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All Mailer readers know that Mailer was a professional author who made sure he got paid twice for his writings as often as possible, just as Jack London and other highly productive authors did, but this is hardly an adequate response either to Mailer’s retrospective collections or his works on Picasso or Oswald. One could just as well, if one were given to agree with Kakutani, say that ''The Executioner’s Song'' was a “cut-and-paste” job, as if Mailer’s assemblage of a bewildering array of voices and texts does not form a lush and witty hand-woven carpet–a narrative that effectively transforms fragments of Gilmore’s life into a redemptive and beautiful narrative.
All Mailer readers know that Mailer was a professional author who made sure he got paid twice for his writings as often as possible, just as Jack London and other highly productive authors did, but this is hardly an adequate response either to Mailer’s retrospective collections or his works on Picasso or Oswald. One could just as well, if one were given to agree with Kakutani, say that ''The Executioner’s Song'' was a “cut-and-paste” job, as if Mailer’s assemblage of a bewildering array of voices and texts does not form a lush and witty hand-woven carpet–a narrative that effectively transforms fragments of Gilmore’s life into a redemptive and beautiful narrative.


. . .
''Norman Mailer’s Letters on An American Dream'' is a wonderful resource, detailing Mailer’s aesthetic considerations, his social world from the inside as most of us have never seen it before, and his responses to the weird reception much of his work has received as well. Mailer asks Diana Trilling to please invite Iris Murdoch to dinner as he has always wanted to meet her (71); he tells several correspondents that he thinks the responses to ''Dream'' were not only schizophrenic but were symptomatic, also, of the nation’s own tectonic fault lines (apologizing to Aldridge for the overloaded metaphor as he uses it: 74); and we see Mailer writing long, friendly, detailed letters to fans such as Mrs. Virginia M. Mangram: “Between us, I’m just a little tickled with the book, because no matter its larger merits or lack of them, I worked the
surface of this book harder than anything I’ve ever written and so feel at last there’s a certain craftsmanship to something I’ve done. To me it purrs a little now. It’s a bitch of a book, at least I think so. If you don’t like it, or are a good bit disappointed, my god, I’ll respect you for saying so after reading all these fine words about me by me” (63). Evidence is accumulating to show that Mailer was actually one of the most gracious of the Truly Famous; in a few years or so, Lennon’s edited collection of Mailer letters will come out, and then the world will know.
 
Compared with Mailer’s best nonfiction, ''Why Are We at War?'' and ''The Big Empty'' are less intense efforts. In the former case, Mailer blasts the Bush administration appropriately, although it does seem a bit out of time for Mailer to claim that Bush and Company invaded Iraq to bolster whiteness and maleness. ''On God'' offers some interesting refinements on Mailer’s psycho-theology. ''On God'', though it strikes me more as a series of lectures than a conversation, has a great deal of essential information for readers of
''The Gospel Acccording to the Son'' and ''The Castle in the Forest''.
 
===II. Book-Length Studies and Developing Resources===
 
In the last ten years, there have been four book-length scholarly studies of Mailer’s work, none of them from major presses,3 and an annotated bibliography. There have also been three collections of essays about his work, if we count the special issue of ''Journal of Modern Literature'' (2006) that the ''JML'' editors downgraded to a “cluster of essays” and the first two issues of ''The Mailer Review'' (2007 and 2008), published by The Norman Mailer Society and co-sponsored with the University of South Florida.<sup>4</sup> Other new resources include the Mailer papers at the Harry Ransom Center at The University of Texas at Austin, which in 2005 acquired a mind-bogglingly comprehensive archive of Mailer’s work. There is also the website of The Norman Mailer Society. Harvard University also acquired some papers of limited value when Carole Mallory sold her papers to America’s most prestigious university.
 
First book-length study: Mailer continues to receive more attention as a symptom rather than as a shaper of culture, and Mary V. Dearborn’s ''Mailer: a Biography'' is an excellent window into literary politics in postwar America. In presenting Mailer as an artist who has lost as much as he has gained by bargaining with fame, Dearborn raises important issues about the effects of celebrity culture on literature. Her account begins with Mailer’s fiftieth birthday party in 1973, in which he was to announce his plan for a “Fifth
Estate,” a citizen watchdog group to monitor the activities of the FBI and the CIA. Mailer was intoxicated as he stepped up to the microphone and bungled the event. Dearborn examines Mailer’s every failure in excruciating detail and hypothesizes a Freudian repetition-compulsion at one point, but psychological explanation of Mailer’s behavior is in no way a priority in this text. Rather, Dearborn marshals the author’s crimes and misdemeanors to argue that Mailer has been cut off from the world in important ways by the celebrity that has been such an important part of his literary arsenal: “[H]e became famous seemingly overnight, and his stature ensured that he was shielded from reality by a tight band of supporters and family. When he tragically stumbled, stabbing Adele in 1960, his inner circle made sure that he would pay no price for the deed” (424). Previous biographers have covered what has been euphemistically called “the Trouble,” but none have been as astute as Dearborn in assessing the more painful consequences of America’s love affair with literary rebellion.
 
What, then, is Mailer’s achievement? Dearborn mercilessly assesses Mailer’s failures but finally concludes that he has “turned his celebrity to good account” (425). For Dearborn “Mailer... discovered that celebrity could open up doors to a new kind of cultural expression in which the artist’s personal and creative lives inform each other in beneficial ways” (425). While insisting that his experiments with celebrity have often been disastrous failures, Dearborn finally lauds Mailer for having opened up a cultural space that was not available previously, one which has been as important to ideological opponents as it was to himself: “[C]ould Germaine Greer not have known that without Norman Mailer she would perhaps not have been able to cut the figure she did, flamboyant in feathers, and as the author of ''The Female Eunuch'', a feminist text that brilliantly mixed the personal and the political?” (425). This argument is often put forward by Mailer defenders, but it is more credible when it appears in Dearborn’s frequently severe assessment.
 
Though Dearborn claims that the life and the work are equally important in Mailer’s case, her non-hagiographic view of the life is worth much more than her approach to the writing. ''The Armies of the Night'' (1968) is for Dearborn Mailer’s best work, and it is an unsurprising opinion. She declares ''Of a Fire on the Moon'' (1971) “one of the most disastrous projects of his writing life,” which is a strange assessment when one considers the thoughtful responses to that work in studies by Kernan, Landow, and Tabbi. Dearborn’s discussions of the work occasionally strike one as breezy, and they seem to rely a little too much on the scuttlebutt of reviewers. For example, she claims that ''Oswald’s Tale'' (1995) received almost uniformly bad reviews, but actually this book received positive reviews in a number of publications. More
ambitious works such as ''Ancient Evenings'' (1983) receive a competent overview, but the study offers no real surprises. Each generation, at any rate, must write its own biography of a phenomenon such as Mailer, and Dearborn’s is the most complete portrait from this period, 1998–2008. Since Robert Lucid’s death, J. Michael Lennon has taken over the job of writing an authorized biography.
 
...


===Notes===
===Notes===

Revision as of 13:36, 20 June 2021

« The Mailer ReviewVolume 9 Number 1 • 2015 • Maestro »
Written by
John Whalen-Bridge
Angela Oon

Abstract: A survey of the status of Mailer Studies over the past ten years with a detailed analysis of strategic articles, dissertations, and books.
URL: https://prmlr.us/mr03wha

“The final purpose of art is to intensify, even, if necessary, to exacerbate, the moral consciousness of people," Mailer wrote just under half a century ago,[1] but the majority of serious readers today would not pick up Mailer by that handle. Perhaps it is the business of Mailer scholarship, first and foremost, to ask whether we should. The inquiry would, at its fullest, have implications that extend far beyond Mailer scholarship, which is a way of saying that Mailer is not (or in a just world would not be) merely of interest to specialists.

Implication one: Art has a final purpose, so it is not a plaything, a distraction. To say that art has a final purpose is to say that all of it, all of life’s parts, actually matter. This fragment of a thought takes us to the Mailerian test– and he was an “essayist” who tested and tried out ideas even when writing gigantic novels–of a Manichean world view which, for Mailer at least, had the great utility of making life meaningful especially in the face of cultural forces that trivialize meaning-making activities.

Implication two: “Intensify” and “exacerbate” show Mailer to be a Modernist–one of a group of late Modernists, Morris Dickstein tells us in Leopards in the Temple, who kept a quasi-religious faith with the artistic standards and methods of Joyce, Eliot, Pound, and company–but the words show Mailer more than anything else to be an artist who insists on risk. Mailer was one of the great leopards of postwar American writing. His writing was regularly shocking. He said many times that everyone should be able to see God in the midst of a sex act; perhaps sex was and is really a subset of “risk.” Masturbation would be a sin to our existential Manichean left-conservative theologian precisely because it wasn’t going to risk anything or change anything. To intensify experience is something pretty much all artists do, but not all artists exacerbate the moral consciousness of the reader, and the role of gadfly is one Mailer took up with glee. Is the gadfly always in the moral right? That isn’t really a necessary condition at all, although one senses that Mailer very much wanted to be identified with the correct or best position, the one that ultimately allowed for the generation of the most meaningful life. This end of art could be blissful but it would also be painful. “No pain, no gain,” as the sneaker salesmen say.

Implication three: However much Mailer aligned himself with the holy outsider, he was concerned with the moral consciousness (and aesthetic pleasure, and civic morale) of “the people.” As Stephen Dedalus flies past all the various nets, bat-like himself, he dreams of forging the uncreated conscience of his race. We don’t do this anymore.[a] We disavow our identities, though we depend on them, such as when the passport becomes a shield. We enjoy all the various birthrights but pretend, in utterly dishonest and shortsighted ways, that we are not implicated in the best and the worst of this national identity. If you don’t believe it, sit through three papers at an American literature conference and you will learn that our job is to learn Right Shame and to pretend that we are “global.”[b] Mailer, at his most antinomian, was always utterly civic-minded.

The fourth and final implication is really a corollary or an extension: Mailer is an underrated author. One dutifully mentions Melville by way of comparison, noting that Moby-Dick was shelved under cetology at Yale a hundred years back. One wonders if Mailer’s strange embarrassing humor now is the analogue of Melville’s strange embarrassing humor then. (Think about the last time you actually taught Moby-Dick and had occasion to discuss the marriage of Ishmael and Quohog in the Spouter’s Inn.) What will happen to Mailer in his literary afterlife? Alice Walker resurrected Zora Neale Hurston’s literary reputation a mere fifteen years after her bodily death. In the meantime, one has the more modest task of asking: Who was Mailer in the last ten years of his life to his readers? History has to change for Mailer to become more readable and perhaps less shocking–if I’m right. So let us engage in the work of communal prophecy-via-criticism and call our shots, saying where we think the stronger readers are emerging and where the work might go next.

I. Mailer's Writing From 1998-2008

While the real focus of this article is the scholarly response to Mailer’s work, Mailer has out-written all of his critics put together, and so a sketch of that work will be necessary at the outset. These books are: The Time of Our Time (1998), The Spooky Art: Some Thoughts on Writing (2003), Modest Gifts: Poems and Drawings (2003), Why Are We at War? (2003), Norman Mailer’s Letters on An American Dream, 1963–1969 (2004), The Big Empty with John Buffalo Mailer (2006), The Castle in the Forest (2007), and On God: An Uncommon Conversation with J. Michael Lennon (2007). Both The Time of Our Time and The Spooky Art present dangers of a sort of which younger Mailer readers need to be warned: Do not read through these books and think that you have before you the literary equivalent of an arctic ice core, something that provides a textual analogue to phenomenological history as measured by the author’s style.

Mailer has always rearranged his material in his retrospective collections, and the art of his collage technique has as much to do with spatial juxtaposition as it does with chronology. Mailer made this point about the “short hairs,” the poems that made Deaths for Ladies and Other Disasters and which have been rearranged and sometimes rewritten in Modest Gifts, a collection of doodles and doodle-poems. The scholar who wishes to discuss the evolutions of ideas and forms will have to work through the primary forms before deciding what the revisions of 1998–2008 add–but it is ridiculously unfair to suggest that Mailer’s collections were lazy cut-and-paste efforts that belie a lack of historical sense. Michiko Kakutani, however, makes the charge that “The Spooky Art is a manufactured book, an old-fashioned cut-and-paste job.” Mailer wrote a strong letter to The Times objecting to Kakutani’s pattern of attacks but taking particular umbrage at Kakutani’s claim that “all too often dates for statement” in The Spooky Art “are not supplied.” On April 9, 2003 the paper issued a correction:

The Books of the Times review on January 22, about The Spooky Art: Some Thoughts on Writing, a collection of works by Norman Mailer, referred erroneously to the absence of dates for some works republished and excerpted. While the dates were missing from the proof copy furnished to reviewers, the published book has thorough source notes at the back, compiled by the editor, J. Michael Lennon. A letter from Mr. Mailer dated March 24 pointed out the error.

All Mailer readers know that Mailer was a professional author who made sure he got paid twice for his writings as often as possible, just as Jack London and other highly productive authors did, but this is hardly an adequate response either to Mailer’s retrospective collections or his works on Picasso or Oswald. One could just as well, if one were given to agree with Kakutani, say that The Executioner’s Song was a “cut-and-paste” job, as if Mailer’s assemblage of a bewildering array of voices and texts does not form a lush and witty hand-woven carpet–a narrative that effectively transforms fragments of Gilmore’s life into a redemptive and beautiful narrative.

Norman Mailer’s Letters on An American Dream is a wonderful resource, detailing Mailer’s aesthetic considerations, his social world from the inside as most of us have never seen it before, and his responses to the weird reception much of his work has received as well. Mailer asks Diana Trilling to please invite Iris Murdoch to dinner as he has always wanted to meet her (71); he tells several correspondents that he thinks the responses to Dream were not only schizophrenic but were symptomatic, also, of the nation’s own tectonic fault lines (apologizing to Aldridge for the overloaded metaphor as he uses it: 74); and we see Mailer writing long, friendly, detailed letters to fans such as Mrs. Virginia M. Mangram: “Between us, I’m just a little tickled with the book, because no matter its larger merits or lack of them, I worked the surface of this book harder than anything I’ve ever written and so feel at last there’s a certain craftsmanship to something I’ve done. To me it purrs a little now. It’s a bitch of a book, at least I think so. If you don’t like it, or are a good bit disappointed, my god, I’ll respect you for saying so after reading all these fine words about me by me” (63). Evidence is accumulating to show that Mailer was actually one of the most gracious of the Truly Famous; in a few years or so, Lennon’s edited collection of Mailer letters will come out, and then the world will know.

Compared with Mailer’s best nonfiction, Why Are We at War? and The Big Empty are less intense efforts. In the former case, Mailer blasts the Bush administration appropriately, although it does seem a bit out of time for Mailer to claim that Bush and Company invaded Iraq to bolster whiteness and maleness. On God offers some interesting refinements on Mailer’s psycho-theology. On God, though it strikes me more as a series of lectures than a conversation, has a great deal of essential information for readers of The Gospel Acccording to the Son and The Castle in the Forest.

II. Book-Length Studies and Developing Resources

In the last ten years, there have been four book-length scholarly studies of Mailer’s work, none of them from major presses,3 and an annotated bibliography. There have also been three collections of essays about his work, if we count the special issue of Journal of Modern Literature (2006) that the JML editors downgraded to a “cluster of essays” and the first two issues of The Mailer Review (2007 and 2008), published by The Norman Mailer Society and co-sponsored with the University of South Florida.4 Other new resources include the Mailer papers at the Harry Ransom Center at The University of Texas at Austin, which in 2005 acquired a mind-bogglingly comprehensive archive of Mailer’s work. There is also the website of The Norman Mailer Society. Harvard University also acquired some papers of limited value when Carole Mallory sold her papers to America’s most prestigious university.

First book-length study: Mailer continues to receive more attention as a symptom rather than as a shaper of culture, and Mary V. Dearborn’s Mailer: a Biography is an excellent window into literary politics in postwar America. In presenting Mailer as an artist who has lost as much as he has gained by bargaining with fame, Dearborn raises important issues about the effects of celebrity culture on literature. Her account begins with Mailer’s fiftieth birthday party in 1973, in which he was to announce his plan for a “Fifth Estate,” a citizen watchdog group to monitor the activities of the FBI and the CIA. Mailer was intoxicated as he stepped up to the microphone and bungled the event. Dearborn examines Mailer’s every failure in excruciating detail and hypothesizes a Freudian repetition-compulsion at one point, but psychological explanation of Mailer’s behavior is in no way a priority in this text. Rather, Dearborn marshals the author’s crimes and misdemeanors to argue that Mailer has been cut off from the world in important ways by the celebrity that has been such an important part of his literary arsenal: “[H]e became famous seemingly overnight, and his stature ensured that he was shielded from reality by a tight band of supporters and family. When he tragically stumbled, stabbing Adele in 1960, his inner circle made sure that he would pay no price for the deed” (424). Previous biographers have covered what has been euphemistically called “the Trouble,” but none have been as astute as Dearborn in assessing the more painful consequences of America’s love affair with literary rebellion.

What, then, is Mailer’s achievement? Dearborn mercilessly assesses Mailer’s failures but finally concludes that he has “turned his celebrity to good account” (425). For Dearborn “Mailer... discovered that celebrity could open up doors to a new kind of cultural expression in which the artist’s personal and creative lives inform each other in beneficial ways” (425). While insisting that his experiments with celebrity have often been disastrous failures, Dearborn finally lauds Mailer for having opened up a cultural space that was not available previously, one which has been as important to ideological opponents as it was to himself: “[C]ould Germaine Greer not have known that without Norman Mailer she would perhaps not have been able to cut the figure she did, flamboyant in feathers, and as the author of The Female Eunuch, a feminist text that brilliantly mixed the personal and the political?” (425). This argument is often put forward by Mailer defenders, but it is more credible when it appears in Dearborn’s frequently severe assessment.

Though Dearborn claims that the life and the work are equally important in Mailer’s case, her non-hagiographic view of the life is worth much more than her approach to the writing. The Armies of the Night (1968) is for Dearborn Mailer’s best work, and it is an unsurprising opinion. She declares Of a Fire on the Moon (1971) “one of the most disastrous projects of his writing life,” which is a strange assessment when one considers the thoughtful responses to that work in studies by Kernan, Landow, and Tabbi. Dearborn’s discussions of the work occasionally strike one as breezy, and they seem to rely a little too much on the scuttlebutt of reviewers. For example, she claims that Oswald’s Tale (1995) received almost uniformly bad reviews, but actually this book received positive reviews in a number of publications. More ambitious works such as Ancient Evenings (1983) receive a competent overview, but the study offers no real surprises. Each generation, at any rate, must write its own biography of a phenomenon such as Mailer, and Dearborn’s is the most complete portrait from this period, 1998–2008. Since Robert Lucid’s death, J. Michael Lennon has taken over the job of writing an authorized biography.

...

Notes

  1. Richard Rorty attempted to exacerbate the conscience of the Left about this issue in Achieving Our Country when he cudgeled the American Academic Left for its improper lack of patriotism. Unfortunately, he used the typical AAD move of establishing his own superiority by scape-goating one of the fallen. Rorty attacked Mailer, Pynchon, and Leslie Marmon Silko. Rorty’s point about our ridiculous celebration of our own communal subversion might apply to Almanac of the Dead but is a poor reading of Vineland and Harlot’s Ghost. I wrote to Rorty about this and he graciously wrote back to say that I’d thought about these things more than he had and that I was probably right. For a discussion of Rorty on Mailer, see Rampton (2006) which takes up Achieving Our Country.
  2. I recommend Bruce Robbins on the distinction between “globalism” and “internationalism.” Internationalism is real solidarity, and you make sacrifices for and suffer with people across national boundaries because they are you—the national boundaries don’t create a border to limit your responsibility. Globalism, on the other hand, is the sentimental enjoyment of easy travel and cosmopolitanism of various sorts. We can feel superior to all the people who aren’t global. We can believe that our enjoyments are distinct from unfair advantages.

Citations

  1. Mailer 1959, p. 384.

Works Cited

  • . . .
  • Mailer, Norman (1959). Advertisements for Myself. New York: Putnam.
  • — (1983). Ancient Evenings. Boston: Little, Brown.
  • —; Mailer, John Buffalo (2006). The Big Empty: Dialogues on Politics, Sex, God, Boxing, Morality, Myth, Poker and Bad Conscience in America. New York: Nation Books.
  • — (2007). The Castle in the Forest. New York: Random House.
  • — (2003). Modest Gifts: Poems and Drawings. New York: Random House.
  • — (2004). Lennon, J. Michael, ed. Norman Mailer’s Letters on An American Dream, 1963–1969. Shavertown, PA: Sligo Press.
  • —; Lennon, J. Michael (2007). On God: An Uncommon Conversation. New York: Random House.
  • — (2003). Lennon, J. Michael, ed. The Spooky Art: Some Thoughts on Writing. New York: Random House.
  • — (1998). The Time of Our Time. New York: Random House.
  • — (2003). Why Are We at War?. New York: Random House.
  • . . .
  • Rampton, David (2006). "Plexed Artistry: The Formal Case for Mailer's Harlot's Ghost". Journal of Modern Literature. 30 (1): 47–63.
  • . . .