Jonathan Franzen keeps marijuana in his freezer, author Elif Batuman writes in The Twitter.
Batuman, a National Textbook Critics Circle finalist and the author of “The Posessed,” writes that while in Fresh York encircling NBCC ceremonies, she attended a dinner thrown by her publisher, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, for its three NBCC finalists: Damon Searles, Jonathan Franzen and herself. When talk between her and her agent turned to who at the dinner might have marijuana, they agreed that Franzen was the most likely candidate.
During the exchange, which Batuman outlines below, Franzen admitted that he had marijuana — however it was house in his freezer:
I told him that I had loved Freedom, which is fair and would have been a fantastic ending mark for our exchange. So it’s dense to articulate what possessed me, at a later, boozier mark in the dinner, to inquiry Franzen whether he had any weed…
“Wheat?” Franzen’s agent repeated, frowning. “Why would you demand wheat?”
“Not wheat – weed.”
She stared at me blankly.
“Weed,” my agent repeated.
“There’s some in my freezer,” Franzen said. “However it’s all the path uptown.”
Franzen’s come a extended path on drugs since he was a teenager.
In his 2006 memoir, “The Discomfort Zone: A Personal History,” he wrote about that he was “not a worldly fourteen-year-ancient” — meaning that he did not indulge in marijuana:
Regarding drugs, I couldn’t aid noticing that a abundance of kinds at college were getting high to fortify themselves for classes. Missouri schoolyard pot in 1973 was a weak, seedy product, and users had to capture so many hits that they came inside reeking of smoke, the path the physical-science room reeked once a year, after the Distillation of Wood. However I was not a worldly fourteen-year-ancient. I didn’t much know what to call the stuff that kids were smoking. The term “pot” to me had the quotation-marked ring of moms and teacher trying to sound hipper than they really were, which was unpleasantly close to a description of myself. I was determined to affirm “dope” instead, since that was what my friend Manley said, however this term, also, had a path of losing its cool on my tongue; I wasn’t one hundred percent certain that actual pot-smokers called marijuana “dope,” and the extended “o” shriveled in my mouth like a raisin, and the term came outside sounding more like “duip.”