The perils of being a literary superstar
When thousands of adoring fans turn out for Toni Morrison, is it really her novels that have brought them along?

X Factor ... Toni Morrison (right) gives a public reading in New York. Photograph: Jeff Christensen/AP

Standing ovations make me uncomfortable. It's their bullying nature that I object to, the way they shame you into standing whether you think a performance deserved it or not. So my heart sank when Toni Morrison was introduced at the Queen Elizabeth Hall on Tuesday. Looking out over the packed auditorium, I could already see the tell-tale signs, the visible twitchings of those almost ready to vacate their seats, the shall-we-should-we? looks between friends, the craning necks on the look out for likely trailblazers – but thankfully everyone stayed put. We all knew it wouldn't last.

When the moment came, however, it wasn't after the sparkling, honeyed magic of Morrison's reading. Had it been, I would have been happy to join the standing ranks. Her timing, her tonally rich and expressive voice combined to deliver a monologue that was as captivating as bewitching as an incantation. But no, not then. First there was a calmly marshalled conversation between Morrison and Hermione Lee, which was interesting without being inspirational, and a smattering of mercifully succinct audience questions. Then, finally, the crowd rose from their seats in appreciation of Oprah Winfrey's favourite writer.

Full report at the Guardian online.