I must note the passing of Norman Mailer, perhaps the last of a breed of "holy fool" of American letters. I wasn't a big fan of the prose style. But he seemed to plunge into literature with the same remarkable abandon that he exhibited throughout most of his booze-fueled, pugnacious, defiant public/private life.
Like Hemingway, he could be an arrogant bully. But I'd rather knock back a few rounds with him, or even spar a couple with him, than with Brett Easton Ellis anytime.
Bon voyage, Norman. That you lived to be 84 is a testament to the human liver. That someone like you ever lived among us at all is a testament to the human spirit. -- MJ
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I have to admit, I enjoy a cracking good true crime book (such as "Helter Skelter" or "Fatal Vision"). And Mailer's "The Executioner's Song" was one of the best in this genre.
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