Recently, there’s been a lot of chatter about readers and authors behaving inappropriately, with just about everyone having their own idea of what inappropriate it, from those who think that readers should never be allowed to make any negative comments about a writer’s work to those who think that writers who make any sort of commentary on anything that touches their work at all are automatically stepping out of line.

Now, my response to both viewpoints is equally derisive. My opinion is that you can say what you what…and I can think what I want about your opinion in response, whether I’m a writer OR a reader. ;-)

But people who take this deadly, deadly seriously seem to think that the artist-audience tensions are a new thing–a sign of our times, whether its rudeness, its gaucheness, or its general degeneracy.

Yeah, right.

One of my favorite figures from the past was Giuseppe Verdi. He was one of the greatest opera composers of the 19th century, and though opera now has a rather fuddy-duddy, elistist atmosphere, in the 19th century, especially in Italy, it was like a super rock concert combined with a blockbuster movie production. Verdi became fabulously wealthy and, by middle age, he was truly a superstar of incredible proportions. He was serious about his craft and his art while at the same time understanding what he was creating and understanding the goal of his work–the blood flowed, the arias were memorable, and his work echoed current events and stirred the patriotic spirit of his country. He was also crotchety and irascable and had a very hostile relationship to critics and the press. He was smart, fascinating, and difficult.

Near the height of his glory, after finishing Aida, which was recieved with ten times the enthusiasm Star Wars Episode I would have gotten if it had been BETTER than II, IV, and V, one audience member wrote a letter to Verdi. Paraphrasing and shortening, he said that he’d seen Aida (buying good seats at an early showing for top dollar) and had been unmoved, but all of his acquaintance had been so swept away by it that he had assumed that, for some reason, he just didn’t “get” it, and so he’d made the effort to see it again and afterward had concluded that it was, in reality, crap. He felt cheated of his time and of the money he spent on transportation, dinner, and seats, and he thought Verdi owed him a refund.

Sound familiar? *g* How many times have we heard that before?

Verdi, not being without a sense of humor, as crusty as it was, sent the man money for his transportation and the seats, telling him that he could well have eaten at home both times and so he scarcely felt that a refund of his dinner was owed.

And then Verdi, being Verdi, had the original letter published in its entirety in a local newpaper, including the audience member’s name and home address, along with his own response. Other newspapers picked it up, and soon it was all over Italy.

And the fans went wild.

First, the complainer received FLOODS of hate mail, but it hardly stopped there. He was hounded on the street, his life was threatened, and he couldn’t leave his house for several weeks for fear of a mob forming to beat him up!

Verdi, of course, must have anticipated, with black glee, that exact response. He certainly didn’t tell his fans to attack, but he set up the situation knowing that would happen. The response is at once extremely funny and rather shocking to me. On one hand, anyone who is that big of a jerk deserves to be hassled for his sheer obnoxiousness…but death threats go a bit far, I think, even in 19th century Italy. (And some people complain today of authors’ “fan girls”…)

Anyhow, other than an amusing anecdote, all I want do is make a call for perspective. There are jerks and idiots in every age (anyone who had heard of Aida–one of the most popular operas in the repertoire to this day–knows how extraordinarily ridiculous the complainer’s dislike was), and there are also crappy works and crochety artists of every age. The more things change, the more they stay the same, and though I, too, have my dark moments, I think the best approach is to just shrug and take it in stride. And sometimes to have a little chuckle. Just because it can be so very funny, however unintentionally.