Norman Mailer, Gentleman
It's sad to hear of the passing of Norman Mailer. Not that I was a huge fan of his work - being the erratically and questionably read person that I am, I hadn't read much of it, although I wonder how many hours a day one would need to devote to turning page after page to address even a smattering of the "absolutely necessary" sections of whatever canon was in question.
But the issue of how much time should be devoted solely to reading or writing is part of what Mailer an interesting person. He eschewed the bookish existence, and thought that a writer should embrace the earthy, and not just the ethereal. Certainly he had an ego and could be publicly pugnacious, and his ability to deal with a stable family life would raise an eyebrow, but he refused to retreat into the safety of the study.
I never spoke with him, but did exchange letters about two years ago. I had a provisional interest on the part of Pages Magazine, back when it was in existence, in a piece I wanted to write on writing feuds, their nature, and why they came into being. Of course Mailer was on my list of potential interviewees, given his toussels with Vidal, Capote, and others. Not having his address, I nevertheless sent a letter to him in Provincetown, thinking that the post office could certainly find him, and it did.
Unlike Vidal, whom I also tried to contact, Mailer actually wrote back, apologizing that he was finishing a new novel (that did finally come out) and that he, unfortunately, had to turn down all interview requests. The degree of thoughtfulness in that gesture touched me. He could have simply tossed the letter, but didn't.
Perhaps it was ego that drove him, though I find that people fueled only by self-conceit often ignore the "little people." Maybe it was his having had to dig up sources and do the legwork necessary for his own journalistic endeavors. I still hope that tipping the balance was that I had included a SASE and used Joe Lewis commemorative stamps on both the envelope to him and the one to return to me. He did love a good fight.
But the issue of how much time should be devoted solely to reading or writing is part of what Mailer an interesting person. He eschewed the bookish existence, and thought that a writer should embrace the earthy, and not just the ethereal. Certainly he had an ego and could be publicly pugnacious, and his ability to deal with a stable family life would raise an eyebrow, but he refused to retreat into the safety of the study.
I never spoke with him, but did exchange letters about two years ago. I had a provisional interest on the part of Pages Magazine, back when it was in existence, in a piece I wanted to write on writing feuds, their nature, and why they came into being. Of course Mailer was on my list of potential interviewees, given his toussels with Vidal, Capote, and others. Not having his address, I nevertheless sent a letter to him in Provincetown, thinking that the post office could certainly find him, and it did.
Unlike Vidal, whom I also tried to contact, Mailer actually wrote back, apologizing that he was finishing a new novel (that did finally come out) and that he, unfortunately, had to turn down all interview requests. The degree of thoughtfulness in that gesture touched me. He could have simply tossed the letter, but didn't.
Perhaps it was ego that drove him, though I find that people fueled only by self-conceit often ignore the "little people." Maybe it was his having had to dig up sources and do the legwork necessary for his own journalistic endeavors. I still hope that tipping the balance was that I had included a SASE and used Joe Lewis commemorative stamps on both the envelope to him and the one to return to me. He did love a good fight.
Labels: writers
posted by Erik Sherman @ 5:34 AM
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