The Tasmanian Devil, if you will, of 20th century American letters has at last shuffled off this mortal coil. Well, more likely, God the ref waved Life off and called it a TKO. Norman Mailer may have been in corner near the end, but he was still trying to punch his way out of it.
I was working through The Executioner's Song earlier this year. It was my Delaware beach read. I remember thinking at the time that Truman Capote had done the real life crime novel better with In Cold Blood, which I reread last year in conjunction with the Oscar winning film. I will likely go back and finish TES now, as well as finally reading my dogeared copy of The Naked and the Dead.
Interestingly enough, last night, I watched The Hoax, a fine film from earlier this year about the early 70's faked autobiography of Howard Hughes. A McGraw Hill literary agent says Hughes probably chose Irving to write his book rather than Mailer because "Mailer would've made it about himself". That's likely true.
I once saw a clip of Norman Mailer actually slugging (and biting!) it out with none other than a very young actor named Rip Torn. I don't care what kind of writer you are, and Mailer was a damn good one - if you can hold your own with Artie from The Larry Sanders Show, you're something:
Saturday, November 10, 2007
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2 comments:
Do be sure and put "Harlot's Ghost" on your beach list for next. Aside from being an astute critique of the CIA's origins and place in American history, it is balls-out hilarious. (I recall reading it with a flashlight and laughing out loud at night while sharing an Italian sleeping train car with a bunch of strangers. It was rude, but unstoppable.)
Harlot's Ghost, check. Thanks, professor!
You should have a blog with anecdotes like that, by the way!
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