The Mystery of Curtis Sittenfeld

Various characters populate my dreams. Sometimes they have names—just last night a “Mrs. Faghetti” was attempting to make off with the luscious pastries given to me by an admirer—but more often they are friends and family—my husband, my son and daughter (usually at a younger age), my long-dead parents—recognizable only because I know that’s who they are.

Sometimes they are recognizable personalities. The other day, one of the cast was the spit and image of actor Noah Emmerich; I don’t recall what part he played, however. Other times they have the recognizable names of celebrities.

For the most part, all these identifications vanish upon waking. A week or so ago, I had a dream in which several of the characters were well-known personalities, and I marveled at this, but of course when I woke up, I’d lost them all. Except one. For some reason, I remembered the name “Curtis Sittenfeld” and wrote it down on the pad on my nightstand so I’d remember it in the morning.

I had no idea who Curtis Sittenfeld might be—perhaps a character in a novel or TV show, I speculated. But when I googled the name the next morning, I learned that she (she! That was a surprise!) is a writer, author of six novels, none of which I have read. Most are not recent, so I would not have read a review, and I have not seen a review of the new one, Romantic Comedy, to be published in April.

So where did this name come from? I mentioned this mystery to a friend, who pointed out that everything we see and hear is stored in the brain somewhere (I’m not sure this is factually true), but since I can’t imagine any way I would have run across this name, I’m still at a complete loss.