Michael Perry Book Signing: Coop
There is something odd in the idea of a couple of older guys who live on farms going to Des Moines for a book reading and signing by the author on a Friday night. Of course, if one of the guys is the author himself, he has a good reason. I, on the other hand, was eager to hear from his new book and listen to his stories.
Michael Perry, author of Coop: A Year of Poultry, Pigs, and Parenting, spoke at Barnes and Nobel to a small appreciative group in the lobby of the store. To start with, what’s not to like about a man who poses on the cover of his book holding a Barred Rock chicken? (My two roosters are both Barred Rocks, collectively named “The Inmates”)
Perry is the author of several magazine articles as well as Population:485 and Truck. During his informal and warm chat, he shared personal stories and some readings from Coop. He also gave a shout out to Gene Logsdon’s books, praising All Flesh is Grass, which I mentioned here.
The striking thing about Perry is his candor and lack of proselytizing about any nuvo-rural movement. He’s quick to share that this book is about his experiences, not a how-to for what readers should or should not do. Although his story about “snot-rocket” — a phrased clipped from his text by a sensitive New York editor–might be considered how-to.
The writer’s life may seem glamorous, but to someone with a family and a small farm, I imagine being on the road, meeting strangers everyday in a new town is both thrilling and exhausting. Perry did take the time to chat with each guest as he signed their books. He and I swapped stories about ducks (“Do they put themselves in each night like chickens?”) and pheasants (a neighbor of Perry’s raises them and a few manage to get lose each year) and the importance of starting small (not trying to do everything at once). He and his wife have 43 acres, which he shares is about 42 and a half too much, but he’s clearly proud of what he and his family are tyring to do.
In his forward to Coop, Perry shares:
I am grateful for anyone who reads my writing, even–or especially–with a critical eye, and one phrase never suffers from repetition: Thank you, reader.
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