Not long ago we got a special treat in the mail at BookPage: Gore Vidal: Snapshots in History’s Glare. This book (retail value: $40!) is a visual memoir of Vidal’s life, complete with pages and pages of photos, letters and other memorabilia (not to mention Vidal’s writing).

Vidal received a National Book Award in 1993 for his essay collection United States. He also ran for Congress in 1960; contributed to the script of Ben-Hur; and wrote many novels, including the classic (and controversial) The City and the Pillar.

I could go on – but instead, one lucky reader can read for him or herself in Vidal’s new book. Just answer the following question in the comments (think of this as a BookPage.com scavenger hunt):

Which of Vidal’s audio books was named as “Sukey’s Favorite” by BookPage audio book columnist Sukey Howard? I’ll choose a random winner from the correct answers. I’ll announce the lucky reader on Monday. Good luck!

Literary peanuts from The Spectator:

British novelist Anita Brookner in “Christmas Books: I” in The Spectator:

My absolute favourite is a reprint: Janet Malcolm’s Reading Chekhov. A Critical Journey (Granta, £8.99) which comes prefaced with a memorable Chekhovian observation: ‘What torture it is to cut the nails on your right hand!’

Surprising literary ventures

Wednesday, 7th October 2009

Gary Dexter

Death Likes it Hot by Gore Vidal

‘Recipe for a chic murder,’ runs the blurb on the back of Death Likes it Hot. ‘Take a social-climbing dowager; a house-party full of bright, brittle, amoral idlers; let simmer for a long hot summer weekend, and you get the fanciest killing of the season.’ ‘Recommended to all but maiden aunts,’ said the Manchester Evening News. ‘Welcome to another 100 percent thriller by Edgar Box,’ said the Glasgow Evening News. The Spectator joined in the general praise: ‘The relaxed urbanity of Mr Box ensures a smooth surface finish.’ Indeed. Only it wasn’t by Edgar Box. Edgar Box was a pseudonym for Gore Vidal. After publishing The City and the Pillar in 1948, no mainstream newspaper in the USA would review his literary novels, so he decided to turn out thrillers. And who could resist a thriller that starts like this:

Surprising literary ventures

Wednesday, 18th November 2009

Gary Dexter

The Benefit of Farting by Jonathan Swift

The Benefit of Farting was published in pamphlet form in 1722, ostensibly by one Don Fartinando Puff-Indorst, Professor of Bumbast at the University of Crackow (a ‘crack’ being 18th-century slang for a fart). Its real author, however, was Jonathan Swift, though you will search in vain through biographies to find any reference to the fact. That The Benefit of Farting was a real emanation of the Dean of St Patrick’s is hardly to be doubted, since it appeared in the fifth edition of his Miscellanies of 1736, when the author himself was still alive. And it is, in its way, very characteristic: the preoccupation is not merely scatological but religious and political, and the title itself is a parody of ‘The Benefit of Fasting’, a chapter in The Rule and Exercises of Holy Living (1650) by the most celebrated religious writer of the previous century, Jeremy Taylor, Bishop of Down and Connor and Vice-Chancellor of the University of Dublin.

Swift ends by proving not only that the suppression of farts leads to ‘Quakerism and Enthusiasm’ but also to the excessive talkativeness of women. As he puts it:

“Actually, there is no such thing as a homosexual person, any more than there is such a thing as a heterosexual person. The words are adjectives describing sexual acts, not people. And the sexual acts are entirely normal; if they were not, no one would perform them.”

Gore Vidal

Photographed by asterix611

Writer Gore Vidal presents his visual memoirs "Snapshots in History’s Glare," which includes photographs, letters and manuscripts that give insight into his life.

– License

Gore Vidal Knocks His Longtime Rival, Bill Buckley, During National Book Awards.

I love this guy.

“Estella in Hell”

1. She took the young boy’s soul, carefully folded it into a small, asymmetrical package and neatly slipped it into her pocket next to the meaning of life. As the boy slumped dreadfully forward she moved out past the vivisected trees and beneath the soft, slow thrum of the arc sodium lights where the red green glow of neon pulsed against her slick flesh, and caused her ragged eyes to itch deeply as if abraded by some irritant. Each awful step brought her closer to the edge of oblivion, and she did not care. Somewhere in the middle distance behind her the boy was dissolving into the jagged cobblestone street. His body melted.

2. On the morning that she was supposed to be married, she slipped into the bathroom and wiped the steam from the mirror. She flinched at the sight of her image in the glass. When she tried to pour the blue pills from the brown bottle into her hand she spilled them in the sink. A few of them rolled around in slowly decreasing circles. She thought about gathering them up and taking them any way. Then she thought better of it. Instead she changed into sweat pants and a T-shirt and walked away from the whole damn thing.

3. She didn’t expect her parents to forgive her.

4. Her body described an arc, a curved line delineating the place that was not quite ocean, and not quite sand. The air, heavy with salt and cool as it rushed up from the sea, washed over her bare flesh leaving goose bumps in its wake. She knew that if she lay here long enough the waves would lap over her, and pull her down into the ocean. Oblivion. As the water reached that point where it was about to consume her, she lifted herself up, moved further up the beach, found her clothes and covered her too white skin. Behind her was an indention in the wet sand, which had been formed by the weight of her body. Walking back to her car she picked bits of sand out of her long red hair. Maybe tomorrow, she thought.

5. Driving down the highway along the coast she had rolled the windows down and closed her eyes. The wind whipped her hair around, and drowned out the hum of the engine. When she realized that she hadn’t slid off the road, she opened her eyes and turned on the radio. She found an oldies station, and turned the volume way up. Otis Redding was moaning about lost love, and she was thinking of a man who was almost certainly mourning her.

6. When she was seven the neighbor boy, Harold, had offered to show her his, if she would show him hers. She had agreed to the deal, but demanded that he go first. Then she had chickened out. Ran away. That had been the model for all of her relationships thereafter.

7. On the day that she admitted to her parents that she had been using a wide variety of illicit and illegal drugs her father had broken into incredible rage and shouted words like “whore”, “bitch”, and “cunt”; her mother had merely sunken into a deep and resonant silence. After that they hadn’t spoken much. Estella didn’t really mind. She didn’t have much to say to them anyway. Like the man said: to thine own self be true.

8. She made a list of the things she felt like. They were: Cancer; rotten fruit; A fish twisting on a hook; . Radio static in the space between AM stations with lousy reception on a long drive across the darkened highways of the rain splattered upper Midwest on the cusp of a new century; One of those pigeons that can’t fly, but only flips over backwards and crashes into the ground when it tries; A rusty carburetor in a world of sleek fuel injection systems and computerized starters. A 1976 Chevy Impala that has been junked, stripped for scrap and piled or filed away behind the high fence that marks the edge of some back country road where a city will never grow; the number nine; death. She decided not to make anymore lists.

9. She thought about calling him, trying to explain why she had jilted him. She never got around to it.

& She thought about finding a new man. Or, failing that, sinking into a warm bath and opening her veins. The blood would flow out and mix with the water. By the time they found her it would be too late.

10. She pulled her car onto the freeway and headed east.

The Funeral Singer (G)

Professional funeral singer-for-hire Marcie Shriver (Bette Midler), frustrated by never having made it on Broadway where she feels she belongs, is determined to display her talent wherever she can, no matter how inappropriate the situation. (And it seems her confidence isn’t misplaced, as she always has the grieving mourners, on their feet, whooping and begging for an encore.)

But when Marcie’s estranged daughter, cerebral palsy sufferer Molly Shriver (Katherine Heigl), is diagnosed with swine flu and given just days to live, her relatives gather at her bedside and Marcie must prepare for the gig of her life and face her toughest crowd yet: her family! (Family includes estranged father (Gore Vidal), estranged sister (Meryl Streep), estranged cousin (Rupert Everett), etc…)

In a surprise twist of fate, Molly makes a full recovery from the flu while Marcie suffers a massive (and fatal) stroke. So it’s Molly who must take on the role of funeral singer, to perform a nauseatingly sentimental tribute to her mother.

"..and it cuts...ng-woiiike a knife........she's out of my....ng!...ng!.."

Impressions of New York from a literary émigré.

Excerpt from: Christopher ISHERWOOD, Christopher and His Kind, 1929-1939 (1976)

[At the end of Christopher's brief visit in 1938, he had felt absolutely confident of one thing, at least. If he did decide to settle in America - and, by America, he meant New York - he would be able to make himself at home there. This, he said to himself, was a setting in which his public personality would function more freely, more successfully than it could ever have functioned in London. Oh, he'd talk faster and louder than any of the natives. He'd pick up their slang and their accent. He'd learn all their tricks. Someone had repeated to him a saying about the city: "Here you'll find sympathy in the dictionary and everything else at the nearest drugstore." This delighted him. He had accepted it as a challenge to be tough.

But now New York, on that bitter winter morning, appeared totally, shockingly transformed from the place he had waved goodbye to, the previous July. Christopher experienced a sudden panicky loss of confidence.

There they stood in the driving snow - the made-in-France Giantess with her liberty torch, which now seemed to threaten, not welcome, the newcomer; and the Red Indian island with its appalling towers. There was the Citadel–stark, vertical, gigantic, crammed with the millions who had already managed to struggle ashore and find a foothold. You would have to fight your way inland from your very first step onto the pier. Already, it was threatening you with its tooting tugboats, daring you to combat.

God, what a terrifying place this suddenly seemed! You could feel it vibrating with the tension of the nervous New World, aggressively flaunting its rude steel nudity. We’re Americans here–and we keep at it, twenty-four hours a day, being Americans. We scream, we grab, we jostle. We’ve no time for what’s slow, what’s gracious, what’s nice, quiet, modest. Don’t you come snooting us with your European traditions–we know the mess they’ve got you into. Do things our way or take the next boat back–back to your Europe that’s falling apart at the seams. Well, make up your mind. Are you quitting or staying? It’s no skin off our nose. We promise nothing. Here, you’ll be on your own.

Christopher, trying hard to think positive thoughts, declared that he was staying. But the Giantess wasn’t impressed. The towers didn’t care. Okay, Buster, suit yourself.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I came across my first copy of Christopher Isherwood’s combined narrative, The Berlin Stories, in what had been Muddy Waters, on Valencia at twenty-fourth. I grabbed it because it was extremely weathered; much of the binding was crumbling apart, the pages were well worn, and mysterious greenish blue splotches had soaked across various surfaces of the book—the New Directions first edition paperback. I was living in the Mission studio at the time, and it sat on my bookshelf for a long time. Many books tend to get picked up, many go on the shelf, and they are slowly read. Isherwood’s name surely appeared on some list somewhere, in the words of some critic elsewhere, or off the lips of some teaching assistant or professor wherefrom my notion of having him on the long list of works to be read originated in the first place. My friend Laura had occasion to be at the studio, pick up the book, and read enough to tell me about some alternative sex mentioned in the text, bringing an immediate peak in interest. Starting The Berlin Stories, I quickly felt engaged with the first of the composite narratives, Mr. Norris Changes Trains. Isherwood’s self-proclaimed parlour socialism, characters, and charming prose fed this initial enthusiasm. Not long after this, I put the book down in a waiting room and forgot to pick it back up, perhaps appropriately. Upon returning the next week, it was gone. Desperate to press on, I turned to the public library. Finishing The Berlin Stories, I have since read my way down the shelf of Isherwood’s books, and found his works to be delightful to read, well-written, and inspiring ever since.

Having long thought about Isherwood’s writings, and my own journey as a writer, I have noticed clear rousers of this predilection for Christopher Isherwood. He is often noted and celebrated as a prominent gay writer. He was a student of languages; travelling frequently and with relish, Isherwood eventually lived more of his life out of his home country than in it. His political tones tinged perfectly in my aspirant leftist ears. He blends the autobiographical details and moments with fictional storytelling in his prose, creating a sense of intimacy as you grow familiar with him as mere vessel for his cast of misfit characters. I find myself having much affinity for Isherwood himself, and his model as writer. His autobiographies are excellent too, and he had many interesting peers whom I have grown to appreciate as well.

Reading Christopher and His Kind was a great experience, as my love for Isherwood’s work had long since developed. Upon visiting friends in New York and walking through Manhattan, I came upon a $4.55 first edition hardcover copy of Christopher and His Kind at Housing Works. Snatching it up, I burned through it over the course of the long weekend, and came upon the excerpt above en route back to San Francisco. What can I say; I love New York as only one raised in the northern suburban sprawl of Los Angeles can do. New York is noise while the sprawl is silence. I love Isherwood’s quick image of New York: one that begins with confidence, but fades in the face of the city. I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge for the first time on the same trip, and felt for the first time that I saw the city, in that grand visual where the city is unfathomably large and seething with action, regardless of you, your thoughts, your intentions or needs. His description becomes cold and alarming, just as the stark wall of the city is cold and alarming in its sheer scale and rigidness. Sometimes I feel similar feelings, to a lesser degree, passing from either the Bay Bridge or Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco. But New York feels alive, whereas San Francisco feels quaint once over that bridge. (To qualify, San Francisco does have a very special place in my heart.) I love when Isherwood says,

“You could feel it vibrating with the tension of the nervous New World…”

as I enjoy the pulse and energy of the denser urban center, and identify with these words in particular.  The subways of New York, while sometimes decrepit and rotting, convey a time and usage to me that speaks to its value as space and art in itself. When you are walking the tunnels (so delightfully reminiscent of the passages in subway systems like the Parisian Métro) or waiting at the platform, you can sense the city humming, feel the heat from the metropolis radiating over you in the yellowish subterranean electric light.

In the end, it turns out Isherwood ended up choosing the coast of southern California, and not New York, as his home in this country. He lived, taught writing, and wrote many of his later works while living in that Los Angeles sprawl mentioned above—including most notably the poetic representations of mid-century Los Angeles in A Single Man.* I have thought myself confident and bold enough to pick my life up and continue it in New York. I too would throw myself into the throng, elbow into the stream of the city’s life, and be present for all that the city could throw me. However, against the reality of moving to a new place that possesses much harsher weather and a frightful cost of living, my own confidence ebbs as well. At this point, I certainly hope that I myself do not live out my days in Los Angeles, merely because I have already spent eighteen years worth of them in that one place. As Isherwood was born and lived his early life in England but moved west to finish it in Los Angeles, maybe I can do the opposite and work my way gradually eastward from a childhood spent in outer Los Angeles, through San Francisco and onto New York, and eventually to London?

Jarrod Armour (11/20/2009)

*A novel dedicated to the spectacular Gore Vidal, another writer whose work I admire highly. Vidal is also the author of a particularly good essay on Christopher and His Kind, in his collection: Sexually Speaking: Collected Sex Writings.

Gore Vidal makes a cameo appearance in Federico Fellini’s Roma  (1972):

We’re bummed that Michigan authors Bonnie Jo Campbell and David Small didn’t get the final nod, but we’re proud to have two Michigan authors as finalists for the 2009 National Book Awards!

They announced the winners last night as:

Fiction: Colum McCann Let the Great World Spin

Nonfiction: T. J. Stiles The First Tycoon: The Epic Life of Cornelius Vanderbilt

Poetry: Keith Waldrop Transcendental Studies: A Trilogy

Young People’s Literature: Phillip Hoose Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice

Distinguished Contribution to American Letters: Gore Vidal

Literarian Award: Dave Eggers

The Best of the National Book Awards Fiction: The Complete Stories By Flannery O’Connor

The Rumpus has a chat with writer/artist, Chelsea Martin.  Everything Was Fine Until Whatever is her book on Future Tense Publishing, and thanks to the interview, I’ve become obsessed with the above drawing.

• “Frankly we would have been offended if he wasn’t shortlisted.” Nick Cave’s publisher on his nomination for the best of bad sex writing.

• Colum McCann is the National Book Award winner. Yippie!

• Gore Vidal and Dave Eggers also won.

• Greil Marcus as editor of the The Paris Review?  That would be cool.

• Christians like that Jewish guy who didn’t write that book about “chasing homely girls”.  (Thanks HTML Giant)

• Lemony Snicket puts his books on the internet.

Let’s get political.

• Atheists in the UK are working harder than atheists in the US.

• Two sides of the Sarah Palin coin at The Daily Beast.

• In Texas, if the gays can’t get married, nobody can be married.

Food and booze.

• The Young and Hungry talk to some guys who made Italian-style Bellisima Enchiladas.  I will repeat, they made Italian-style Bellisima Enchiladas.

• Drink more to make your heart happy.

Motoko Rich brings us the winners of the National Book Awards:

Colum McCann won the National Book Award for fiction on Wednesday night for “Let the Great World Spin,” a novel featuring a sprawling cast of characters in 1970s New York City whose lives are ineluctably touched by the mysterious tightrope walker who traverses a wire suspended between the Twin Towers one morning.

In accepting the award, the Irish-born Mr. McCann, now a teacher of creative writing at Hunter College, said, “As fiction writers and people who believe in the word, we have to enter the anonymous corners of human experience to make that little corner right.” The book was published by Random House.

In the nonfiction category, T. J. Stiles won for “The First Tycoon: The Epic Life of Cornelius Vanderbilt,” a biography of the man who fathered a dynasty, presided over a railroad empire and, in the words of the judging panel, “all but invented unbridled American capitalism” ….

…. Perhaps the most moving moment of the night came with the presentation of the award for Young People’s Literature, which went to Phillip Hoose for “Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice,” a biography of Ms. Colvin, who as an African-American teenager in 1950s Montgomery, Ala., refused to give up her seat on a bus nine months before Rosa Parks took the same stand.

Mr. Hoose brought Ms. Colvin onto the stage to accept the award. “My job was to pull someone who was about to disappear under history’s rug,” he said. The book was published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux.

Additionally, Keith Waldrop snagged the poetry award for Transcendental Studies: A Trilogy (Univ. of California Press); Dave Eggers took home the Literarian Award for Outstanding Service to the American Literary Community, which recognized his efforts for 826 National, a nonprofit organization dedicated to helping young writers. Gore Vidal received the award for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters, and apparently gave a cryptic acceptance speech.

-bd

The National Book Awards ceremony was held earlier this evening at Cipriani Downtown in New York City. Shortly after the dinner began, host Andy Borowitz took the stage. The Medal for Distinguished Contribution to Literature was presented to Gore Vidal (recently interviewed by John Meroney at The Atlantic). Dave Eggers was then awarded the Literarian Award for Outstanding Service to the Literary Community which was presented by Samatha Hunt, author of the novel, The Invention of Everything Else. The Best of the National Book Awards is an award given to one of the 77 books which have won the National Book Award for fiction over the past 60 years and was given to The Complete Stories of Flannery O’Connor.

Philip Hoose won the National Book Award for Young People’s Literature for his book, Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice. The other finalists in this category were Deborah Heiligman for Charles and Emma: The Darwins’ Leap of Faith, David Small for Stitches: A Memoir (reviewed here), Laini Taylor for Lips Touch: Three Times, and Rita Williams-Garcia for Jumped.

Keith Waldrop won the National Book Award for Poety for his poetry collection, Transcendental Studies: A Trilogy. The other poetry finalists were Rae Armantrout for Versed: Wesleyan Poetry, Ann Lauterbach for Or To Begin Again, Carl Phillips for Speak Low: Poems, and Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon for Open Interval.

 T. J. Styles won the National Book Award for Nonfiction for The First Tycoon: The Epic Life of Cornelius Vanderbilt. Finalists in this category were David M. Carroll for Following the Water: A Hydromancer’s Notebook, Dr. Sean B. Carroll for Remarkable Creatures: Epic Adventures in the Search for the Origins of Species, Greg Grandin for Fordlandia: The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City, and Adrienne Mayor for The Poison King: The Life and Legend of Mithradates, Rome’s Deadliest Enemy.

Colum McCann won the National Book Award for Fiction for Let the Great World Spin. The other fiction finalists were Bonnie Jo Campbell for American Salvage, Daniyal Mueenuddin for In Other Rooms, Other Wonders, Jayne Anne Phillips for Lark and Termite, and Marcel Theroux for Far North.

Information about this year’s judges and links to author interviews can be found at The National Book Foundation’s website. The award dinner and ceremony will be shown on BookTV (C-span2) November 21, 2009 at 8:00 p.m. EST and November 22, 2009 at 9:00 a.m. EST.

If you’re planning to see “Amelia,” the new Amelia Earhart biopic now in theaters, keep an eye out for recent “Studio 360″ guest Gore Vidal — or at least the actor playing him. The film takes place long before he became notorious for his envelope-pushing novels and on-air political smackdowns with William F. Buckley. At the time he knew the famous female aviator, Vidal was still a kid. But it turns out that his father, Gene, was an able pilot in his own right and one of Earhart’s great loves.

Hilary Swank as Earhart and Ewan McGregor as Gene Vidal in Fox Searchlight Pictures' "Amelia" (Photo by Ken Woroner)

Kurt asked Vidal to share his memories of this period, but the conversation was lost somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle and crash landed on the cutting room floor. Fortunately, it has been recovered and posted for your enjoyment:

You can see a photo taken at Glen Echo in the just-published scrapbook-style memoir, Gore Vidal: Snapshots in History’s Glare. It shows Amelia congratulating Gene Vidal on his appointment as director of Air Commerce under Franklin Roosevelt. Further evidence that Gore knew everyone.

Listen to the full interview here:

- Jordan Sayle

from here and here.

Am I getting ahead of myself? Oh, the joys of inexperience. The Obama presidency has been destroyed by naive overreach – pursuit of the Public Option, the Trojan Horse of the Single Payer crowd. By the Tea Party Movement. Indeed, by the American people, who simply don’t believe in the things that the radicals controlling Washington believe.

Senior Congressional Democrats told ABC News today it is highly unlikely that a health care reform bill will be completed this year, just a week after President Barack Obama declared he was “absolutely confident” he’ll be able to sign one by then.

They can spin however they want about this not being a referendum on the president and the leadership in congress – the truth is, the Messiah has landed, and he’s not walking on water. His power to pass Cap & Trade, Immigration Reform, and even Health Reform – anything on the radical agenda – are now severely diminished.

“Getting this done by the by the end of the year is a no-go,” a senior Democratic leadership aide told ABC News. Two other key Congressional Democrats also told ABC News the same thing.

If they’re working on health care next year, during a congressional election season, the crowd in the capital will be much less interested in slapping the American people in the face by ignoring our opinion.

This may come as an unwelcome surprise for the White House, where officials from the president on down have repeatedly said the health care bill would be signed into law by the end of the year.

There will long lines of Senators and Reps looking to talk to leadership today, and there will lots of hemming and hawing over prior commitments to vote socialist.

“I am absolutely confident that we are going to get health care done by the end of this year, and Nancy Pelosi is just as confident,” Obama said Oct. 27 at a fundraiser for the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee.

Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi may still be confident — and her spokesman Brendan Daly said today, “We are going to get our part done” — but the reason for the delay can be found in the Senate.

In the Senate, Harry Reid started backing off yesterday, even before the returns were all in.

Majority Leader Harry Reid, D-Nev., spoke as Democratic officials said it could be December before Senate debate begins in earnest on the issue atop President Barack Obama’s domestic agenda, months after senior lawmakers and the White House had hoped. The drive to pass legislation has been plagued for months by divisions within the party’s rank and file.

Richard Swank and Hilary Swank hope they've found the route to success.

(Fox Searchlight) Hilary Swank, Richard Gere, Ewan McGregor, Christopher Eccleston, Mia Wasikowska, Cherry Jones, Joe Anderson, Aaron Abrams, William Cuddy, Dylan Roberts, Scott Yaphe, Tom Fairfoot, Ryann Shane. Directed by Mira Nair

One of the more fascinating figures of the 20^th century was Amelia Earhart. An aviatrix in a time where the skies were dominated by men, she was unafraid to take bold chances in pursuing her dream. In the process, she empowered women to follow their dreams and became one of the most popular celebrities of her time, yet today she is perhaps more generally remembered for her mysterious disappearance on her final flight.

Young Amelia Earhart (Shane) grew up in Atchison, Kansas on the wide-open plains but even these endless horizons were not endless enough for her. She sees an airplane flying overhead and dreams of chasing the clouds in the sky.

Grown-up Amelia (Swank) is summoned to an interview with publisher and latter-day P.T. Barnum George Putnam (Gere), who is looking for someone to be the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. Several women had made the attempt but none had as yet succeeded. Amelia is eager to fly but Putnam frankly doesn’t think she has the skill. She will be little more than an ornament on the flight, ostensibly given the command of a pilot (Anderson) – who is oddly named Bill in the movie, but whose name was Wilmer Stultz in reality – and navigator Louis “Slim” Gordon (Abrams). They arrive in Scotland in 1928 and Earhart is catapulted into fame and fortune.

She goes out on the lecture circuit, co-authors a book about her experiences and endorses a variety of products from luggage to clothes to cigarettes (which she only reluctantly does as a non-smoker in order to make sure that her fellow aviators from the Trans-Atlantic flight were paid). She is clearly uncomfortable with the circus but realizes that it is necessary for her to jump through these hoops in order to finance the flights she wants to make.

In addition, she and Putnam become romantically involved and although he wants to marry her, she resists. She doesn’t want her freedom to be impinged on, or have her dreams crushed by the weight of being a wife and mother. Eventually, after Putnam promises that they will be “at the dual controls” of their relationship, she relents.

At a high society party, she meets Gene Vidal (McGregor), former Olympic athlete, suave high society member and aeronautics instructor at West Point. The attraction between the two is immediate and palpable. Even Putnam notices it but chooses to ignore it. Amelia recommends to Eleanor Roosevelt (Jones) that Vidal be named the first Director of the Bureau of Air Commerce (the forerunner to the F.A.A.) which surprises the First Lady since she thought Earhart would be more enthusiastic about a woman in the role.

In 1932, she launches her most ambitious flight yet – a solo Trans-Atlantic flight. She would be the first person since Lindbergh to accomplish it (and of course the first woman). Although Putnam has misgivings, he bids her farewell witha “See you.” Amelia, who was supposed to land in Paris, instead touches down in an Irish meadow, greeting an astonished shepherd and his flock with an enthusiastic “Hello, sheep!!!”

Once home the adulation increases and she finds herself even more constrained and feeling trapped. She begins an affair with Vidal whose son Gore (Cuddy) would eventually grow up to become a famous author and essayist. When Putnam finds a love letter she’d written to Vidal and she realizes how much she’s hurt him, she ends her affair with Vidal.

However, now her sights are set on a feat that nobody had been able to accomplish – an around the world flight. Using a bit of chicanery, Putnam arranges for Purdue University to establish a department of aeronautics with Amelia as chair and has them buy her a Lockheed Elektra as a “flying laboratory.”

But a flight around the world isn’t as easy as it sounds. There is one gap in the Pacific where the expanse of ocean is so broad that refueling is nearly impossible. Amelia doesn’t have the skill needed for air refueling so it is decided a refueling stop would be made on Howland Island, a tiny little low-lying spit of sand in the vast blue of the Pacific. A navigator with experience in celestial navigation is needed and Fred Noonan (Eccleston) is hired, although he has a history of drinking.

Their first try ends in disaster. A mechanical failure causes the Elektra to crash on take-off from Honolulu. They repair the plane but the route must be changed; instead of flying east to west, they must now fly west to east in order to avoid inclement weather. That would put the most dangerous leg, from New Guinea to Howland, near the end of the flight, a flight that would end in tragedy but would elevate Earhart into legend.

Director Mira Nair has made movies with a feminist bent in her career, so this would seem to be a good fit. Swank also physically resembles Earhart pretty closely both in body type and face. She has also picked up the cadences of Earhart’s speech which is a bit of distraction at times – it sounds like Swank is in a screwball comedy – but is authentic at least.

Nair has recreated the roaring ‘20s and the Depression-era ‘30s very nicely, from the costuming and set design to the cadences of speech. She also incorporates newsreel footage of the actual Earhart as well as newspaper headlines to further give perspective to Earhart’s fame and accomplishments.

One of the things that I have to remark upon is the aerial photography. Nair delivers some breathtaking imagery of what Earhart must have seen from her vantage point in the sky. You can see the appeal it must have had to aviators to witness the wonders of our world from a height where you can actually make them out.

The last scenes are harrowing, as Eccleston and Swank deliver painful performances displaying the anguish, fear, frustration and despair the two must have felt as their fuel dwindled and Earhart was unable to communicate with the U.S.S. Itasca, a Coast Guard cutter dispatched to assist her in reaching Howland. Even though we know how the story ends, the tension level is very high, rendering these scenes some of the most effective in the film.

The issue I have with the movie is that it doesn’t really give you any more of a sense of who Amelia Earhart was. She loved to fly, check. She took some risks, check. Advocated civil aviation and encouraged women to fly, check and double check. There are some moments where we get a glimpse of who Amelia might have been but the writers don’t really delve deeply into it. What we get is a bit too much reverence and not enough intuition. The movie is like an issue of Vogue – very glossy but ultimately of little substance. However, the subject matter and the photography are enough to make you want to read the magazine anyway.

REASONS TO GO: The movie captures the period very effectively. The aerial shots are not to be missed. Swank gives an energetic performance that is charming in places. The final scenes of Amelia’s last flight are very well handled, keeping the viewer on the edge of their seats even though they know how the story ends.

REASONS TO STAY: I never got a sense that I had gotten to know Earhart any better than I had before I saw the movie. While the story of Amelia Earhart is fascinating, the movie seemed to capture only her essence rather than fleshing her out. I left feeling there was a better film to be made on the subject, never a good thing.

FAMILY VALUES: There is some implied sexuality, and plenty of drinking and smoking but otherwise suitable for all ages.

TRIVIAL PURSUIT: Mia Wasikowska, who played Elinor Smith here, will next be seen in the title role in Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland.

HOME OR THEATER: The sweeping aerial shots make seeing this in a theater a worthwhile endeavor.

FINAL RATING: 6/10

TOMORROW: The Taking of Pelham 123 (2009)

The 83-year-old Vidal recently told The Atlantic magazine he has no sympathy for Samantha Geimer, Polanski’s victim.Even though I’m huge fan of Gore, he may have take this a little bit too far.I dont even understand why he did  feel necessary to express his opinion on the matter when Polanski himself pleaded guilty in 1977 after being indicted for raping the girl.

“Look, am I going to sit and weep every time a young hooker feels as though she’s being taken advantage of?”said Vidal, a screenwriter and novelist, who ran in the same circles as Polanski in the 1970s.

He said the media pushed a false image of Geimer.. He fled to Europe before he was sentenced. He was arrested in Switzerland in September and faces extradition.

From the new guys:

Obsidian says it’s much easier for women to get laid.

Double-Minded Man muses on his former life as a nice guy.

Sonic Charmer notes the correlation between progressivism and whiteness.

Genius comments on Israeli girls’ lack of femininity, pens a guide to men’s room etiquette, and shares my taste in sexytime music.

Gerard O’Neill writes on the consequences of a potential “grey flight” from Ireland.

Indomitable Thoughts revels in kicking women off of the pedestal.

And the rest:

Cless Alvein coins a new term for our sexual dystopia.

Prime relates what Dr. James Watson has taught him.

Chuck writes on the feminist conspiracy to destroy organized sports.

Dave from Hawaii shares his thoughts on the death of femininity.

Novaseeker reports on two related cases of feminist kvetching.

Roissy takes those who doubt the power of game to task.

The Elusive Wapiti argues against government marriage.

Zdeno pens another guest post at 2 Blowhards on fixing the university system.

Al Fin reports on Europe’s demographic future.

Alpha Dominance details how women misrepresent themselves in order to get men to commit.

11minutes explains why sluts are shamed and studs are saluted.

Anakin Niceguy says there is no such thing as involuntary celibacy.

Alex Birch tells guys to man up and inveighs against Randism.

Frank Azzurro reviews Total Recall.

Φ gives his thoughts on the biopic Notorious.

Fabius Maximus analyzes the collapse of the Old Media.

FeministX tells us why she hates sports.

Fishersville Mike compares Doug Hoffman to Barack Obama.

Three posts from Girl Game: Aoefe talks about kissing, Bhetti writes on temperateness and tempestuousness in relationships, and LovelySexyBeauty analyzes the bitch shield.

Trumwill argues against following your dreams.

Khankrumthebulgar muses on Gore Vidal calling Roman Polanski’s victim a “hooker” and other issues.

Dennis Mangan presents evolution as a asset for reactionaries.

HVanDerMerwe explains why you shouldn’t marry women over 25.

OneSTDV writes on left-wing pessimism.

Rake analyzes a day game approach.

Pons Seclorum criticizes Glenn Beck’s characterization of Theodore Roosevelt as a progressive.

Roosh outlines eighteen reasons why guys don’t get laid.

Talleyrand retells two conversations he had with two different older men.

Alkibiades explains why there is a sexual double standard.

Ben Leonard writes on how sterilization is driving us towards an androgenous world.

Chip Smith questions the facts of the Bill Sparkman murder.

J critiques Kevin MacDonald’s analysis of the Frankfurt School.

Assanova calls it quits.

Hugh MacIntyre posits the possibility of a Scottish independence referendum next year.

Slumlord talks about the limits of game.

Dylan Sauders lists the mistakes guys make on Halloween.

Eric Disco explains how to get women to chase you.

G Manifesto distinguishes between “pure game” and “tricking.”

Guy White rolls out a myth-smashing four-part series on Jewish power in the U.S.

The Audacious Epigone presents more evidence that women don’t care about non-biological science.

Tucker Max speculates on why I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell bombed at the box office.

Andromeda argues for the legalization of prostitution.

Archivist writes on how feminist beliefs enable rape.

Robert Franklin reports on the effects of fatherlessness on animal brain development.

Marc Rudov says why the GOP should try to appeal to men.

Agnostic gives a perfectly rational reason why straight guys should hate gay men.

Robert Greene releases an free e-book summarizing his newest release, The 50th Law.

Cassandra Goldman shows how laws designed to protect adolescents end up hurting them.

Emach states why China will not become a superpower and takes down the feminist absurdity of hyphenated names.

Larry Arnhart writes on Darwinism and human rights.

Silas Reinagel details how women are responsible for the current divorce epidemic.

John Robb gives advice to inquisitive youngsters.

Half Sigma opines on Judaism.

Joe Bageant contrasts the American and Mexican work ethics.

Karen De Coster blogs on the Gardasil and Cervarix scam.

Robert Higgs reports on the problems with democracy.

Mark Richardson states that feminists focusing on sex liberation are fighting a losing battle.

Will Grigg writes on how Obama is wrecking America.

John Dolan trashes Thomas Friedman’s The Lexus and the Olive Tree.

Aldus de ‘uitdagende en grappige’ Gore Vidal, befaamd Amerikaans schrijver en ‘linkse intellectueel’. De tekst in vet zijn de oorspronkelijke interviewvragen zoals die gesteld zijn door John Meroney in The Atlantic van 29 oktober j.l.:

“Afgelopen september werd filmregisseur Roman Polanski in Zwitserland gearresteerd voor het wederrechtelijk ontvluchten van de Verenigde Staten in 1978. Hij verliet de VS na veroordeeld te zijn voor de verkrachting van een 13-jaar oud meisje in het huis van Jack Nicholson in Hollywood. Gedurende de tijd dat dit incident speelde, werkte u in de filmindustrie. U en Polanski hadden een gemeenschappelijke vriend, de theaterregisseur Kenneth Tynan. Hoe staat u tegenover Polanski, na zoveel jaren?

Ik geef er geen fuck om [sic]. Kijk, denk je dat ik een potje ga lopen grienen als één of ander jong hoertje vindt dat er misbruik van haar is gemaakt?

Dit is een versie van het verhaal dat ík in ieder geval nooit heb gehoord.

In de eerste plaats zat ik er middenin, we zaten er toen allemaal middenin. Iedereen kende iedereen – er was toen sprake van een heel ander verhaal dat in niets lijkt op wat we nu verteld worden.

Wat bedoelt u?

De media ziet het altijd verkeerd. Bovendien is er gebruikelijk een antisemitisch en homofobe houding in de pers – een boel gekke dingen. Het idee dat dit meisje haar communiejurkje aan had, een witgekleed engeltje, die verkracht werd door die rotjood, Polacko – zo werd hij genoemd – nou, dat verhaal was toen heel anders dan nu.”

Het meisje waar Gore Vidal zo tegen tekaar gaat was Samantha Geimer die op dertienjarige leeftijd werd gedrogeerd en verkracht door Roman Polanski.

The Atlantic omschrijft Gore Vidal als een Amerikaans ‘literair en cultureel icoon’. Een eikon is een afbeelding, dat weten we. Maar waar is Gore Vidal dan een afbeelding van? Is het niet treurig te beseffen dat zoveel mensen die elk moment met hun mening paraat staan en via massamedia en uitgeverijen iedereen de les lezen zelf zo onmenselijk kunnen zijn? Waarom worden dergelijke mensen serieus genomen? Hoe bereiken ze die ‘ikonische’ posities? Dergelijke sentimenten komen toch niet zomaar uit de lucht vallen.

Dat Vidal door niets dan blinde mensenhaat bewogen wordt is in ieder geval al tijden duidelijk: zo schreef hij in 1989: “Zie de aarde als een levend organisme dat wordt belaagd door miljarden bacterieën die elke veertig jaar in aantal verdubbelen. Het organisme sterft, het virus sterft, of allebei” (Gore Vidal Gods and Greens 1989). Toen hij dit schreef moet hij zo buiten zinnen zijn geweest van woede dat hij, wereldberoemde schrijver, niet eens meer ‘virus’ en ‘bacterie’ uit elkaar kon houden. Die fout zegt al meer over zijn geestesgesteldheid, en de haat waaruit hij zijn kracht put, dan de genocidale beelden (bacterieën, virussen, een organisme dat ‘gereinigd’ moet worden van de ‘infectie’) waar hij mee speelt.

In zoverre moet Vidal dus representatief zijn van iets, was hij dat niet, dan werd hij niet geïnterviewd door The Atlantic - en ik denk inderdaad dat hij één en ander representeert: de arrogante pseudo-intellectueel die zijn gebrek aan inhoud moet opvullen met het dag en nacht aanvallen voor wie niet snel genoeg voor zijn ’superioriteit’ buigt. In Nederland zijn deze mensen doorgaans te vinden in de Grachtengordel en nèt daarbuiten.

Maar hoe trágisch toch: in de tachtig zijn, beroemd schrijver zijn, geïnterviewd worden door The Atlantic en dan is nog het hoogst haalbare het bespuwen van een verkracht meisje van 13. Wat een afgang.Als dit het hoogtepunt is van Amerika’s  “cultuur en literatuur” , dan is het bar met de Verenigde Staten gesteld. (Over de Nederlandse cultuurklasse begin ik maar niet, dat is een blogserie op zich)