Independent piece Dec. 5, 2007
By Roselyn Kelada-Sedra
Last Refuge of the Vaguely Talented: Interview with Paul Wells
With his words strewn all over the floor, I wait for the phone to ring. Today, I interview Paul Wells, columnist for Maclean’s, author of the bestseller Right Side Up, former political beat-writer for the National Post and altogether brilliant journalist. Anticipation has been building since I first made the contact, and I’m officially daunted.At 4 p.m. on the nose, it rings. As sort of a gesture of apology for breaking our appointment in person, Wells is calling from Paris. The frank, spastic manner I perceived in his emails has made me pretty comfortable, and I’m ready to ease into conversation, chatting about Paris and jazz. But after nearly 20 years in the business, Paul Wells doesn’t ease in too much.
Born and raised in Sarnia, he’s been on the political beat since university at Western. With a BA focused on Canadian federalism and a portfolio full of entertainment pieces for the campus paper, he landed a summer internship with the Montreal Gazette. Summer became nine years.
“Someone said journalism is the last refuge of the vaguely talented,” Wells relates, and that’s how he got into it. Without pretence, he explains how journalists hold numerous interests without mastering any. The tone of his voice takes on a little awe as he recounts how a press pass got him conversations with musicians, film makers, politicians and the like, people who “might change the world and in some cases already have.” He encapsulates his career in one phrase. “Essentially, what I do is have conversations. I talk to people, and I tell stories.”
This seems a fairly modest ambition for someone whose thoughts on current events and world leaders highlight Maclean’s every week. I didn’t realize I’d made assumptions, but looking back over my prep questions, I see– I expected this man to tell me how to uncover lies and make performers stop performing. He tells me, with neither a grin nor apology, he isn’t an investigative reporter because “I don’t have a clue how to do it.” Simply, he accounts for sparkling pieces about the past three prime ministers and one-on-one interviews with renowned scholars, musicians and world leaders. “I ask questions, and my assumption is that people will basically tell the truth… Sure, they’ll gloss over the ugly parts,” but it isn’t because they’re trying to hide; they have their own point of view. “It basically comes down to trying to listen… Then,” he tosses off, “you throw it all in the hopper, try to organize, and Bob’s-your-uncle.”
After umming awkwardly, Wells names one interview that stands out as one of the most interesting: twenty minutes with Lucien Bouchard a few months back. “He’s probably the smartest guy I’ve ever covered,” he says, “and I can count the words from that interview that I used in the article. Six.” He explains that sometimes, the level of complexity in an interview can’t be translated into the piece. “I try to portray realities in a way that’s not much work for the reader.” On occasion, he breaks down a complicated issue and brings a few readers through it step by step. He knows that most will lose interest, “but those that don’t will thank you.”
His worst interview springs to mind instantly: Mavis Collant. In the first or second year of his career, a last-minute interview came his way. He read about 40 pages of her essays and went into it cold. “I think I started out with something like, “So, how do you like Montreal?” Laughing at his ridiculous nerve, he says he got nailed in five minutes. “She was very gracious to me… But I knew enough to know that Mavis Collant deserved a real interview with someone who knew what he was talking about, and that wasn’t me on that day.” Even so, he tells me good journalists should be able to bone up fast using “dumb questions.” “You feel awkward, but you should never be so embarrassed that you can’t ask about what you don’t know.”
To Wells, journalism is “the greatest work you can hope to do divided by what’s possible.” My latest idol doesn’t offer the advice I thought he might. “You just try not to be awful all the time.” You’re not going to be profound or definitive every day. And if you try, you’ll disappoint yourself constantly; plus, you’ll be a boring writer. “Try to have a reasonable batting average… which means for every swing, you miss 2 out of 3.” Wells says newspapers cost 50 cents “because that’s about what they’re worth.” Journalists don’t spend 30 years on each piece, and their work lines TTC seats every day. “But within that ephemeral, vanishing world, it’s possible to do great work.” You don’t do it every day, he repeats, and “a lot of times, it’s just a job. But just often enough, it’s more. What you hope is that a reader can finish what you write a little less confused and a little more hopeful about something that matters to them.” After listening to Wells, I’m a little of both.
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