Slate has an interesting article today about classic authors and self-promotion. Apparently the editors of a new book, about Hemingway's penchant for peddling his own name, see product endorsements by Hemingway as signs of incipient madness. Sounds to me like someone (looking at you, Matthew Bruccoli) is a little bitter that no one invited him to endorse beer after he published his definitive edit of The Great Gatsby. Anyway, Slate's Paul Devlin scoffs at the humorlessness of the the book's editors (Bruccoli and Judith Baughman), and provides several amusing anecdotes about writers' writers pandering to the bottom line. Some names are not so surprising (Truman Capote), while others are definitely out of character (Frederick Douglass totally James Frey-ing his story for different audiences, for example).
It becomes way too easy, post-lionization, to forget that these guys had to move books--and if they'd never sold much of anything, we wouldn't know who they are. The academic fantasy is nice and all, but it's good to know that book publicity has always been the seedy little sidekick to publishing. It's rather sad that the unorthodox methods (airline ads, circus programs) have dropped out almost completely. Wouldn't you take notice if your cereal box had a brief-but-punchy essay from, say, Philip Roth?
Also, thanks to this article, my new mission is finding "Hemingway paper dolls...featuring him as matador, caveman, bon vivant, fisherman, and soldier" from 1934. I would assume different paper drinks come as accessories for each Barbie-style vocation.
And because I never miss an opportunity to abuse this clip, I give you another dark side of celebrity endorsement.
1 comment:
The rain. The wind. The fire.
The Butterfinger. Glad mantle of golden chocolatey hope upon my breast.
Actually, isn't the authorial endorsement of a product (including copywritten packaging) what the J. Peterman catalog is all about? Just, you know, without the authors' permission. And the actual descriptions are merely homage.
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