Monday, November 12, 2007

In Memory: Norman Mailer

Today is Monday, 12 November 2007.


At the end of the day, unless you’re hopelessly wicked or psychotic, nothing is about yourself. Everything is about your self in relationship to others.


HH knew this day would come, when Norman Mailer had just died (Saturday last), and at last HH would have to begin psychologically settling accounts with a writer who, though a consummate asshole, pardon moi French, had been an important influence.

As profound an empty space and anger this has left, HH shudders to think of the deaths of J. G. Ballard, Gore Vidal, etc. (Influences, not assholes.)


HH greatly admires The Armies of the Night (1968), concerning the Vietnam genocide.

HH, perhaps over-reacting to Mailer’s rampant public sexism of the Seventies, has never read (he will rectify this omission) what many regard as Mailer’s masterpiece, The Executioner’s Song (1979), although HH, as a bookseller, received a copy of the promotional poster, which he carefully framed by hand, and has dragged about the nation with himself ever since.


Mailer and HH had their brains fine-tuned by The Cold War, herewith. Note to those plus-30: soundtrack is hard-core intense.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

You have dragged around the county a framed promotional poster for "The Executioner's Song" which was a masterpiece (says you) written by an asshole (says you). Sounds like you are conflicted. I say let it go. I also say, put the framed poster on Ebay and let that go, too.

1:50 PM  

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