Random House, 449 pp., $8.95
I first met Gore Vidal in 1947 (or was it '49?). He was very young and looked spruce and golden. He had tawny hair and eyes that made me think of bees' abdomens drenched in pollen. The center of each eye, perhaps its iris, held a sting.' He wore a bow tie and a well-tailored light-brown English country-style suit. He discussed his success (had he just published The City and the Pillar?) like a joke which we shared. He showed me an envelope on the inside cover of which an ardent fan had glued an ecstatic self-photograph. He could not have been more enviable.
Review, 2947 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. |