The man himself, Mr. Luc Sante

To be honest, Bwog did not know what exactly the “Nonfiction Dialogue” with writer Luc Sante was, but it seemed neither did the Columbia Arts Initiative, which played host to it. Their event description was scant on details; the hyperlinks they provided were broken. Spooky. The mystery alone would have been enough to draw us in but a quick Google search on Mr. Sante revealed credentials that we couldn’t ignore – a Grammy! a Guggenheim Fellowship! Columbia alum! We sent staff writer Asya Sagnak to brave the unknown and investigate further.

Waiting inside the warmly lit elevator of Dodge Hall, I had a few concerns about what awaited me on the other side of the sliding doors. “What is a Nonfiction Dialogue?” I thought, “And is anyone going to notice the coffee stain on my shirt?” Walking out, I was greeted with a bustling scene: grad students in their late twenties, undergraduates from every school, professors, area residents, all mingling under the high ceiling of an art studio. As I watched heads falling back in laughter and hands swirling wine in plastic cups, it felt as if I had left the murky night-time streets of Morningside Heights behind only to find myself in some kind of avant-garde European film.

I soon realized how fitting a vibe this was; Luc Sante (pronounced sah-nt), sitting in the middle of the room with a microphone in hand, began his talk by introducing himself as “first and foremost a European”. Born in the Belgian municipality of Verviers, Sante spent the first few years of his life speaking French exclusively, and only moved to the United States at the age of eight. “I became a New Yorker,” he laughs, “and suddenly everything was cinematic. I saw teenagers smoking pot in the street and re-imagined them as brooding Russian spies on a mission to avenge their motherland.”

Clearly, Sante’s allegiance still lies with these streets he was introduced to as a child; he spoke in detail about his fascination with New York City residents and his concern with the interactions between social classes, even though he now resides in suburban New Jersey. “My parents were low-income Europeans,” he explains, “You know the Communist flag? I was the hammer and the sickle. Now, I’ve reached the pinnacle of middle class. I mean, I drive everywhere. The next step would be decadence.”

In perhaps the most interesting portion of the night, Sante described his experiences as a Columbia undergraduate, particularly his time living in a run-down tenement on 118th and Amsterdam (a time he would linger on throughout his life, eventually taking it as the inspiration for his book Low Life: Lures and Snares of Old New York). The desire to find out more about the lives of its former inhabitants led him to seek out a job with the New York Review, where he became “the world’s worst mailroom employee.” Eventually, and “by complete coincidence,” he was asked to fill in for a staff member, kickstarting his writing career. According to Sante, some of his current writing is still based on these early formative years – he likes to juxtapose New York City as it is with New York City as it was, drawing attention to the corporatism that has “put the creativity of the city under siege”.

When asked about the changes he saw on Columbia’s campus, Sante laughed and turned to look out of the window. “When I was here, Columbia was a campus in the midst of non-collegiate people and non-collegiate establishments,” he explained as he pointed outside – towards what, I’m not exactly sure. “We were told to avoid the so-called street-people and never take any train other than the one unless we wanted to be eviscerated.” He sat down. “Everything is different now. It’s your choice whether that’s good or not.” From his tone, it was clear that he sided with the latter.

I don’t think Sante resents the expansion of campus or the relatively newfound safety of Morningside Heights – I think he misses the free-flow of creativity that came with the chaos of the 70s and the 80s. Interestingly enough, he made sure to comment on how many writers and artists he’d met during his day on campus, so perhaps we haven’t lost his understanding of creativity completely, but simply simply channeled the values of old New York City into something new and different, adapted them to fit the Digital Age.

At the end of the day, at least I know that my investigation was successful: I now understand what a Nonfiction Dialogue is (in hindsight, it feels pretty self-explanatory). So, now that things are a little less mysterious, I’d highly recommend keeping an eye out for future Dialogues – if you’re lucky, you’ll catch one as thought-provoking as Sante’s was. And if you’re even luckier, no one will notice the coffee stain on your shirt.