John W. Aldridge
AN INTERVIEW WITH NORMAN MAILER
Much too early one morning last summer on Nantucket, a
large and heavy box was delivered to our door.
It
contained the longest
typescript I had ever seen, 1681 pages of
The Executioner's Song,
Norman Mailer's book about Gary Gilmore, the Utah murderer who
sought and finally won the right to be executed by firing squad. I read
the manuscript through in just three days, and when a short time later,
I sat down with Mailer in New York to talk about it, I told him I had
been held every step of the way but that there were certain points I
hoped he would clarify. For example, why, out of the many executed
murderers of our time, was he particularly attracted to Gary Gilmore?
Because Gilmore wanted
to
die? Because he was interesting as a
personality?
Norman Mailer:
I have to go at this on two levels-the aesthetic and the
cynical. We may as well start with the latter. I've had money troubles
the last ten years-lately they've become so pressing that I can't really
think of taking on any book unless I see some real possibility of
earning at least as much money during the time I write as it will cost
me
to
stay afloat. You just can't go along and be married as many
times as I have, have as many children, live in a time of inflation,
without discovering to your horror that even though you're going
along by your own lights modestly, you're still spending a huge sum
in a year, and therefore, you have to earn a huge amount. When you
pay the IRS their sizeable tithe, it becomes a double enormous
amount. You're always thinking about money. You know, when I
was young, I used to meditate about literature, now I think about
money. I never dare to consider a book any longer just because it
appeals to me. I've forgotten what it's like to be drawn by a theme.
I've become a commercial writer. I say it with woe, because there's no
fun in being that. You start writing with the idea that you have a
talent, maybe it's a large talent, or maybe if you work very hard at it,
you will make it into a large talent, and then suddenly, you see
yourself in the last third, probably, of your productive career,
