Reporters opened the door and told her she had won the Nobel Prize for literature, to which she responded: "Oh Christ! ... I couldn't care less."
But then she softened up and went with some good, old-fashioned humility:
"I've won all the prizes in Europe, every bloody one, so I'm delighted to win them all, the whole lot, OK?" Lessing said, making her way through the crowd. "It's a royal flush."
Brilliant! Seriously, if I was an 88-year-old fiction writer who'd toiled for years simply to please crowds of academics and then suddenly -- boom! -- I'm the bell of the ball with a $1.5 million check in my pocket and the world's microphone in my face, I'd be feeling a bit saucy, too. You can tell she's a minx just from the way she's sitting:
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The one thing that did seem to excite Lessing was the idea that her books might attract a new and perhaps larger audience.
"I'm very pleased if I get some new readers," she said. "Yes, that's very nice, I hadn't thought of that."
Now that's endearing. I'm going to go buy one of her books tomorrow as a show of solidarity and a firm admiration for anyone who can shrug their shoulders and say, "Eh, whatever," to greatness.
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