Little, Brown, 264 pp., $5.95
Vidal said, 'Let them be there!' And they were there. Tens of thousands of copies of Myra Breckinridge on bookstore tables across America. No free reviewer's copies. No advance publicity. Just Gore Vidal's underground novel selling and selling and selling. To my mother. To the movies. To me. Selling with such astonishing rapidity as to make the book's publication itself a parody of things underground. A parody so successful that one begins to wonder if the underground still exists, and where.
Review, 963 words
To read the full text of this piece, please choose one of the following options:
|
If you are already a subscriber to the Review's electronic edition, please sign in: |
To subscribe to the electronic edition, please press the button below. |
To purchase access to this article for $3, please press the button below. |