is what Ahmet Zappa expected to write, when he produced his first book The Monstrous Memoirs of a Mighty McFearless.
Ahmet was a bit surprised when his book turned out to be a children’s book. He calls it a recipe book against monsters, and it contains a good many yucky recipes, as well as encyclopedia style information on all the monsters that Minerva and Max McFearless encounter in the story. It’s very funny, but hopefully not too scary. Think monsters in a Harry Potter meets Lemony Snicket kind of way. But if you have anything against cliffhangers, it could be that this book isn’t for you.
When I first heard that Ahmet, son of Frank Zappa, had written a book I sort of groaned. Not another semi-famous person who thinks he can write. I was wrong to think that. Ahmet is a true story teller, and severely dyslectic, so presumably he has never thought of himself as a great writer. The Zappa style weird ideas certainly seem to be there. Books must be a dyslexic’s nightmare, which could be why he invented a book that bites. It was his father who made him scared of monsters, so it’s only fitting that Frank features as a dead McFearless ancestor.
The now follicly challenged Ahmet was in Gothenburg this weekend to tell the tale of how he wrote his book. The question, in retrospect, is whether to believe all he said.
Ahmet left school at twelve, and he is proudest of his kindergarten diploma. His parents created their own school for him. He always used to feel stupid compared to his friends, and he has put a lot of himself into the book. Not least the photos, which feature Ahmet as Dad McFearless. He’s also had a lot of fun drawing little pictures for every page. It’s a very distracting kind of book (to read or to look at the pictures?).
Ahmet found himself an agent for his book, in the shape of someone specializing in romances and cookbooks. She found him an editor who produced Barbie books and was ready to kill himself, so gave Ahmet a chance.
(I don’t think I believe this.)
He writes sitting in an ugly brown chair, in a peculiar position, because he lived in a house with a sloping floor. And as a child he hammered his one hundred goldfish into a brick wall. Something about vegetables being the root of all evil. Carrots.
There wasn’t time for Ahmet to draw me a picture, but he did sign my book before we were both thrown out of the room. And that smile…
The Occasional Bookwitch 