Somewhere in a box I have an autographed copy of Carol Shields’s novel, Larry’s Party.  At least I think it’s in a box.  I’ve searched the S shelves, and it is not with Shields’s other books.  That’s the problem with moving:  you never get around to unpacking all the boxes.  The Guardian publishes a Q&A interview series called “The Books of My Life.” My husband says it should be called “The Books of My Wife.” He has book radar: if anyone can find Larry’s Party, he can.

“Didn’t we go see her?” he asked.

“Yes, we went to a reading. She read from Larry’s Party.”  

The turnout was small: perhaps 20 people. Embarrassing. Didn’t the word get out? I’d expected a crowd of fans of The Stone Diaries, which won the Pulitzer Prize and the Governor General’s Prize in Canada. (She qualified for both prizes: she grew up in the U.S. but moved to Canada.)

We all loved Carol Shields, a brilliant, charming woman and lively reader who spun out answers to our questions so that they seemed more intelligent than they were.

And then we lined up to get our books signed.  The man in front of me was very vivacious. He said he and his wife had looked forward to their commute while they read aloud Larry’s Party on their way to and from work.

“It’s your best book yet,. Thank you for writing it.” Hand on heart. He bowed.

I couldn’t top the courtly man’s anecdote. “I love your books,” I may have said. Verbal exclamation points! I may have mentioned a favorite book, though I don’t know which that would have been.

Since I can’t find Larry’s Party, which won the Orange Prize, by the way, I am rereading one of her early novels, The Box Garden (!977), and loving it.  Actually, it is better than Larry’s Party, but I still hope to find that missing book.

I’ll let you know!