His death is a tragedy...not for the man who lived an incredibly full and rich life. It's a tragedy that the world is blind to his heroisim...his literary, intellectual, artistic heroism. Completely, tragically blind.
He wasn't always right (by far). He wasn't always artistically successful (by far). But he was always herioic...and always striving for greater heroism. Artistic, intellectual, personal heroism.
And our culture, our world has no idea what this means.
I can only take solace in the knowledge that all heroes aren't dead...and that these living heroes will someday bring that heroism to a blind and deaf world. And change it for the better.
Amen.
Seriously? I'm nervous about responding here, because I think this may be tongue-in-chceek. I can appreciate your opinion (if it's truly an opinion), but I think calling the man a "hero" is a bit...much.
First, he was no personal hero. I don't need to say any more about that, I'm sure.
Second, he wasn't a great writer in the way that Hemingway was, or Faulkner was, or even Updike. There, I said it. He wrote three or four fantastic books, he had a hand in making a couple of interesting films, he was a good (though, again, not great) journalist -- but as a novelist, that which he aspired to be and became at like 20 years old, he was not the master that he himself thought he was.
Still, still...he wrote a couple of IMMENSE novels and one book that is one of the finest I've ever read, that being
The Executioner's Song. And through it all, in my mind a discussion of great 20th century literature mentions Mailer only in the footnotes.