I'd never read anything by him until A Man in Full and that because it was set in Atlanta where I lived at the time. It was a good story but badly told with the silliest goddam ending even an amateur wouldn't have written. I've found him eminently ignorable since.
@Hands: I have been an admirer of Wolfe's for years, but I agree that the wheels came off A Man In Full at the end. The bit that really got under my skin was his constant use of "Bump City" as slang for Oakland. I wonder who put that idea in his head?
One of these years, I will get around to reading Charlotte Simmons, but that's more about my need for completeness than anything else.
@Cynical Media Bitch: I would urge you not to do that to yourself. I stupidly read it when my (now ex-) boyfriend gave me a copy a few years ago. I hated it so much I threw it onto the subway tracks at Canal St. in a fit of drunken pique. It was truly painful.
@BadUncle: Bah. Free will. Satan got me to put it in the contract late one night after I did one too many Jello shots and amyls with Archangel Michael. The morning after, when I saw what I had gone and done, I had a breakthrough and realized I had a problem.
Tom Wolfe is such a douche that when you burp him, it smells like Country Flowers.
@Botswana Meat Commission FC: Oh I'll do one better, my child. I sentence BadUncle to spend a year as a hapless error-prone intern to Tom Wolfe's tailor tasked with inquiring whether Wolfe dresses left or right, and measuring Wolfe's rise and inseam over and over again.
Anyhow the writing's not bad as long as you can forget that this story was almost certainly inspired by Tom Wolfe standing in a long line at the airport.
If we've tolerated Gore Vidal for the last twenty years based upon what were, at best, middling literary accomplishments earlier in his career, Tom Wolfe should be allowed to murder six or seven people in cold blood without consequence.
@TheHonJudgeSmails: I failed to find the "genius" of "In Cold Blood." Mailer churned out self-congratulatory pap after his first novel. Papa's "Across the River - " was just plain silly pretense. I think the only smart move by a major author whenever he felt himself slipping was made by Salinger.
He may be (okay, he is) a pompous twat, but In Cold Blood is truly excellent, to say nothing of Radical Chic, Mau-Mauing the Flak-Catchers, From Bauhaus to Our House, The Painted Word, Bonfire of the Vanities and the pretty dated but undeniably strong Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test...
Is it really any shock that his capacity for biting, insightful and au courant satire/cultural criticism has been diminished a bit by the fact that he's now old as fuck? Besides, I would be smugly resting on my laurels by now had I written even one of those fine works.
@Tremonius: Re: Mailer. I loved Harlot's Ghost, his CIA novel--I believe it came out in the '90s. The research that must've gone into that thing blows my mind to this day. Sure, it couldda been 700 pages shorter, but hey, it's Mailer.
@TheHonJudgeSmails: Ah, Gore Vidal. Surely whatever literary accomplishments he achieved at any point were nullified by the rapids of douchery that he's been riding since the '60s. Caligula. Corresponding with Timothy McVeigh in prison. Sending an official letter to the Germ government protesting their ban on Scientology. Brawling and lawsuit-ing with William F. Buckley, Jr.; brawling with Truman Capote, brawling with.. uh, everyone.
@TheHonJudgeSmails: GAH. Jesus Christ. I really have come down with a case of the stupid this morning. Still Tom Wolfe--good author. Not that I have any credibility left on the matter.
@snugbug: Once, a long time ago, I read a post-Quick and Dead novel of Mailer's. He is supposed to be this gigantic child of violence, and he would not sit down with an interviewer for two seconds before bragging how he had shivved his wife, and yet there is a scene in the forgettable novel in which he employed a phony move from fifties wrestling. Possibly it impressed the Upper East Side, but it's laughably artificial almost anwhere else. From that point, Mailer has been a travel writer to me; one who brings back outlandish stories from exotic locales which cannot be verified independently by his audience.
@Awesome X: I have secretly wondered over the years if James Dean would be a fifties icon today had he stopped for coffee on 5 prior to setting out on 46 to Paso Robles that year. I mean, what is the shelf life of a Brando clone if the original is still doing business on the same corner?
@Tremonius: Oh, yeah. You don't have to live very long before you become a parody of yourself. And that's not exclusive to celebrities and literary giants. Just consider how glorious your parents, your washed-up colleague, your sad-sack college prof might have been before running out of good ideas, vigor and time. Certainly not to justify suicide, but I guess that's why I wasn't so devastated when DFW died last year; I figured he wouldn't have off'd himself if he felt like he had much more to say.
@Awesome X: Very few of us get to go out in a blaze of glory, or as our careers are just taking off. At least Dean's death was an accident, and not a murder or suicide.
Speaking of murders, I suspect that John Lennon might have become as pathetic as Sir Paul is today, had Chapman gone to that appointment with his shrink.
@Awesome X: You know, along about now, I think of Gene Kelly. In Marjorie Morningstar. I always meant to read the book because in the film Gene Kelly is the music teacher, I think, in a girls' camp on some island, maybe Long. But he goes with Marjorie all the way to Broadway, if I'm remembering rightly, and then he slips away, and Marjorie loves him and she traces him - back to the island where he's back teaching music to another generation of girls. And there's Martin Mulner or somebody tracking Marjorie, and tells her, water never rises above its own level. And she tells him, well, then, bright boy, I guess you never heard of global warming.
@the_lerpa: Are you kidding? Where else in the world, as I say, can you engage in a discussion in detail of both Ulysses and the actual instruments by which Bernie should've been trapped long ago? I mean, besides the locker room of the Rockettes.
I knew it was Naked Came the Stranger just as soon as I sent out the comment.
Well, you gotta give him a little credit for attempting hetero-banker talk. The first draft of that sentence was:
"Oh dear, I reaaaaaally need to nail me some hoes. Anyone fancy a come-along? I hear the beaches in the Caribbean are gorrrrrrrgeous."
at this point, it's fairly obvious that he must be suffering from some sort of dementia. there is no way he seriously thinks what he writes or says about anything is actually witty and relevant unless we factor in the fact that he is delusional. case in point: i am charlotte simmons, aka the worst book ever written. second case in point: "boffing".
@southernbitch: The delusion of crowds. I once heard an apt response from Philip Lamantia the Beat poet to the question: "Do you think Ferlinghetti considers himself a poet?" "Of course he does; his royalties announce the fact to him!"
Man Mountain considered himself a champeen fighter, which is why they called the flick "The Harder They Fall."
@southernbitch: I dunno.. The Vanity Fair piece is bitingly sarcastic vis–à –vis "the rich" and their worldly concerns, vacationing habits, etc. I liked it. Ditto Charlotte Simmons.
@sweetpickles: Lot 49 is maybe a bit dated, but it's still a billion times less awful than "Charlotte Simmons." And Pynchon is still on hsi game. "Against the Day" was fantastic.
@Botswana Meat Commission FC: Pynchon puts me to sleep. I didn't think "Simmons" was that good, but it's a quick read and there's some entertaining scenes. The ironic thing about Wolfe is that he kind of sucks at making up stories to better realize his observations. If you give him something to follow, though, he'll tell it better than most--with a cool angle, to boot. His journalism and essays are far better examples of his work than his fiction.
@Tremonius: ugh, sorry, i meant saved by the bell episode. i have serious script probs on my office computer that causes everything to run too slowly and i often end up making tons of typing mistakes because of it. my bad.
@sweetpickles: a quick read? it's 800 pages! reading it was like the slowest hate-fuck in the world. i will agree that he's a pretty good journalist, but ultimately he still lets his obsessive ego about being so groundbreaking and edgy get in the way of producing anything actually groundbreaking and edgy.
I gave up my subscription when I won the cartoon captioning contest and they attributed the caption to some guy in Texas. Never replied to my three or four e-mails. Bitches.
I stopped reading the NYer when it stopped being Wallace Shawn's NYer. I think of it now as just another vehicle for soft core porn in Conde Nast's portfolio. I prefer the hard stuff.
Can someone tell me - who was the New Yorker writer who several years ago wrote a book about being a failure at age 50 after his contract wasn't renewed? He used to write pieces centering on lifestyles of the rich. There is a scene in Remnick's office (Remnick not named) where he gets the bad news.
I agree that The New Yorker is the best magazine we've got, but I have to ask this once again: is Remnick worth the $1 million salary Wikipedia says he was getting a few years ago (and is presumably still getting)? Is this commensurate with the editors of other "thought leader" magazines, or just commensurate with other Conde-Nast editors in chief (what's left of 'em, anyway)?
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He did write The Painted Word, though, so his career has not been entirely for naught.
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One of these years, I will get around to reading Charlotte Simmons, but that's more about my need for completeness than anything else.
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why does a man who dresses like this get taken seriously?
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Tom Wolfe is such a douche that when you burp him, it smells like Country Flowers.
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Now that's a closing sentence.
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What? Stop looking at me like that.
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Hear, hear.
He may be (okay, he is) a pompous twat, but In Cold Blood is truly excellent, to say nothing of Radical Chic, Mau-Mauing the Flak-Catchers, From Bauhaus to Our House, The Painted Word, Bonfire of the Vanities and the pretty dated but undeniably strong Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test...
Is it really any shock that his capacity for biting, insightful and au courant satire/cultural criticism has been diminished a bit by the fact that he's now old as fuck? Besides, I would be smugly resting on my laurels by now had I written even one of those fine works.
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Speaking of murders, I suspect that John Lennon might have become as pathetic as Sir Paul is today, had Chapman gone to that appointment with his shrink.
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If I remember rightly.
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I knew it was Naked Came the Stranger just as soon as I sent out the comment.
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"Oh dear, I reaaaaaally need to nail me some hoes. Anyone fancy a come-along? I hear the beaches in the Caribbean are gorrrrrrrgeous."
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Man Mountain considered himself a champeen fighter, which is why they called the flick "The Harder They Fall."
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What is that? Is that what we called a "continue piece," or old-time serial in which the heroine was tied to the tracks with a definite save-by date?
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They should just play it on a continuous loop at Gitmo to get confessions out of terrorists.
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Surprise! Working title: "My Saturday Was Better Than Yours."
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