The Art of Conversation - Catherine Blyth [10]
Conversation makes connections. For heaven’s sake, it’s a laugh.
THERE IS NO RIGHT WAY
On the other hand, if you want to kill a conversation, tell people you’re writing a book on the subject. Either they feel like lab rats, or they turn nasty.
“Why you?” asked a doubting friend.
“Nice idea, but you can’t make anyone better at it,” said a tactful teacher.
“So what’s it all about then?” demanded a scary novelist.
“Oh, well,” I replied, “you know, being interested in people.”
“Yeah?”
“But you don’t want me to go on about that now, or I’ll start reciting my manuscript,” I blustered, hoping to shuffle to another topic.
“Right.” But the look on the man’s face said, “wrong.”
“Sorry, I’m tired. My defense is that you don’t have to be a grand master to discuss chess, so I needn’t be a brilliant conversationalist.”
“No,” he said. “But you’d better be bloody good at it.”
Who am I to tell you what to do?
I’ve been obsessed with words and reading since I can remember, and, though shy, I always loved talking, was often dragged to the front of the class for it. But that’s not exactly conversation skill.
My parents valued conversation, and sent me and my middle sister to practice on a long-suffering blind man, Colonel Colbeck (complete with curlicue mustache and much-repeated tales of secreting whoopee cushions under bustles at Mama’s Edwardian tea parties). Despite their efforts, I’m no Oscarina Wilde, and have often failed to keep the ball rolling. For work, I’ve navigated the challenges of interviewing celebrities, as well as publicized naked Russian poets and negotiated with wily agents—champion cud-chewers all. However, I also tend to interrupt, jump between thoughts, and on too many occasions have had cause to wish my foot didn’t fit so snugly in my mouth. And I have suffered bores.
I’m not an expert, but an enthusiast, an interested party, and this isn’t a script. There is no one great way to hold conversation. But certain approaches are more flexible, and there are plenty of avoidable errors as well as artful dodges. My ideal is to draw the best out of companions. Whatever yours is, appreciate conversation’s finer points and your experience will be more rewarding.
Investigating this ancient art form, its great and its knee-grindingly dreadful exponents, has been like a mystery tour of what it means to be human; fascinating, and often hilarious. I’d never suspected that greetings were such important gatekeepers; or that small talk is hugely significant, if you trim it to advantage; or how creative listening is; or how easily dynamics tilt for or against you. You will be amazed.
I have explored what topics are fit for purpose; why bores drain our wits, and how they can be stopped; the gymnastic arts of humor, flattery, and seduction; the wisdom of lying; tactics for shop talk, getting your own way, and, if truly necessary (but deeply satisfying), shutting people up.
Two conversations convinced me this book was necessary. The first took place on a train. I sat near a beautiful young man who was wearing a white cap. As the train rolled out of the station, he took a small leather book from his jacket. When he began chanting, I noticed he had no luggage except a couple of bags containing large, sloshing containers of fluid.
After the London bombings, I was paranoid, and ashamed: Who was I to judge him? Ridiculous! Part of me wanted to change cars. Instead, I asked if he was praying. We talked for half an hour about the Koran.
The second happened at a dinner. For two hours I sat by a self-styled publicity guru who regaled me with his zip code’s wonders (“I love Notting Hill; all the same, I have the pleasure of being the most brilliant man in Battersea”—and this dinner was in Batter-sea), recommended his forthcoming book on self-promotion skills, but, apart from where I lived, asked me almost nothing.
If his is