An unfortunate demise

As his wildly popular series reaches its end, Daniel Handler -- aka Lemony Snicket -- talks to Salon about returning to himself.

By Amy Benfer

Read more: Books, Children's Books, Amy Benfer, Jim Carrey, Interviews, Authors, Books Interviews

Oct. 28, 2006 | Back in the summer of 2000, when one of my editors at Salon had heard about this guy Lemony Snicket, it was still easy to get a date with Snicket's less famous alter ego Daniel Handler (the fact that Handler and I attended Wesleyan University together in the early '90s probably helped too). I called up the author -- whose "Series of Unfortunate Events," which then numbered five books, had him poised to become the American J.K. Rowling -- and we spent a long afternoon at a San Francisco cafe discussing the Baudelaire orphans -- the bookish Klaus, his inventive sister Violet, the incredibly sharp-toothed baby, Sunny -- and their extreme misfortunes at the hands of their vile caretaker, Count Olaf, a former thespian with a penchant for disguise and malevolent behavior, which he puts to despicable use to snare the Baudelaire fortune.

Each book begins with a plea from Snicket to go no further; naturally this only serves as a lure to small children, smart adults and anyone of any age who appreciates a good gothic tale and sly humor. Snicket may be an unreliable narrator (his true identity is shrouded in mystery throughout the series), but he's also, as Handler describes him, "a naturally didactic person." Thus each novel is loaded with definitions of polysyllabic words and idiomatic phrases; many of the characters take their names from Great Men and Women of Literature and History.

Six years, 51 million copies, one big-budget movie starring Jim Carrey, and eight books later, when I e-mail Handler suggesting we meet for lunch in New York, I get an auto-reply from his assistant in San Francisco that is forwarded to his publicist in Los Angeles who says Handler can squeeze me in for 20 minutes (to be fair, this whole communication loop is only activated once he's already on the road). On Friday the 13th, Harper Collins released the 13th and final book in the series, appropriately titled "The End," and Snicket embarked on a six-week tour. In New York City, more than a thousand people attended his reading. Those who wanted their book signed had to obtain a special wristband. Musical accompaniment was provided by Stephin Merritt of the Magnetic Fields, who recorded "The Tragic Treasury: Music for a Series of Unfortunate Events," a 13-song book-by-book homage to the novels (currently No. 11 on the Billboard chart for children's records). Handler played the accordion. Not that I could see any of that (I did, however, have a fine view of a 10-year-old boy who kept scrambling up a stack of Edie Sedgwick biographies for a glimpse of Snicket).

"Call me Ish," commands the latest supporting villain in the final book, the leader of an island cult whose followers drink coconut cordial rather than Kool-Aid. Then the lessons begin: Count Olaf's attempt to take over the tribe of "primitive" islanders allows for a grade-school-level primer in the dangers of colonialism. Snicket, once again, provides dozens of definitions of vocabulary words and idiomatic phrases ("equivalent flotilla," pipes Sunny, to which her sister retorts, "She's right. We're in the same boat, Olaf") and offers advice (when dealing with "peer pressure," according to Snicket, "the trick is to succumb to enough pressure that you do not drive your peers away, but not so much that you end up in a situation in which you are dead or uncomfortable"). Sunny, who has developed into a very good cook, suggests recipes, including how to make a salad with white beans and fresh basil and what spices work best with seviche.

Apparently Handler, now 36, shares Sunny's taste for raw fish. When I meet him at his hotel for the interview, he decides he wants sushi. While Snicket has been busy torturing orphans, Handler has had a child, Otto, now 2 (when asked what kind of a father he is, he often replies "apparently one who travels"), and written a third novel for adults, "Adverbs," released last spring (the other two are "The Basic Eight," released in 1999, and "Watch Your Mouth," from 2000). Over a beefsteak tomato salad and bass sashimi at Manhattan's Rue 57, he discusses how his mother became (mistakenly) known as "the first white woman to play Aida," getting kicked out of his own theme party and how he might have killed Edward Gorey.

So are you sad to be rid of Lemony, or does it feel liberating?

I actually feel flabbergasted. It's sort of the umpteenth moment when I can stand for one existential second and say, "I can't believe what just happened!" I mean, I remember saying, "Oh, thirteen books! That would be even funnier!" I can't believe I really did that.

There was much drama from reviewers when the review copies shipped with the last two chapters missing.

I didn't realize they were doing that. Last year, they kept the title under wraps, but it was leaked by a disgruntled Borders employee. She'd been fired. She dropped in to get her last paycheck, opened a box, took a picture with her camera phone and posted it online somewhere. Which I really love. There's something so American about that: both pretending it's a big deal and then someone wrecking it -- but only for people who cared in the first place. So this time, they decided they would do something different. Apparently, some people didn't realize it wasn't the whole book and started writing reviews that said, "That doesn't make any sense!"

Did you know at the time of "The Bad Beginning" how it would all end?

I knew how it would end. I had lists of words and phrases I wanted to define. It was an ongoing document, where I would say, "Oh, well, it doesn't fit. I'll just save it for next time..." I ended up with a sign over my desk that said: "Now or never." About a week after I finished the book, I was in the car with a friend of mine and I used the phrase "called on the carpet." She didn't know what it meant. I thought, "Oh, I've got to put that in the next" It was the first post-book moment where I realized there is no reason to make note of idiomatic phrases that your friends don't know. It was like buying a lottery ticket the day after they'd awarded the prize, or saving box tops for a contest that had expired in 1921.

Is this really the last time in your life you will be able to define idiomatic phrases? Isn't the didactic impulse also a hallmark of your adult fiction?

No, probably not. I've gotten used to being in the company of these stories, and it's strange to realize I'm not in the company of them anymore. It's something of a delayed reaction for me. I wrote it; now I'm on tour for it. I haven't quite severed the umbilical cord.

Are you planning to do more books for children?

Oh, absolutely. I like writing for children. There's more that I want to do. But not immediately.

Did you start off with an outline? How did you file your notes?

Randomly, on scraps of paper. The nice thing about having a narrator with ambiguity and unreliability is that it's not as crucial to be exact. But it's not really that complicated either.

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