so desperate for a son that he made cut her hair short and adopt a male persona, which she called “Eric Avon”. Given that her father was an actor and indeed encouraged this behaviour, no one thought it all bizarre and it was only at adolescence that ‘Eric’ was sidelined. Then, in 1925, as if to prove a point she went a finishing school in France. A proper finishing school! I would just dream to hear the late-night stories that they shared at such a classic institution late at night… because I firmly believe that boarding school isn’t as innocent as it seems!
This is two-fold:
Firstly, did Shakespeare exist? If I sent him a memo and he didn’t turn up, then I presume not, and the whole world be shaken. (Maybe…) Or he just rejected me. Which would be an equally calamatous event compared with him not existing at all.
Secondly, if Shakespeare did turn up for 17th century (vegan) pies outside the Globe, then it would be fascinating in itself because Shakespeare’s life had been rather mixed. He came from a poor background and somehow managed to establish a life for himself amongst the literary elite, and even ended up working for the King. Asking him about his intention for the longevity for the plays (and would he consider prose?) would also feature high on the agenda.
Does this even need explaining? He evidently prefers children though (adults are regarded with great disdain in the majority of his books), so maybe I would have to de-age before somehow meeting him to have the richest experience possible. I don’t even think I would say anything, in all honesty (and definitely not the “where do you get your inspiration from” type-question). But to be in the presence of such an influential man would be enough.
THE BIBLE WRITER(S)
This would be more altruistic than anything but at least it would put a lot of people’s minds at rest depending on who turned up… it could radically alter modern society as we know it!
The appeal of meeting A.A.Gill is rather simple one. Renowned for his travel writing, he had seen the world and such a wealth of experience to draw upon that coupled with biting humour it would have been the most intriguing of evenings. There is still rightly so much melancholy and intense sadness surrounding his recent death in the literary and wider community. It came as such a shock to everyone, and the perhaps saddest things of all (after the loss to his family), is that the words of trips he now can never make, unwritten, are permanently hanging in oblivion.