Den Begriff »New Journalism« hat der Schriftsteller Tom Wolfe  geprägt. Wesentliche Vertreter sind Hunter S. Thompson, Truman Capote und Norman Mailer.

Im Internet-Buchverlag werden bevorzugt Kolumnen, Grotesken und Reportagen aus dem realen und virtuellen Leben veröffentlicht.

A conversation with Norman Mailer about Iraq, Israel, the perils of technology and why he is a Left-Conservative.

On a crystalline day in October, Taki, Kara Hopkins, and Scott McConnell met at Logan Airport and drove up the Cape to Norman Mailer’s home in Provincetown, Mass. Taki is an old friend of Mailer’s; McConnell and Hopkins knew his writing well but had never met the man.

The vagaries of literary reputation are not the main beat of The American Conservative, but we were struck by how many people told us how important Mailer was at a certain time of life and how invariably that time was young adulthood—somewhere between 18 and 21. Perhaps that is the moment in life when readers are most receptive to a certain kind of bold writing.

What follows is a conversation about what most interested the four of us on that day, as well as an addendum Mailer wrote later. We spoke of the present and future more than the past: a mixture of politics (Iraq, the imperial urge, styles of conservatism) and more typically Maileresque themes (the problem of technology). After several hours of talk and the gracious hospitality of Norris Church Mailer we made our way back to normal life, not doubting that we had spent an extraordinary afternoon with the greatest living American writer.

I happened upon this interview a few years after its publication, after I had read Mailer's The Armies of the Night: History As A Novel, The Novel as History in Steven Affeldt's Political and Constitutional Theory, a required course in my beloved Program of Liberal Studies, and had become incredibly intrigued by what he called his left-conservatism. Now, in 1999, the editors at ISI, with the assistance of various consultants, compiled lists of the fifty worst and best books of the twentieth century; amongst the former, they list Armies, commenting, "Fact or fiction? Not even Mailer knew for sure." I have no interest in debating the wisdom of this decision; their pithy remark, I think, has some validity. Nevertheless, I disbelieve that we should discount what merits this book possesses. Specifically, I wish to draw attention to a passage, which I many times have re-read, that has profoundly affected me since I first experienced this work in the fall of 2004 (I think!).

So, this weekend I was listening to an issue that is several years old, Vol 76, which features a conversation with Martin Moleski, a scholar of the work of philosopher Michael Polanyi. Myers opens the conversation with an epigraphic quote from the literary critic Cleanth Brooks (he of New Criticism and "The Well-Wrought Urn"): “A world reduced to hard facts would thereby become a dehumanized world, a world in which few of us would want to live. We are intensely interested in how our fellow human beings behave—in their actions, to be sure, but also in the feelings, motives, purposes that lead them into these actions.”

He had me at "hard facts...dehumanized world": in fact, I shut off the iPod for much of the rest of the run so I could mull that over. I realized this is part of what draws me to literary journalism: it's a way of telling about real events that sees the events' human subjects as fully embodied. It should be clear enough how this is distinct from the facts-forward form of "objective" journalism. (Not that one is better than the other; both are necessary.) I'm not sure what all to make of this yet in terms of how it connects to my thesis on religion and the New Journalism, but it resonated because part of what is powerful and lasting about some works of lit journalism--Gay Talese's "Thy Neighbor's Wife," Norman Mailer's "The Executioner's Song," Joan Didion's "Slouching Towards Bethlehem," John Hersey's "Hiroshima"--has to do with their careful construction of embodied, fully human individuals. News-makers as people living and breathing within complicated contexts, and not mere carriers of ideas.

Review Blitz: The following novels/authors in about 100 words each:

The Road: I almost got sick of the whole voice about 2/3 of the way through. How many different ways can you say "everything is dead and gut-wrenchingly hopeless"? I kept it up because No Country is good. ATPH is good. But in The Road I think he overdid it, like he may have gotten carried away with his own gravity. The Road is good, too, but it could have been 20 pages shorter without losing anything. (If you want to say the same about No Country, I'm not going to stop you, but I had a former co-worker convincingly argue that the extra backstory at the end made it deeper than the movie.)

Lord of the Flies: Another former co-worker once said, "Piggy was an asshole. He got what he deserved." Well, maybe he was an asshole. And maybe Ralph would have deserved it too, because his sin was the same: whiny, self-righteous weakness. Jack's animalistic violence was just as wrong as all that. All the last 20 pages I was trying to figure out how he was going to resolve the situation without killing Ralph (in a purely nuts-and-bolts kind of way, nothing with any value or meaning could have happened after that). I don't think Golding was really choosing sides, and I think that's one of the marks of a great novelist. You can disturb people just by showing them true things.

Play It As It Lays: Another one I bought just before I left New York. I was terrified of it. I was terrified of being disappointed the same way I was disappointed trying to read The Naked and the Dead after falling in love with Armies of the Night: I got about 50 pages into it before I had to stop. Mailer was a kick-ass journalist, but his fiction was fucking unreadable, like he was building up facades in his fiction while he tore them down in his nonfiction. Or something. Thank god Didion doesn't have that problem. She's another one that doesn't take sides, but she's also pretty tactless, which makes for even more discomforting honesty. I'm going to the cafe now, I wish I could have a beer with her and ask her what she reads and whose art she likes. How old was she when she realized all the things that make her write like she does.

Next week I have an interview with none other than the Denver Public Library. I am having a heart attack. But the good kind. Wish me luck and a shitload of charm.

Silverwolf has recently been revisiting some of the intellectual forces that have impressed him in the past, reviewing old material, and perusing and video-rusing other newer material, and he feels he can sense very acutely why America is now in such confusion, and why the odds are very dismal indeed for any pull out from the economic degeneration we are witnessing before our eyes.

Let's start with Alan Dershowitz, the very brilliant and erudite lawyer, who is throwing his support, after supporting Ms. Clinton, to Barack Obama. Silverwolf has only the greatest admiration for Dershowitz's dogged defense of the Jewish people against the constant attacks of Jew-haters, or anti-Jewish bigots like James Earl Carter, former Potus and now staunch icon of the Democratic Party. Dershowitz has very precisely described the damage done by Carter's calling Israel an "Apartheid" state, while never criticizing Saudi Arabia, which is, in point of fact, an apartheid and racist state,  and which gives Carter millions of dollars for his Carter Center. Dershowitz has called attention to his accepting money from a vicious Saudi Jew-hater, who has published anti-Semitic tracts worthy of War Criminal Julius Streicher,  and actually calling this man his "friend". Carter has implicitly given his approval for terrorist attacks against Israel, around page 213 of his book, which Dershowitz quotes recently. He also points out that Carter, as a major American public figure, like Henry Ford and Charles Lindbergh before him, has made anti-Semitism an acceptable disease in America, and the disease has grown immeasurably since the publication of his trashy book. And all this is carried out with the razor-sharp mind that has made Dershowitz so famous, and so convincing. He also has done a pretty good demolition on Professors Walt and Mearsheimer,the new icons of the Jew-hating hard Left, whose arguments unfortunately Ron Paul seems to have bought into. But what politician is 100% right in all his positions? Silverwolf would rank Ron Paul as being right on something like 80 to 94% of all his views, with a staunch 6% disagreement, and even that would be fertile grounds for an active debate. Nor has Dershowitz been without harsh criticism of Israel. Like Silverwolf, he opposed building settlements on the West Bank, an unnecessary exacerbation, and one that undermines Israel's moral position. Like Silverwolf, he favors a two-state solution. And his criticisms of Israel's many domestic problems, like separation of church and state in a  democratic state which identifies itself with a religion, have the usual Dershowitz ring of truth.

But when it comes to the realities of American economic truth, having someone like Dershowitz backing an economic catastrophe-in-waiting like Barack Obama, shows why it is so fatal to have lawyers influencing vast political and economic power, like that wielded by the Kingmakers of the Democratic Party. And one wonders how Dershowitz can support someone who has hung out for twenty years, in religious communion, with folks who would give their man of the year award to the racist caitiff and Jew-hatred-inciter, Louis Farrakhan? And how can he support Obama when Obama announces yesterday that he is going to support the Bill of Rights-busting bill on FISA, scheduled to be voted on in the Senate next week? Dershowitz is quite right in the abuses he attacks, but quite wrong in the abuses he ignores. And he doesn't seem to realise that his arguments in favor of torture present a defense for the whole Nazi regime of the Third Reich, and scum like War Criminal Klaus Barbie.

What Dershowitz doesn't realise is that the economic chaos his candidates will bring to America is the greatest threat to the Constitutional Republic, democratic elections, and the security of minorities, religious and ethnic. He is the classical example of a lawyer who doesn't understand economics, trying to influence an election in a way that will guarantee hyperinflation and the destruction of the American Republic. Dershowitz quipped last year, before his speech to the Houston Holocaust Museum members, that when he attended a Yeshiva, up to the 12th grade, the Orthodox Rabbi took him aside one day to discuss what calling he should pursue. The Orthodox Rabbi said that he should either become a lawyer, or a Conservative Rabbi (considered a huge put-down), because, while he had the gift of the gab and a quick mind, he just didn't have the intelligence to become an Orthodox Rabbi. Boy, was that Rabbi right!

Then we come to one of Silverwolf's old favorites from his youth, the psychoanalyst, Erich Fromm.  Fromm's works are exceedingly interesting, and stretch from his analysis of self-destructive behavior, which is obviously something which those in the Western world haven't dealt with, given the girth of their waists, and the frequency of tobacco-addiction, to his very perceptive observations on the Bible, in "Ye Shall Be As Gods", perhaps the best book on the Old Testament and its inner meanings that Silverwolf has ever come across. His work on "alienation" in Capitalist societies is also quite interesting, although Silverwolf thinks it applies more to the corporate-stooge capitalist or union worker, rather than the independent Free-market small businessman. But when it comes to Economics, Fromm's adulation and admiration for Karl Marx show him to be as uninformed and dim-witted as Dershowitz is. In an interview at his Swiss home given about thirty years ago, Fromm distinguishes between "Labour", which is alive, and "Capital", which he terms dead. But he never seems to flash on the fact that Capital, before the Socialist overthrow of America under Saint Roosevelt, actually represents the life force of labour. When labour produces more than it consumes, it has given a productive gift to society, which is the interaction of all the other individuals in society excluding that specific labourer. Instead of consuming some commodity with the money received for labour, which of course drives up the price of that commodity for every single other individual in society, that worker chooses instead not to consume, but to receive the excess in the form of money, or "capital", so that capital is not a dead thing, as Fromm maintains, but the actual life energy of that worker in the form of a fixed quantity of money. And of course, that money, under the U.S. Constitution, must be in the form of Gold and Silver. So "capital" is actually human life energy in metal form. Ron Paul and the Austrian School are right; Erich Fromm was wrong.

Moving on to writers, Silverwolf comes to his old favorite, Norman Mailer, who he admired primarily as a thinker and philosopher, though he was blown away by "The Naked and the Dead", and loved "The Deer Park". And his book on the McGovern campaign was superb too. But like his predecessors in this blog, when it came to economics, Mailer's thoughts were jumbled and unclear. Mailer points out somewhere, and it is a point made by many others, that what really brought Hitler to power was the massive hyperinflation which ruined the Deutsche Mark after World War I. Yet Mailer then goes on to support liberal Democrats, like Edward Kennedy, and Mario Cuomo, whose programs guarantee the eventuality of such a hyperinflation,  and even expresses admiration for Ms. Clinton, despite her husband's appointing of General McCaffrey for drug czar, someone who would have jailed Mailer for years during the time he was enamoured with cannabis. Like Dershowitz, Mailer was willing to champion caitiffs who carried out the abuses he so eloquently railed against twenty years back. So what gives with the hypocrisy of these "Liberals"?  Or is it that they just don't get economics? Are they immoral, or are they stupid? Or both?

Then we come to the lesser intellects, the Liberal-Democratic talk show hosts of the Bay Area, Ray Taliaferro and John Rothmann, whose combined economic comprehension really starts scraping the bottom of the barrel. If you listen to their four-hour shows, you will often not hear economics, or the question of sound money, brought up once, but you will hear constant tirades against President Bush (but not the Democratic Congress), and the Bush tax cuts will be blamed for every single economic problem in America. No mention of the money voted and wasted by the Dems on defending Europe, Japan and Korea. No mention of the money wasted on persecuting cannabis users. No mention of how these Dems voted to overthrow Habeas Corpus, or their continued funding of the war, as long as those bills contain plenty of graft for the farm lobby, the union lobby, the pharma-pill-pushing lobby, the space-program lobby,  the Old-Folks-Home-In-The-College Educational lobby, or the Congressman's own gold plated salaries and perk packages. As long as each group of these Commies is getting their share, Justice can go out the window!

With "Liberal" nincompoops like Ray Taliaferro and John Rothmann "defending" the Bill of Rights, who needs Fascists? These Liberals, many of them well-meaning, will bring about the economic disintegration of America that will create the circumstances making possible another Adolf Hitler, or Benito Mussolini.

The only force America has seen in opposition to this sea of confusion and shoddy thinking, is the clear-sighted vision and simple message of Congressman Ronald Paul of Texas. Ron Paul has been studying economics for over 30 years now; he is an expert, Silverwolf would judge, in what sound Capitalism is, and what circumstances it needs to exist and thrive. And if those "Liberal's", (who cannot even be bothered to defend the Bill of Rights, and who are about as Liberal as Hitler's anus),---if they that cannot comprehend the simplest truths of Economics, and economic reality,  should come into power, as it seems they may well do, then what hope is their for the American Republic and our largely democratic voting institutions?

America is economically going to ruin, and the voices of confusion and corporate graft have an iron lock on the Government. There is very little hope now that America can pull out of this economic destruction.

R.I.P., former great Jeffersonian-Libertarian Republic. You were a brilliant star which has become a cold dwarf.

Unless it elects Ron Paul as President, America is doomed.

Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! --- Silverwolf

Cuando una persona decide leer un libro de más de mil doscientas páginas, es que ya sabe de antemano que no le va defraudar, ya sea por los comentarios que de la obra ha recibido o que conoce al autor por haberlo leído a menudo y sabiendo que le va a dedicar muchas horas tiene la certeza de que pasara ratos agradables con su lectura y que las horas irán más de prisa y el tiempo se le hará corto.

Pues todo esto pasa o me pasa con Norman Mailer y, a la que considero su obra maestra, El fantasma de Harlot, (La edición que yo poseo es de 1992 editada por Plaza &Janes y, ahora está editada por la editorial Anagrama, en Panorama narrativa), escrito en primera persona narra la vida del espía Harry Hubbard perteneciente a la CIA. El cadáver de Hugh Montague, antiguo oficial de la CIA, es descubierto flotando en un lago, con la cara destrozada. Harlot, tal era su nombre en clave, no trabajaba ya en la Agencia, pero aún continuaba investigando lo que él llamaba «los Grandes Santones». Su desaparición abre ahora un interrogante: ¿Se ha suicidado, ha sido asesinado o es sólo un montaje para poder desaparecer de la vida pública? Harry Hubbard, ahijado de Harlot, casado con su ex esposa, sabe que también su vida está en peligro, por lo que decide poner tierra de por medio y huir. Durante un año, escondido en un hotel de mala muerte de la ciudad de Nueva York, escribe sus memorias. En esta novela, Norman Mailer, nos hace recorrer con su protagonista muchos de los acontecimiento de la guerra fría, por medio mundo, Washington, Miami, Berlín etc., nos remite a muchos acontecimientos de aquella época, la invasión de Cuba tras la caída de Baptista, la vida social y sentimental del clan de los Kennedy, Bahía de Cochinos, la muerte de Marilyn Monroe, el asesinato de Kennedy, y un largo etc.

Pero que nadie espere el clásico libro de espías, con su aventuras imposibles, a un ritmo de película de 007, sino un retrato fiel, pausado y sin estridencias de la sociedad norteamericana de la época, de sus pecados capitales, de su hipocresía, de la doble moral, de las relaciones de los distintos cuerpos gubernamentales y sus luchas, de la mentira y corrupción.

En fin, un Mailer en estado puro, una obra maestra, que les aconsejo leer, es un libro imprescindible en la literatura del siglo XX.

Ficha:

Lengua: Castellano

Editorial: Plaza &Janes

Encuadernación: Tapa dura

Nº Edición: 1ª

Año: 1992

ISBN: 84-01-32480-7

Plaza edición: Barcelona

Otras obras que posee del mismo autor:

Los tipos duros no bailan.

Noches de la antigüedad.

Tim Russert was undoubtedly a fine son and father, a decent, hard-working, conscientious individual. He also would have likely been disgusted with the ubiquitous tributes to his honor that effectively served to sweep other news stories under the rug.

I wonder whether it's possible that any of these news networks utilize an ombudsman who can highlight the self-indulgent, overloaded coverage of Russert's death.  Even ESPN has an ombudsman, who I might add, has done an excellent job of ridiculing the bloviated ramblings of Mark "Chop Block" Schlereth and Gregg "Please distract yourself with the photos of cheerleaders in my column so you won't notice how vacuous and insipid my column is" Easterbrook for their biased, unsubstantiated commentary on the "Spygate" scandal.

If any of the mainstream news networks want to truly honor Russert's legacy they would treat his death in the same way that Russert treated his guests: fair, but tough. They would give him the encomiums, but also acknowledge that there are those who were critical of him. And they would consider the amount of coverage they gave to the passing of Norman Mailer, David Halberstam, and Kurt Vonnegut -- all of whom passed away within the past year or so -- and attempt to put the coverage of Russert's passing within context.  All of those men were writers/commentators whose lasting influence on our country's conscience/consciousness will, let's be frank, far outstrip Russert's legacy and yet their deaths received but a fraction of the coverage. But an objective observer of our news media would never know that. If our mainstream media were as tough on themselves as Russert was on his guests, that would have been the ultimate tribute. 

LEE: Are there some books that young writers shouldn't write and some books older writers shouldn't tackle either?

NM: The answer to that automatically is yes, but don't ask me to name the books because it depends on the individual. Look, when a young writer tackles a book that is too big for their capacity at that point, it's not necessarily a total loss. They can lose a lot of time, they can lose a lot of ego, they can really take a bath. But on the other hand, they learn a lot about themselves. So I would rarely discourage somebody from tackling some-thing that's too big for him-unless I thought he was truly incompetent. But if I thought they had a fighting chance, I'd tend to encourage him. You learn more from defeats than victories, I've decided. Victories are wonderful for the ego, but they generally create the next fuckup. Unless you're a real winner, but if you're an in and out guy, like most of the people I know-including myself-then victories are dangerous. The ego gets swollen and it's so hungry for victory and you tend to make mistakes. But in relation to that, books that old guys-I think for an old writer who's been around and knows what he's doing, there's no book I would tell him not to try. Because you don't know; you never know when you're going to pop off. So you try.

LEE: Is it harder today to write the so-called "big book," with all the com-petition for attention?

NM: Again, that question answers itself-absolutely. Much harder. I find that I'm drawn more to writing about the past for just that reason. In the past there weren't the iPods and TV, and so there is a tendency for the figures to appear a little more clearly.

LEE: All right, let's get to The Castle in the Forest. At the risk of being called a sycophant, I thought it was one hell of a read.

NM: Well, I'm glad. I'm really glad, because it's going to get the worst reviews.

LEE: You think so?

NM: Well, not completely. But I'm going to get some.

LEE: I'd like to ask first about the genesis of this novel. Have you been thinking about this for some time?

NM: Yeah, you know what, Mike? I said the other day that I'd been thinking about it since I was nine years old. I don't mean I was thinking of writing it, but I've been immensely aware of Hitler since I was nine for one simple reason: I was born in 1923, so in 1932, before he came into power, my mother, who was not an intellectual, but an intelligent, sensitive woman, full of feeling, and Jewish, of course. And she saw Hitler as a disaster for the Jews from the word go. And she used to suffer over him and when he came into power it made her very upset. So I grew up with the idea of Hitler as someone who was going to kill the Jews-and he succeeded by half. So I think in the background in my mind, all along, I should write about him sooner or later. I was going to do the second volume of Harlot's Ghost, that I've been promising for years, and as I sat down to write it, it was almost as if this whisper came into my brain and said, "No, no, that's not the book you're going to do next, it's this one." And it was the idea of having the devil tell the story that brought it into focus for me.

LEE: You were lucky to get that whisper early on.

NM: I was getting ready to write a long book called Harlot's Grave. I had it all figured out, must have spent a half year thinking about it in depth, and it was so funny that about a month before I was ready to begin this other voice came in and said, "No, not here-there." And of course the idea was to tell it in the voice of the devil that made it possible. It enabled me to write a biography that was a fiction. The book is very accurate so far as you can make it out.

LEE: I want to ask you about some of that too. One of the levels of reading that I found so fascinating, given the subject is the childhood and adolescence of Hitler, is that this book is also very much a family saga.

NM: Yeah, oh yeah. Even if it hadn't been Hitler, you'd have a novel there.

LEE: Did you feel compelled to couch the metaphysical aspects of the novel with that familial approach?

NM: You know, I sort of work-to put it in its lowest version-I push a pea with my nose. I'm a great believer in organic novels, in that you don't decide in advance where you're going. You let the characters point the way. I remember once-this is a coincidence-but it may indicate what I'm trying to say. At one point I was directing a play at Actor's Studio and Elia Kazan was there, we were sort of friendly, and I said to him, "I don't know how to tell the actors how to move, that's where I have the most trouble." And he said, "You know, Norman, let them decide for you. Actors generally have a better sense of movement than we do." Of course, he was a great director, and he was being very honest about it. He said, "They'll often point out the way and if they don't, then you can step in." So I did that and it absolutely worked. The play was reasonably well staged as a result. The same way I think is true in a novel, only more so. Let the characters point the way for you. Now here there was something different, which is, of course, I did know the events. They were recorded summarily; there were very few books about the early childhood and they're sketchy. So it wasn't as though I was overloaded with facts, which would be true further down the road where there'd be a hundred books for every decade. So, given the fact the devil is telling the story, I could follow the events because the unforeseen would be the devil's interpretation of what was going on and what he must do. He's the devil's assistant, of course, not the devil. And that made it absolutely organic for me because even though I knew where I was going in terms of the narrative, the interpretation now became the part I would not determine in advance. I would let the events and the devil's interpretation of these events dictate where I'd head next. And it worked. ... more>>

Gonzo, hehe

Tá na moda reviver a literatura da garagem empoeirada das reportagens. Esse ano comemora-se 40 anos do Prêmio Pulitzer que consagrou Norman Mailer como jornalista-literato em "Os Exércitos da Noite". De olho nesse campo fértil da contracultura, a José Olympio Editora e a Conrad (AGAAIIIN!! - não trabalho pra eles, ok?) estão nessa de que a ocasião faz o ladrão e dão 'presentes' a seus leitores. A primeira lançou "O Grande Livro do Jornalismo", uma reunião de 55 textos antológicos de nomes como o já citado Mailer; Twain, Steinback, Vidal, Orwell, etc. Além de interessante para os pseudo-jornalistas entendidos fãs do estilo, é valido também por dar um panorama de alguns dos acontecimentos históricos relevantes dos séculos XIX e XX.

Já a segunda organizou pacotes promocionais com dobradinhas escolhidas entre as principais obras de Hunter S. Thompson, como: "Hell's Angels", "A Grande Caçada aos Tubarões", "Screw Jack", "Rum - Diário de um Jornalista Bêbado" e o clássico "Medo e Delírio em Las Vegas". Ideal para quem gosta de gastar o salário em uma livraria!

Em tempo: Por falar em Thompson - pai do Gonzo (não o aí de cima) - Johnny sua viúva Depp está envolvido no projeto da filmagem de "Rum", onde viveria Hunter pela segunda vez. A primeira foi em "Medo e Delírio...", com atuação elogiada. Tamo esperando, Willy Wonka!

PEB: Dizem as más línguas que vale a pena conferir a cuidadosa tradução de "Bonequinha de Luxo", de Truman Capote, feita pelo teórico literário Samuel Titan Jr. e publicada pela Companhia das Letras.

Câmbio desligo.

Come parlando di centro e di interpretazione creativa delle regole si possono trovare parallelismi tra gli scacchi e il pugilato.

http://www.turingduchamp.org/detnotizia.asp?id=136&argomento=70&page=1

http://www.ibs.it/code/9788884902078/mailer-norman/combattimento.html

http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norman_Mailer

http://it.youtube.com/watch?v=NyEA5ghSfbA

I've never much been one for reading sports books, but as this was a recommendation I thought I'd both read and write about it. And I'm an Ali fan.

I remember being maybe eight years old and being a on road trip with my grandfather (Merv) somewhere in the Waikato. We had stopped at a trucking company and were yarning to some old bloke Merv knew. I was kicking stones around in the yard, as you do, and Merv told me to go check out the photo of him in the office. So off I went. And there in this photo is Merv, and next to him was Mohammed Ali! The old boy had boxed when he was young, so that must have been quite a moment for him.

Let's ignore for a moment that boxing is actually quite a brutal sport. Big blokes getting as close as they can to killing each other, and not, for a given amount of money. Once you're past that you're into the art of boxing, and it is an art form. Because while one opponent is trying to knock the stuffing out of another, he's also working hard to avoid getting damaged. What this book reinforced for me then was two things. One, Ali really was a genius. And two, modern fighters like Tyson are basically animals. In fact, especially Tyson.

Mailer walks us through that genius with a gentle, observational humility that I found incredibly compelling. He's talking about one of the single biggest sporting events of the Twentieth Century, but he turns the story into an understated discourse on race relations, geopolitics, and the soul of the fighter. In some ways the fight is almost secondary to the psychological battle between the fighters, and Mailer gives a tremendous insight into both them and their situations. It's a great read, with Mailer at times leading the reader into apparently small things or situations that end up speaking a huge amount for the characters of both Ali and Foreman.

The Fight also reinforces the incredible physical prowess of guys like Ali or Foreman. Now I know this sounds melodramatic, but these blokes are basically killing machines. A punch from Foreman on a skinny bloke like me would kill me. No joke. But what Mailer does is clearly and carefully demonstrate how these fighters channel that incredible power into their training, and work like hell to deflect that danger away from themselves during the fight. I think I've never really appreciated boxing as much as I do after reading this book.

Highly recommended.

Walt Whitman - on an 1850s Democratic National Convention

“The meanest kind of bawling and blowing office-holders, office-seekers, pimps, malignants, conspirators, murderers, fancy-men, custom-house clerks, contractors, kept-editors, spaniels well-trained to carry and fetch, jobbers, infidels, dis-unionists, terrorists, mail-riflers, slave-catchers, pushers of slavery, creatures of the President, creatures of would-be presidents, spies, bribers, compromisers, lobbyers, sponges, ruin'd sports, expell'd gamblers, policy-backers, monte-dealers, duelists, carriers of conceal'd weapons, deaf men, pimpled men, scarr'd inside with vile disease, gaudy outside with gold chain made from the people's money and harlot's money twisted together; crawling, serpentine men, the lousy combinings and born freedom-sellers of the earth.

Norman Mailer on the 1960 DNC

“A man of taste, arrived from Mars, would take one look at the convention floor and leave forever, convinced he had seen one of the drearier squats of hell.. a cigar-smoking, stale-aired, slack-jawed, butt-littered, foul, bleak, hardworking, bureaucratic death gas of language and faeces…lawyers, judges, ward heelers, mafiosos, Southern goons an grandees, grand old ladies, trade unionists and finks; of pompous words and long pauses which lie like a leaden pain over fever”

Adlai Stevenson - on the 1956 DNC

“The idea that you can merchandise candidates for high office like breakfast cereal - that you can gather votes like box tops - is... the ultimate indignity to the democratic process.”

Here were millions of people who, for some odd reason, actually felt CHEATED by a writer because of a mis-representation of his work. Memoir? Book is a best-seller. The author elevated to Saviour status; a walking, breathing example of redemption (with a biggie "R"); the perfect Oprah Book of the Month choice; a triumph of humanity over addiction. Fiction? A bone fide pariah, a liar, a cheater. HERESY! He deceived us, that despicable, bottom dweller of a...WRITER! Forget that the story, fictitious as it was, still stood as a dynamic piece of art. Forget that it sold millions of copies worldwide. Change the label from memoir to fiction and it's suddenly rendered horse shite. It's like taking a blade to a Picasso because what you thought was analytic cubism, turned out to be neo-expressionism. All right, all right, I'm reaching with the Picasso metaphor here, but you get it. Therapists and social workers actually brought forth suits against Frey, claiming they'd made their patients read the best-selling "memoir" and now that it was found to be fiction, the nutjobs and screwheads felt they'd been tricked. Awww, poor over-medicated, neurotic, self-absorbed yuppies. Thoroughly deceived by a writer; their miserable lives must've hit a new bottom. Their world, as shitty as they'd made it, came to a sudden, screeching end.

Vanity Fair writes that both Frey and his publisher Nan Talese claim they were tricked into appearing on Oprah by a producers' pitch for a fabricated topic called "Truth in America." Frey and Talese were told they'd stand on a panel with Frank Rich of the NY Times and Richard Cohen from the Washington Post. But when they arrived at Harpo Studios, plans had apparently changed. The new topic was the Frey issue. What followed was a cringing public scourge by the Queen in the hopes of absolving herself from the controversy and the wrath of her beloved block-headed public who practically demanded this guy's head. So Frey was left to burn in front of a booing studio audience who demanded its money back.

The public backlash against The Heretic Frey astounded me. The memoir genre is by definition corrupt and subjective--in effect a piece of personal fiction. In a subsequent meeting with Frey shortly thereafter, Norman Mailer said: “That’s why a writer writes his memoir, to tell a lie and create an ideal self. Everything I’ve ever written is memoir, you know, is an inflated vision of the ideal Platonic self.” And Charles Bukowski in 1968 when questioned by the FBI about his columns for the Open City paper: "the articles are a mixture of fiction and fact, and have been highly romanticized in order to give the story juice."

In short: this is what we do. We are not biographers or historians. For lack of a better phrase: we make up shit and we mix it with some truth and romantic notions..."in order to give the story juice." That's it. Nice and simple. And if you don't dig it, then don't buy it; don't read it. And if you think you're getting the truth, the whole truth, and nuttin' but the truth from an autobiography or a memoir...well then, let me show you this beautiful suspension bridge I have for sale in the great borough of Brooklyn. In light of recent plagiarism allegations surrounding venerable Pulitzer Prize winning historians/authors such as (the now deceased) Stephen Ambrose and Doris Kearns Goodwin, I would venture to say even THAT information ought to be looked at with at least one raised eyebrow.

Link here to the Vanity Fair piece.

NOTES from the UNDERGROUND… No.141| April 29, 2008

VOICES FROM THE GRAVE:
HEMINGWAY, MAILER, VONNEGUT --- AFTERLIVES

Hemingway’s Rage at Hollywood

April 26, 2008 -- ERNEST Hemingway and Hollywood had a tempestuous relationship - but his utter hatred of the movies made from his famed novels is now just coming to light.

In "The Good Life According to Hemingway," out next month, A.E. Hotchner, who traveled the globe with him, bares a series of never-before-published slaps Hemingway took at the film business.

When producer David O. Selznick crowed that his wife, Jennifer Jones, was starring in "A Farewell to Arms" and he'd pay Hemingway a $50,000 bonus from any profits, the novelist wrote back: "If by some miracle, your movie, which stars 41-year-old Mrs. Selznick portraying 24-year-old Catherine Barkley, does earn $50,000, you should have all $50,000 changed into nickels at your local bank and shove them up your [bleep] until they came out of your ears."

Darryl F. Zanuck, the boss of 20th Century Fox, was trashed when he asked Hemingway to shorten the title of "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber," which starred Gregory Peck. Hotchner quotes Hemingway, "I said, you want something short and exciting that will catch the eye of both sexes, right?" He then reeled off the first letters of Hollywood studio names that together spelled out the F-word. "That should fit all the marquees and you can't beat it as a sex symbol." Zanuck titled the film "The Macomber Affair."

Of "The Sun Also Rises," Hemingway raged: "Any picture in which Errol Flynn is the best actor is its own worst enemy." As for "The Old Man and the Sea," "I sat through all of that movie, numb. Spencer Tracy looked like a fat, very rich actor playing a fisherman."

Hemingway, who committed suicide in 1961, snarked that in a love scene in "For Whom the Bell Tolls,""didn't take off his coat. That's one hell of a way for a guy to make love, with his coat on - in a sleeping bag." Gary Cooper (from N.Y. Post)

Mailer's Longtime Mistress Sells Papers to Harvard

by Jay Lindsay, Associated Press Writer

BOSTON — An actress and writer who said she was Norman Mailer's former longtime mistress has sold papers that include lengthy accounts of their sex life and hand-edited drafts of her writing to Harvard University, Mailer's alma mater.

Carole Mallory saved seven boxes of material she said she collected during Mailer's weekly visits between 1983 to 1992, while Mailer was married to his sixth and last wife, Norris Church.

"We'd have a writing lesson, we'd make love and then go to lunch in whatever order that would be, and I saved all the writing lessons," said Mallory, 66 "I wanted him to teach me to be a writer. He was one of our greatest writers in America."

Mallory, who appeared in movies including The Stepford Wives and modeled, won't say how much she was paid for materials, and neither will Harvard. The school received the papers within the last month, said Beth Brainard, spokeswoman for the Harvard library She said the school pursued the papers because of Mailer's importance as a writer, and because he's a Harvard grad.

"It's important to have Mailer represented in some way in the collection," Brainard said. Mailer, who died last November at age 84, sold his own archives to the University of Texas for $2.5 million.

Mallory, who lives in Jeffersonville, Pa., said she waited to release his papers until after his death out of respect for Mailer and his family. She said she decided to sell the papers because she "knew they were valuable," and also wanted them to be a part of history.

The collection includes photos, transcripts of interviews with Mailer, handwritten edits of Mallory's work and scraps from writing lessons he gave. Mallory still recalls the principles Mailer emphasized, such as: keep the dialogue punchy; stay away from adverbs, don't lecture the reader.

The collection also contains Mallory's unpublished memoir, including a 20-page sex scene with Mailer, and a 50-page sex scene she said was based on her relationship with Mailer that she wrote for one of her books. She said Mailer had challenged her to write one that long.

"I don't believe in shame," Mallory said. "I believe in making love and love. I'm not going to go around and harbor secrets or shame about... loving someone. And I don't think sex is something to be ashamed of." (from USA Today)

And So It Went

Kurt Vonnegut, in a final collection, reflects on his distaste for war and embrace of individuality By Dan Wakefield | April 13, 2008 Armageddon in Retrospect: And Other New and Unpublished Writings on War and Peace By Kurt Vonnegut Putnam, 232 pp., illustrated, $24.95

"Writing was a spiritual exercise for my father, the only thing he really believed in. ... His models were Jonah, Lincoln, Melville and Twain." So begins the moving and illuminating introduction to this posthumous collection of Kurt Vonnegut's work by his son Mark. A writer himself ("The Eden Express") as well as a pediatrician in Greater Boston, Mark Vonnegut tells us his father "had a hard time letting himself be happy, but couldn't quite hide the glee he got from writing well. ... It wasn't until the Iraq War and the end of his life that he became sincerely gloomy."

Over lunch in New York three years ago Kurt told me he didn't want to write anymore, that he felt his writing had always been based on "optimism, and pride in my country. I don't have that now." He had become, like the title of his next collection, "A Man Without A Country."

One of Vonnegut's last works was a talk he didn't live to deliver last April in his hometown of Indianapolis to kick off what the city had declared "The Year of Vonnegut." At the start of that speech, which is included in this book, he noted: "In only three years time, during World War Two, I went from Private to Corporal, a rank once held by Napoleon and Adolf Hitler."

It was in the crucible of that war that much of the message of Vonnegut's work was formed, and it can be seen here in microcosm in the three-page letter he wrote his family on May 29, 1945, after having been declared "missing in action" while a prisoner of war in a Dresden work camp. He told how many of his captured company died when they were herded into scalding showers after days of starvation, thirst, and exposure, "but I didn't"; how the American and RAF firebombing of Dresden destroyed the city and killed 250,000 people, "but not me"; how the prisoners who were evacuated after General George Patton took Leipzig were strafed by Russian planes and many were killed, "but not me."

One can hear in these cadences the future trademark that served as punctuation in Vonnegut's work: "So it goes." Vonnegut survived the Allied destruction of Dresden in an underground meat locker that became, in his famous fiction, Slaughterhouse Five. One piece in this book, "Wailing Shall Be in All Streets,""ghoulish mission" recounts the nightmare of the saturation bombing of Dresden, and how in its aftermath Vonnegut and his fellow POWs were given the to search for bodies "and carry them to mass funeral pyres in the parks. . . . There was not enough labor to do it nicely, so a man with a flame-thrower was sent down instead and he cremated them where they lay."

The short stories that compose the bulk of this book seem born of that experience - as does all of his work - in direct or thematic ways. In "Guns Before Butter" a trio of American POWs deal with their near-starvation rations by exchanging recipes and describing their favorite meals. "Food was the only thing on the P.W.'s pale level of existence that could have any effect on their spirits. Patton was a hundred miles away."

In "The Commandant's Desk" a Czechoslovakia woodworker and his daughter are subjected to the demands and insults of their passing conquerors - German, Russian, and American. The woodworker, a World War I veteran, comments that "when I hear of a division of war-lovers from an enlisted man, maybe I will believe it, provided the man is sober and has been shot at. If there are such divisions, perhaps they should be preserved between wars in dry ice."

These stories are "mostly undated and all unpublished," but references in some to the American-Russian standoffs of the Cold War suggest that many are early works, ones that simply didn't fit the mold of the 1950s magazine fiction that was Vonnegut's first market. They are no less accomplished or interesting for that, and will come as a final gift for fans.

In his later years, Vonnegut channeled much of his creative energy into painting and drawing, including posters with his thoughts and messages. One of these constitutes the last page of the book:

"Where do I get my ideas from? You might as well have asked that of Beethoven. He was goofing around in Germany like everybody else, and all of a sudden this stuff came gushing out of him.

"It was music.

"I was goofing around like everybody else in Indiana, and all of a sudden stuff came gushing out. It was disgust with civilization."

It was disgust with the kind of civilization that reduced Dresden "to crushed stone and embers; disemboweled her with high explosives and cremated her with incendiaries," the kind of civilization that in another era brought "shock and awe" to Baghdad.

The dark irony that lies beneath Vonnegut's wry, satiric work is always in the service of the individual - Billy Pilgrim surviving the firebombing of Dresden, Eliot Rosewater giving his fortune away to help particular people with their problems - and against the system, the destructive side of civilization, represented here by the conqueror Robert The Horrible in Vonnegut's neat medieval morality tale, "The Unicorn Trap."

The story's hero, Elmer the serf, resists the conqueror's offer to make him a tax collector, part of the corrupt system, at the risk of his own neck. He explains his philosophy to his family: "The wreckers against the builders! There's the whole story of life!"

Novelist Dan Wakefield is writer in residence at Florida International University. [from THE BOSTON GLOBE]

On the basis of the criteria suggested by these leaks the first recipient may well be someone whose accomplishments rival those of the following journalist's "dream team": Barbra Streisand, Janet Reno, Barbara Friedan, Eleanor Roosevelt, Roberta Achtenberg, Bella Abzug, Barney Frank, David Geffen, Norman Mailer, Brian Epstein, David Bowie, MIck Jagger, Leonard Bernstein, Marvin Gay, Donnie Graham, Sal Menio, Oliver Stone, Richard Raskind (aka, Renee Richards) and Victor Mature. There are probably many other worthy contenders in sports, science, religion and business.

Rep. Lance Wiggle (D-CA), head of the Congressional Gay Caucus, has suggested that either Eddie Murphy, Dustin Hoffman, and/or Martin Lawrence, or all three, might well be considered for the first recipient of The Washington Post's  new award, based on their outstanding depictions of men who dress like women.

The majestic vision of Donald Graham has not gone unnoticed by the world's senior leadership. He is said to be considered a strong contender for a Nobel Peace Prize.

When FNP asked Emil, Mr. Graham's companion, who he thought should win this new honor, he considered a moment, smiled, and said: "Oui! Vive la change!"

As FNP is a small, English-speaking branch of the media, his answer seemed cryptic. We have called the French Embassy to ask for a translation, but no one from the embassy has returned our call.

All rights reserved. Nomoonnight, 2008.

Antes de iniciar este diálogo convendría fijar el marco semántico en el que se pueden encuadrar términos que sólo vagamente manejamos día a día en la emisión y en la recepción.

Palabras como sexo, obsceno, erótico, sensual, pornográfico definen un poco vaporosamente zonas en lo que hay implicancias genitales sin especificar claramente el monto de la misma y el costo del consumo, para hablar en términos de mercado, ya que están tan de moda.

El nunca bien ponderado D.R.A.[1] viene en nuestra ayuda a tratar de dar lustre y esplendor a la escasa ciencia de nuestras conciencias. Así, nos enteramos que:

Sexo: (del latin sexus) es la condición orgánica, masculina o femenina de animales y plantas.

¿Han visto cómo; cándidas lectoras, insidiosos lectores un inocente término botánico y zoológico genera tanto alboroto cuando aparece escrito?

Obsceno: (del latin obscenus: fuera de escena, impuro, deshonesto, sucio, infausto, feo) impúdico, ofensivo al pudor, lascivo.

Ahora tenemos un término originado en el teatro, antro que siempre ha sido sospechoso de tener comercios y tratos indignos con la condición masculina o femenina de los animales y plantas. Lo “obs-ceno” era lo que los grandes trágicos de la Grecia Clásica dejaban fuera de escena, lo que nunca se mostraba. Por ejemplo, en la Orestíada el errante Orestes asesina a Clitemnestra, su madre, asestándole cinco puñaladas. Esquilo consideraba que el crimen debía ser relatado ya que in escena sería ofensivo al pudor, sucio y feo como son todos los actos criminales que no elevan la moral social[2]. Por lo tanto se desterraba la acción ob-scena, fuera del ámbito del skene público donde deliberaban el coro, el protagonista y el antagonista. Degollar un personaje en ese recinto sagrado hubiese sido una profanación: no olvidemos que el teatro se originó en una liturgia. Ya ven, mis queridos congéneres, de la farándula saltamos al ámbito de la ética siguiendo siempre por la senda de la condición masculina o femenina de las plantas y animales.

Erótico: define lo perteneciente o relativo al amor sexual. Y ahí el diccionario de la R.A.E. ya me instala una duda: ¿no querrá decirnos que el amor sensual nunca nos pertenece y sólo es relativo? De los académicos podemos esperar cualquier cosa. En forma sutil, yo diría casi taimada, inyectan sospechas en nuestras pobres mentes dementes. No se olviden que habla de “amor sexual” y que sexual era la condición femenina o masculina de las plantas y animales. También dice que erótico es lo “que excita el apetito sexual” o dicho de otro modo, que despierta el hambre de la condición masculina o femenina de las plantas y animales. Pero disimuladamente introdujo el amor y si fuésemos a definirlo nos llevaría de la mano a Platón, san Agustín y el obeso Santo Tomás de Aquino,  que lo único que amó en su vida fueron pavos trufados, requesones, jamón y viandas que consiguieron hacer de él un pastor tan voluminoso que en la iglesia donde oficiaba hubo que cavar una medialuna para que santo Tomás, doctor de la Iglesia si los hubo, pudiese alcanzar el cáliz, la patena y las hostias sin atropellarlas con el vientre.

Sensual: se dice del gusto y deleite de los sentidos / Perteneciente o relativo al deseo sexual. De nuevo nos encontramos con algo nuevo: el deseo unido a lo sexual y ¿qué es el deseo?

Deseo: es el “movimiento hacia algo que se apetece” ¿y qué es lo que se apetece?: la condición orgánica, masculina o femenina de las plantas y animales.

Pornográfico/a: Personas que escriben acerca de  la prostitución. Carácter obsceno de obras literarias o artísticas. Lamento informarles que tres de los cuatro panelistas somos pornográficos ya que hemos escrito un librito llamado “Prostibularias” que no versa acerca de misas y novenarios, sino acerca de un trabajo enfáticamente dedicado a la condición orgánica masculina o femenina de las plantas y animales.

Vayamos ahora al Diccionario literario:

PORNOGRAFIA (Del griego "pornee": prostituta, y "grafein": escribir)
Literatura de tema sexual rechazada moralmente. Dependiendo de las épocas y las costumbres, es difícil distinguirla del erotismo.

Ahora que ya sabemos más o menos lo que es sexo, vayamos a la literatura. Desde los primeros escritos de los patriarcas del A.T. el mismo monoteísmo que instala el concepto del pecado no puede evitar pecar al relatarnos ingenuamente que con tal de no quedar sin descendencia masculina un padre insemina sin ningún escozor moral a sus dos hijas saltando la barrera del incesto que es el único tabú universal que nos va quedando. Y eso lo relata el Génesis. Para no hablar del episodio de Sodoma donde Lot recibe la visita de dos ángeles que incitan la condición orgánica masculina o femenina de los sodomitas hasta organizar una horda o piquete sexual amenazando echar abajo las puertas de la casa de Lot si éste no entregaba a sus visitas para público regocijo de los sentidos. Lot por supuesto no cede. Propone entregar a sus hijas a la pública prostitución con tal de proteger la integridad de sus huéspedes. Pero  si las definiciones no engañan, “Pornográfico” es todo lo que se escribe sobre la prostitución y entonces al menos éste capítulo del Génesis tiene cierto tufillo porno que detestamos en las películas de la célebre Illona Staller pero leemos de rodillas en la catedral. El principio lógico de contradicción nos alerta. Pero sigamos, sin dejar de tener en cuenta el piloto encendido que dejamos atrás.

¿Por qué el finado Lot decide este canje? Primero, porque los huéspedes eran sagrados para la antigüedad, no como ahora que son prácticamente asaltados en cualquier ciudad de Italia o España por impúdicos hoteleros que cobran una fortuna por permitirles descansar una noche. Y segundo porque los forasteros no venían de Paraguay ni de Argentina; eran altos comisionados por la paz enviados por Yahveh, nada más ni nada menos. Eran ángeles y como tales, asexuados. No tenían la condición masculina o femenina porque ni eran plantas ni animales. Y no queremos ser irreverentes multiplicando los ejemplos pero el sentido común nos interpela: ¿acaso porque están escritos en la Biblia, tales hechos que los griegos no hubiesen permitido en un escenario, dejan de ser obscenos encerrados entre las dos tapas de los dos Testamentos? Claro, el Génesis no habla de penetración, si fue pro natura o contra natura, si hubo orgasmo o sólo fingidos gemidos como en las cintas XXX y entonces nos preguntamos ¿será que la alegoría de las descripciones anatómicas y fisiológicas hace a lo pornográfico? En tal sentido la literatura clásica grecolatina que repudiaba la representación visual de crímenes contaba con naturalidad toda forma de seducciones, apareamientos, regocijos genitales, fiestas y lo impúdico se refería casi siempre a los crímenes de gobierno de los tyranos, los doce césares o cualquier cuerpo colegiado que asumiera la vida y muerte de los ciudadanos.

Qué extraña perspectiva entonces, que para un pueblo resulte ob-sceno masacrar al prójimo y para otro el encuentro entre dos personas para regocijo genital.

Casi toda la obra de Hesíodo está plagada de pornografía y obscenidades si nos atenemos al vasto alcance de estas palabras: “Zeus, el padre de los dioses y los hombres urdía la idea de engendrar un defensor del mal para los hombres. Se lanzó desde el Olimpo meditando un engaño en su corazón ansioso por el amor de una mujer de bella cintura en la noche. Llegó al reino de Tifaonio, esa misma noche compartió el lecho y el amor de la reina Alcmena, la de los finos tobillos y cumplió repetidas veces su deseo. Esa misma noche volvió a su hogar Anfitrión, el esposo de Alcmena y subió al lecho con su esposa, ¡tal deseo dominaba su corazón! Como cuando un hombre escapa del dolor ocasionado por una terrible enfermedad, así Anfitrión, cumplido su duro trabajo con gozo entró en el lecho de su mujer, toda la noche estuvo acostado disfrutando de los dones del amor. Y ella, entregada a un dios y a un varón la misma noche dio a luz meses después dos hijos gemelos: Ificles, hijo de Anfitrión y Hércules, de Zeus. (Extraído de “El Escudo” de Hesíodo). Dioses que violan inocentes doncellas, muchachos, bestias de carga sobran en las narraciones de Homero, Hesíodo, Sófocles y Eurípides.

Dejando de lado lo obsceno, creo que no sería temerario afirmar que en Literatura los romanos fundaron la pornografía occidental.[3]

Petronio es autor de una notable obra de ficción, un romance satírico en prosa y verso titulado el Satiricón (c. 60), del cual se conservan algunos fragmentos. El Satiricón es el primer ejemplo de novela picaresca en la literatura europea, y puede considerarse el modelo de novelas posteriores.

El Satiricón ofrece una descripción única, y a menudo enormemente obscena y pornográfica, de la vida en el siglo I d.C. Pero, ¿qué podía hacer el pobre Petronio si la vida romana del siglo I era “enormemente obscena y pornográfica”? ¿Contarnos las aventuras de Blancanieves?  Ya vemos que aparece un vínculo entre ficción escrita y realidad social.

El episodio más famoso es el banquete de Trimalción, una descripción sumamente cruda de un banquete ofrecido por un nuevo rico y ostentoso liberto.

Veamos este ejemplo de Petronio excusándose ante una dama por no haber satisfecho el condumio sexual a causa de una súbita impotencia que en Roma también cundía como peste.

“Reina mía: tienes ante ti al reo que se confiesa culpable. Haré lo que me ordenes, busca un castigo que esté a la altura de mi crimen. Si decides mi muerte, iré con mi espada; si te bastan los azotes, corro desnudo a recibirlos; pero acuérdate tan sólo de una cosa, no fallé yo sino mi instrumento. Soldado dispuesto a la guerra no encontré mis armas a tiempo y venció el enemigo. No sé quién fue el aguafiestas, tal vez la imaginación se adelantó a la lentitud del cuerpo, tal vez la misma fuerza del deseo ahogó la pasión”.

Podemos seguir multiplicando los ejemplos de literatura erótica, obscena, pornográfica o sensual y fijando límites ficticios que sólo las convenciones humanas pueden canonizar. Si volvemos a recordar el origen griego de lo que es obs-skene lo que está debajo, detrás o fuera de la escena y no debe ser mostrado para evitar el escándalo público, que para el fino espíritu griego eran las degollinas y masacres entre padres e hijos; si ponemos el énfasis en qué se muestra y qué se oculta ya tendremos un pronóstico de lo que se considerará obsceno o pornográfico para una determinada sociedad.

Así como la prostitución ha sido considerada intrínsecamente inmoral porque mercantiliza el amor o la sexualidad; también la literatura decaería cuando su autor o autora incurre en minuciosas descripciones anatómicas y fisiológicas buscando exclusivamente el valor de mercado. Pero qué, quién y cómo define esto es lo que llamamos censura en otros tiempos.

 Históricamente la ambigüedad occidental con la anatomía humana produjo desnudos en catedrales y gente vestida en salas de arte. El cómo se muestra lo que se muestra no cambia lo que se muestra. Pero, se nos dice que hay jerarquías: Adán puede –y debe, es su obligación bíblica y moral- posar desnudo junto a Eva, pero ¿quién imaginaría a la Virgen en la misma situación iconográfica? La descripción cruda de un Sade equivale a esta profanación pero en el ámbito mucho menos abacial de una recámara como en la “Filosofía del tocador”. Y el caso de Sade considero que es central para el tema/anatema del Sexo y la Literatura. Sade estableció un modelo de vinculación entre el pensamiento como supuesta hipóstasis del espíritu y el yugo del cuerpo imponiendo las reglas del juego en la realidad. Se habla de obscenidad cuando hay escenas genitales explícitas que podrían haberse suprimido sin cambiar la esencia de una obra. Para Sade la esencia era el reconocimiento del otro a través de la genitalidad; o mejor aún  de lo más biológicamente instintivo: del erotismo y lo tanático, el orgasmo y el aullido de dolor, muchas veces unidos como las dos caras de una misma moneda.

Vemos un fragmento de “Justine, o los infortunios de la virtud” y pido, como en las películas serias a todas las personas impresionables que abandonen la sala si hay riesgos de asalto a vuestro pudor. Porque Sade asaltará y saltará sobre cualquier convención.

“Echando en la cama a las cinco jovencitas en posturas tan variadas como voluptuosas, le pusimos a cada una dos muchachos sobre el cuerpo. Por una inversión de todos los principios físicos propia del estado en que estábamos, introdujimos los penes más gordos en los culos y los más pequeños en las vaginas. Recorríamos los grupos, los animábamos, y el mayor placer de Olimpia era sacar cada pene de los caminos que recorría, chuparlos un momento y devolverlos a su sitio respetuosamente. Algunas veces, cuando los caminos estaban vacantes, bien fuese el del culo o la vulva, metía la lengua y lamía plácidamente durante unos minutos mientras aquel cuyo sitio había ocupado la penetraba por el ano. Yo estimulaba el celo de los combatientes con enérgicas palmadas hasta que un diligente sirviente me trajo un nervio de vaca con el que azotaba sin piedad las nalgas por turno y llegué a ensañarme hasta sacarle surcos de sangre a una de las muchachas que se entretenía lamiendo los cojones de un mancebo a quien también dejé marcas en la espalda”.

Párrafos más adelante el maestro da una lección a la huérfana Justine:

“Deja en paz a la justicia celestial, a sus castigos y recompensas venideras, todas esas tonterías de los escrúpulos no sirven más que para olvidarlas al salir de la escuela, o para matarlo a uno de hambre si se tiene la estupidez de creerlas. El poder de los ricos hace legítima la pillería de los pobres, querida hija. Tenemos que conseguir que sus bolsillos se abran a nuestras necesidades. Cuando en sus corazones reine la humanidad vosotros los pobres podrán darse el lujo de defender la virtud, pero mientras nuestro infortunio, nuestra paciencia, nuestro servilismo no sirvan más que para reforzar las cadenas con la que nos oprime la sociedad, nuestros crímenes serán obras de ellos. La naturaleza nos ha hecho nacer a todos iguales, si el destino se complace en perturbar este primer plan de las leyes generales está en nuestras manos corregir sus caprichos y en nuestra habilidad el poder usurpar a los más fuertes lo que nos quitaron antes de que naciéramos. Me gusta oír a esos ricos, a esos jueces, a esos magistrados predicando la virtud cuando no son acosados por ninguna necesidad. No los hurga el hambre, ni los apremios del alquiler, ni se les reclama trabajar como bestias. Para los pobres todo es distinto, deja en paz de una buena vez a esa bárbara  providencia a la que adoras como ídolo y te ha condenado a arrastrarte por el suelo como la serpiente en la hierba mirando con desdén nuestras desgracias.”

Se hablaba de lo pornográfico como un elemento gratuito en una obra literaria. Después de Sade es difícil encontrar nada gratis. Los límites entre la reflexión platónica e inmaterial del espíritu y la sedienta sedición de la carne se han borrado para siempre. Un autor o autora puede –y debe, si es honesto- prohibirse la autocensura mojigata y conversar con el bien y el mal al mismo nivel, porque en el fondo la obra necesita de la inocencia de un mundo recién terminado de construir y la inocencia, ya lo sabemos, no conoce las diferencias entre el bien y el mal moral. Sólo el extenuante ejercicio de la costumbre se lo irá enseñando con el tiempo. El erotismo y el misticismo participan de lo extremo. Uno de la pasión de lo tangible, el otro, de la carencia de sensaciones físicas pero ambos envueltos en el arrobamiento del trance; las sesiones del Marqués de Sade y los éxtasis de Santa Teresa tienen algo en común. El mismo Cantar de los Cantares establece este vínculo a través de una larga alegoría.

Vemos lo que escribió Norman Mailer en “Un sueño americano”:

“Hubo una explosión furiosa, traidora y caliente como en comienzo de una caída nevada donde la velocidad hace que se junten los tobillos con las narices, súbitamente perdí los sentidos y justo en ese momento todas las gamas de colores y dulzuras se me desataron y sacudiéndome empujé en su culo tan fuerte como si hubiese venido volando a través de la habitación. Ella lanzó un aullido de rabia. Su éxtasis le debe haber significado un feroz retorcijón”.

Ved, estimados parroquianos que si quitásemos la palabra “culo” todo el resto parece un salmo. ¿Acaso un simple término basta para travestir un texto de lo sagrado a lo obsceno? 

Veamos un fragmento de “Vox” de Nicholas Baker:

“Decidí que tenía que sacarme una fotocopia de la pija, bueno, no, dos fotocopias del pito, una antes de usarlo y otra después. Y dejar los documentos sobre su escritorio.

-¿Qué pretendías conseguir con eso?

-Bueno, quería que viese mi pija, pero claro, no iba a sacármela delante de ella así porque si. Me hacia falta cierta distancia… bueno, somos gente civilizada, la cosa no puede pasar del papel. Pero no te creas que es tan fácil fotocopiarse el pito. Es un deporte que se practica en oficinas, me consta, pero hay que ponerse a hacerlo para saber lo que cuesta. Primero tenía que conseguir algo parecido a una erección y ahí, delante de la fotocopiadora, en una oficina desierta no es tan fácil como parece. Me puse a pensar en ella mirando la fotocopia de mi pija el lunes próximo y diciéndose, caramba, qué tipo más tarado sin tener más remedio que mirarla y requete mirarla sin poder apartar los ojos de aquella imagen concreta de una pija retratada casi saliéndose del papel; y después la metía en algún archivo secreto donde pusiera en el rótulo “fotopila”. Así se me puso más dura y ahora había que colocar el órgano sobre el cristal de la máquina y cuando lo intenté, me faltaba un poco más de margen, ¿me entendés? Había que reducir un 70% para que apareciera todo el órgano”.

Vamos viendo que nos defendemos del pudor con el humor. Todo relato de la sexualidad casi siempre resulta cómico. Incita a la risa como forma solapada de desprestigiar la inquietud que provoca inevitablemente. Sabemos que pisamos terreno prohibido y que los autores naturalmente transgresores han abierto el mar antes que nosotros para enseñar que en el prodigio no hay milagro ni pecado. Georges Bataille, Oskar Panizza, Jean Genet, Henry Miller, Anaïs Nin ya profetizaron en la tierra de promisión y no se halló el pecado prometido, ni el anatema, ni la maldición de la serpiente. Ni llovió fuego y azufre. Encontraron un aspecto de lo humano que busca infatigablemente la intensidad en los sentidos, el vértigo de la verdad que no sólo aparece en libros sagrados. También está escrito en nuestros cuerpos.

Alejandro Maciel. 

While we're on the topic, ever wonder which imaginary animals are kosher? Looking forward to a little Aigi Kampoi (fish-tailed goat) the next time the frum Dungeons and Dragons club gets together. Perhaps with a little mint jelly.

Are you running low on matzah? One blogger made a special appeal to those not commanded to eat the bread of affliction.

Not one, but two alternative seders organized by the Washington DCJCC are featured in a Washington Post article about the same. To see pictures from the GLOE Stonewall Seder, become a fan on Facebook.

There was a little kerfuffle (don't you just love that word?) over Ami Eden's post on his JTA blog about a Q&A feature that ran in the Boston Globe with a Jewish doctor who specializes in treating transgendered children. Cole Krawitz, blogging at JVoices objected to Eden's inclusion of a response quote to the Q&A from an conservative activist which was pulled from a Christian news service and which he framed as a Jew vs. Jew conflict. Eden has also revised his post to clarify. My take? Krawitz may have come down a little hard on Eden's post, which, as in all good news coverage, likes a good conflict. His larger point that the "Jewish angle" in this case creates a false parity of expertise between a medical professional and an anti-LGBT activist is well taken.

Finally...

Jewish Ids in the News: Norman Mailer's mistress has sold papers describing the graphic details of their sex life to, wait for it...Harvard University.

Terry Gross then throws Mailer an alley-oop by asking where he thinks he stands among the great American writers of his time. Mailer answers matter-of-factly, "I'm not going to name anyone but there are maybe 3-4 of us who may last and I'm probably one of them." Ha. Classic Mailer bravado. Yet, again, he may be right.

Returning to the idea of the unliterate, I've been struggling to solidify a clear purpose for this blog, which may be a good thing. Given that this endeavor is still in its infancy, I would hope that I'd feel the urge to revise the "About" page continually with each new post.

Here's a notion. If people really did only read one book a year, shouldn't that book, at the very least, provide a "special and peculiar" experience, and not just something that everyone else reading?

(picture from AFP/Getty Images)

Mallory recalls the principles Mailer emphasized, such as: keep the dialogue punchy; stay away from adverbs; and don't lecture the reader.

No word on the principles of sex that Norman taught Carole. Perhaps something on the order of: keep the foreplay short and sweet, stay away from anal sex, and don't forget the condoms. This will be valuable information for some Doctoral thesis.

Carole Mallory also has given Harvard her own memoir that includes one 50-page sex scene that was a writing exercise assigned by Randy Norman. One wonders if, in the later years, there was more reading of sex scenes than actual sex.