If a distant acquaintance asks “What’s the capital of Iceland,” the correct response is “Reykjavik”. If they then ask you to come to their dinner party, the correct response is “no”.
That’s if you know what’s good for you, anyway. While every so often you’ll have a fun gathering – a night where the conversation flows like a sunlit stream, and leads straight to friendship or sex – for the most part going to a dinner party is a lot like going to jail. A jail with strange, and vaguely threatening, cellmates, and no hope of an early parole.
The food, of course, can be worse, especially if it involves exotic, overly experimental soups.
Thankfully, however, spirits tend to be broken by the soup stage: we no longer really care. This is because, by that point, we’ve put in a good hour of talking. And talking. And talking. And talking.
In the Middle Ages, guest were expected to bring their own knives to a banquet; these days we must bring banter. We need a ready smile, an infectious laugh, and a genuine interest in the person sitting next to us, however boring they may be. (“You’re a bank teller? How absolutely fascinating!” “A tax auditor? Tell me more!”) You can be sat next to anyone at a dinner party. But just like a lottery, there are few winning tickets.
“Ask a lot of questions,” is one US writer’s plan of attack, for when she finds herself next to a bore. “People love to talk about themselves and often will think you are a great conversationalist if you talk about them and not yourself.”