at the Clint Eastwood end of the spectrum. With just a dash of Nietzsche and Marcuse.
Then we went to the radio studio a few blocks away (Lee would write about how we turned left to go north on Central Park West as we came out of his building). Which is when we had the John Lennon moment (somewhere between 86th and 87th).
3 THAT JOHN LENNON MOMENT
Lee lives north of the building where John Lennon used to live and Yoko Ono still lives (I think). Just across from the Strawberry Fields monument to Lennon. I had forgotten all about it until the moment when a fanboy came running up to us in the street. We had just come out of Lee’s building. It was a nice sunny day. Not too hot. We were walking along and suddenly out of nowhere – I think from the other side of Central Park West – up he popped. White guy. He had on a black baseball cap, pulled down over his forehead. T-shirt and jeans, I think. Glasses. An intense look. ‘Hey, Mr Child,’ he says, ‘I’m a great fan of yours.’
The whole Lennon story flashed back to mind, the shooting in the street outside his building, by a fan. Mark David Chapman probably said to Lennon, ‘I’m a great fan of yours.’
So naturally I thought, Uh-oh, here we go, when is he going to pull the gun out?
‘I’m grateful to you for your novels, of course,’ the guy in the baseball cap said, getting into time with us as we walked north, highly respectfully, ‘but I also admire everything you’ve written about the art of writing.’
‘Really?’ said Lee. Calm and composed.
‘Yes, your work has been a great inspiration to me.’ Turned out he was an up-and-coming thriller writer. ‘I really liked that point you made about not giving away too much information – dosing it out. Slow disclosure. I try to keep it in mind while I’m writing.’
‘Who do you publish with?’ Lee said.
‘St Martin’s Press,’ says the guy.
‘Good publisher,’ says Lee. ‘Well, good luck with the next one!’
The guy thanked him again and backed off (no doubt at the same time relaxing his finger on the trigger of the handy little weapon he had stowed away in his pocket). Lee has this habit of seeing the other person’s point of view. I was seeing a threat to life and limb – an assassin, in short. He was seeing a budding fellow writer. (Really, how much difference was there?) And in his parting words I felt a sense that he was wishing himself good luck for his next one too – given that it barely existed.
It wasn’t his own life he was worrying about, it was the life of the unborn book.
I mentioned my John Lennon scenario to Lee as we went on. He laughed it off. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘that was on the way back to the Dakota. It was outside the building, but he was coming home, not going out. He signs a record for the fan. Then the fan pulls out a gun and shoots him.’ It was a fine distinction. But it was clear he had given the episode some thought. Had seen himself as a possible target. Then dismissed it. ‘A writer is never going to be in the same league as a rock star – or an actor, for example. Not even remotely. Writing is show business for shy people. Or invisible people. It’s the book that’s out there, not the person. We just don’t have that kind of visibility – or directness. So I guess, by the same token, we’re less of a target.’
He thought this part of town was more literary than his old neighbourhood. ‘I’m more recognized in this part of New York. The Upper West Side. I might have a couple of fans coming up to me if I walk through Central Park. Only one or two a week. No big deal.’
4 CHAPTER ONE (CONTINUED)
Lee is a distinctive guy to look at. About six foot four. Tall and stringy-looking. Strong chin. Piercing blue eyes. Reddybrown hair. Late fifties but well preserved. Verging on elegant. Longitudinal. Someone had said to him ‘You should play Reacher’ (in the movie). He had replied, ‘My body mass would just about fit into one of his arms.’ (Reacher 250 lbs; Child more like half that) Still, you can pick him out in a crowd. Or walking across Central Park. He has a long, lazy, loping stride. Half Robert Redford, half Jacques Tati. With a bit of Walter White thrown in for good measure.
He was doing a down-the-line interview with a radio show in England. Now even Lee was starting to worry about putting off the writing. Maybe it was one show too many.
‘The book came out yesterday in the UK. It’s already sold a phenomenal number. So this is not strategic. But I love Simon Mayo – the guy actually reads the books. I’m doing this show because I want to be on it.’
We went in. Bumped into an old guy in braces and baggy trousers hitched high. A producer or something.
‘So what is this book?’ he says.
‘It’s a thriller. I hope.’
‘So it’s a movie, is it?’
‘Well [cue sound of Lee gritting his teeth], it might become one ultimately.’
He hates the movie assumption. I have taken a vow to keep off the subject of Tom Cruise (who played Reacher in the Jack Reacher movie, based on One Shot). He has already received around one million emails from fans saying ‘YOU SOLD US OUT, YOU BASTARD!’ or words to that effect. He sends out a tweet about what he had for breakfast and they all tweet back to him, ‘But why Tom Cruise?’ Some people said, ‘What about Daniel Craig?’
‘Well, what about Daniel Craig?’ I said.
‘He’s even shorter!’ Lee shot back. (He had actually met Daniel Craig and knew him well enough to call him ‘Danny’.) Likewise Clint Eastwood: ‘They’re all shrimps!’
The producer in London is a fan, more well versed than the old guy. ‘If you ever want a character who’s a slightly stressed-out radio producer,’ she says, rather seductively, ‘feel free to use me.’
Simon Mayo, the presenter in London, says, ‘We’re doing Jack Reacher songs this afternoon. This one is “The Wanderer”.’
And then: ‘Lee Child live from New York … The one and only Lee Child!’
All the callers wanted to be a character in a Reacher book. Possibly have a romance with Reacher. Or even be on the receiving end of a crunching Reacher head-butt. Mayo launched in with a story about how Lee has a character named Audrey Shaw in The Affair. The real Audrey Shaw’s son, aged fourteen, had written to him, telling him she was a total Reacher fan and would he mind using her name. So he did. ‘She was a fan,’ Lee explained, ‘and it’s a great name. Perfect for the character.’
A lot of people were wondering about Reacher getting older. I’d heard the question asked a few times – how old is he now? Is he over the hill or what? Lee reckoned he was around forty-eight now, maybe a bit older. ‘I used to be very specific but now I just don’t mention it.’ And they wanted to know if Lee was going to kill him off one of these days. They were expecting it all to come to an end. Twilight of an idol. ‘It’s my readers who are keeping him alive,’ Lee says.
We walked back to his place. Unmolested by fans or assassins. As far as I could work out, you either wanted to be Jack Reacher, make love to him, or kill him off for all time. Or possibly some combination of
