A Second Helping of Onion Pie
A friend in my writing group says that my writing reminds her of Lydia Davis. Not having read Lydia Davis before, I buy the book Kelly recommends, Almost No Memory. I immediately fall in love with Davis’s microfiction — each piece has a voice quirkier than the last, with compelling characters drawn with just a few lines and a wonderfully kooky sense of humor. How I long to write like Lydia Davis!
In a separate conversation with my friend Jody, also in my writing group, we discuss our most recent pieces. I must read The Red Notebook by Paul Auster, she says, holding up her copy riddled with sticky notes. I order the book, finish up Almost No Memory and dive right into the Auster. He loves a story about coincidence, and I am instantly taken with these true stories, smiling from cover to cover. How wonderful to discover two new writers in one week! (Some of you know how this is going to end, don’t you?)
One of the Auster stories describes his experience as a caretaker for a European home when he was a struggling writer. He and his wife take care of the dogs and the house but have no money. One night they are completely out of food, except for a pie crust and some onions, so they bake an onion pie, which burns. Somehow, he makes a story about onion pie fascinating and insightful.
But wait.… Lydia Davis also has a story about being a caretaker of a house in Europe, taking care of dogs and baking an onion pie. I pull out Almost No Memory and, sure enough, there it is in black and white. Had I not read these two books right after each other, I never would have noticed. I am completely perplexed — did one plagiarize the other, perhaps unknowingly? I’m sometimes surprised by what can sneak into my own writing subconsciously. Maybe this happened with them, though whether it’s Paul copying Lydia or Lydia copying Paul, I have no idea.
During our next writing group, I mention it. Kelly tells me that Lydia Davis and Paul Auster used to be married, and I marvel that they each wrote about the onion pie — such a tiny moment — and in such different ways. This, I think, is a story Paul Auster would love — a bizarre coincidence with a satisfying resolution.
Kelly goes on to say that she’s never read Paul Auster, because she felt she had to choose one after their divorce, as if they were all good friends who now can’t bear to share her.
