Dinner party thoughts inspired by Matthew Simmons, A Jello Horse.

I have problems. I have problems, and so I write. I don’t think I’m alone in this, but considering that I might be alone in this somehow makes me feel better. My problems are normal. I don’t have delusions about how big or bad my problems might be. I imagine things when I read. It’s one of my problems. I am overly empathetic, to the point of living inside the books I read. When I pick up Matthew Simmons book A Jello Horse, finally, this week, I know I will be able to read it on the plane from Los Angeles to Portland. I think, this is a perfectly-sized book for travel. I imagine this a gift specifically from the author, Matthew Simmons, to me. I smile an inside cough-syrup smile. It is small.

I consider reading this book both a pleasure and an obligation, which I do not mean with any pejorative connotation whatsoever. By this I mean, I’ve asked Matthew Simmons to read with me in his city of Seattle tomorrow night, as I too have asked the poet Carrie Seitzinger. I think this is a nice triad of very different genres and styles, and so when I imagine myself being at this reading as an audience member, it makes me happy, so I put energy into making this happen. Pilot Books in Seattle is kind enough to host this reading tomorrow. And so I consider it an obligation of sorts because it feels like the polite thing to do, a gesture of respect to my fellow authors, to read their words and think about them and keep them in my mind as I am meeting them for the first time and sharing a conversation and hopefully some laughs.

I wanted to quote a nice long passage of A Jello Horse here, but I passed along the book to Carrie to take with her to work this morning, because I thought it would be great if we’d both read the book before tomorrow, and I think she will be able to make serious headway during her lunch hour, and then finish it tonight during our barbecue. I’ve already prepared the meat. It’s in the refrigerator now. Which makes me think of the dinner party. Which we’re not having tonight.

This is how I insert myself into this book, A Jello Horse. I kept waiting to see where the title would come from, how it would present itself in the book, a peacock of pride, for some reason reminding me of how we were all supposed to scream during parts of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, when I would go see it every Saturday night at midnite. When I finally come upon the title of the book in the story, it’s part of an acid trip another character has before taking a geometry exam in high school. The narrator’s analysis of the meaning of this phrase is only one of many beautiful, deeply sensitive bits of text contained within this delicious little novella (I think? Is it a novella? Would this help me in any way at all to know it is a novella, instead of a novel?)

I realize that when I come upon the passage that contains the title in it, that somehow, I’ve been imagining all along how to create a horse made of jello, and that I keep seeing myself bringing it out of the refrigerator to a dinner party that I am hosting in my house. It is green, has always been green and never another color, never red. I could see myself trying to architect the thing, the wobbly legs, how I’d get the body to sit up on wobbly legs, maybe create an infrastructure out of dowels and toothpicks, until I decide to craft a kind of interior support out of plexiglass forms. Everyone is so proud. I tell them the horse’s name is Matthew.

Get this book and have your own interior adventure. There is something magical about being taken down a path in second person. And Matthew Simmons tells a gem of a story here. I am very excited to read with him tomorrow night at Pilot. If you’re anywhere nearby, please come by.