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The Mailer Review/Volume 2, 2008/Fighters and Writers: Difference between revisions

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sport’s mental aspect, which Torres so prizes, comes into play when physical abilities are comparable. Ali, the “Louisville Lip,” was able to back up his
sport’s mental aspect, which Torres so prizes, comes into play when physical abilities are comparable. Ali, the “Louisville Lip,” was able to back up his
bluster, even if he did so with an unorthodox style.
bluster, even if he did so with an unorthodox style.
The idea that boxers, individuals who choose to engage in a braindamaging game, are smart might strike the uninitiated as peculiar if not
ridiculous. Indeed, the strangeness of associating fighters with intelligence
cause some to doubt that Torres actually wrote his books ~he also published
a biography of Tyson!. A rumor suggested that Mailer actually wrote Torres’s
portions of the Ali book. Jonathan Rendell, in his brilliantly titled This
Bloody Mary Is the Last Thing I Own, recounts hearing a version of it.“Mailer
wrote it for him,” the man on the next barstool explained to Rendell. “That
was the deal they had. Torres taught Mailer how to box and Mailer wrote
Sting Like a Bee for him. Ain’t that something?” Mailer and Torres were
friends, and Mailer admitted to providing editorial aid to the fighter, who did
give the novelist some boxing pointers. Still, Mailer insists that the book is
genuine and not another instance of a boxer’s con game. For he did share his
friend’s views about pugilistic trickery. In his 1975 account of the AliForeman fight, Mailer explicitly invokes the D’Amato-Torres philosophy, a
key component of which is that a skilled boxer can block or evade any punch
they can see coming. “Champions were great liars,” Mailer explains in The
Fight. “They had to be. Once you knew what they thought, you could hit
them. So their personalities became masterpieces of concealment.”
However, Mailer elsewhere expresses the other widely held view of boxing, the one in which fighters are heroic warriors, which is precisely how
Mailer imagined writers, or at least himself. Although the solitary writer
slouching at a desk seems worlds apart from a well-conditioned fighter confronting an opponent in a ring, Mailer saw them as very similar. In The
Spooky Art, he insists the demands writing makes on a novelist, including
physical ones, are much like those a fighter confronts:
<blockqoute>Only a writer can know how much damage writing a novel can
do to you. It’s an unnatural activity to sit at a desk and squeeze
words out of yourself. Various kinds of poisons—essences of
fatigue—get secreted through your system. As you age it grows
worse. I believe that is one of the reasons I’ve been so interested
in prizefighters. I think often of the aging boxer who has to get
into shape for one more fight and knows the punishment it will
wreak on his body.... Even if he wins the fight—even if he wins
it well—he is not going to get a new purchase on life out of a
dazzling success, not in the way he did as a young fighter. That’s also true of my profession. Often, you have to make grave decisions: Am I going to attempt this difficult venture or not?</blockquote>
Put another way, writing is hard, just as boxing, more obviously, is hard. In
this comparison of fighters and writers, Mailer does not invoke cunning and
craftiness. Instead, he stresses earnest exertion.
Mailer goes even further in his search for commonality, arguing that boxers and writers are similar not only in the rigors they put themselves through
but also in their willingness to hurt others:
<blockqoute>Just as a fighter has to feel that he possesses the right to do physical damage to another man, so a writer has to be ready to take
chances with his readers’ lives. If you’re trying for something at
all interesting or difficult, then you cannot predict what the
results of your work will be. If it’s close enough to the root, people can be physically injured reading you. Full of heart, he was
also heartless—a splendid oxymoron. That can be the epitaph
for many a good novelist.</blockquote>
Mailer’s “splendid oxymoron” clearly applies to many a good boxer. However, he almost certainly exaggerates both the challenges a novelist faces and
the effect he or she can have on a reader. Yet he clearly liked the idea of having a fighter’s heartless heart—his will, determination, drive and
competitiveness—beating in his chest. For him, boxing serves as a handy
metaphor for what he imagined was his risky, intensely masculine style of
writing.
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