Norman Mailer Does Tango

“Even processed paper still contains an ineluctable hint of the tenderness God put into his trees.” (Mailer, The Castle in the Forest)

A man who could write a sentence like that, who could place those words in the Devil's mouth, is a man who would tango naked.

Not undressed. Tango is not sex. It is revelation.

There is no such thing as safe revelation.

Mailer’s tango would be untamed. Entering his embrace, you would know you are crossing the line. You’re never safe with Mailer.

His tango would not be pretty; his ego has no respect for the bounds of musicality. No respect for your boundaries, either.

Mailer’s tango would be all visceral, all aggression and tenderness. He would charge, he would walk right through you. Gathering you to his breast, he would carry you as part of his heart.

He would not ask permission. He would not let you wriggle away.

Mailer had his own way of saying “namaste.” In his mouth, it didn’t mean “the sweetness in me recognizes the sweetness in you.” It delivered a blow, the greeting of one raging ego cherishing the same in another.

Aggression and tenderness. Ego and oneness. Tango.


P.S.
To NM: Sorry about the earlier entry, especially the bacon. Forgot you were Jewish. Had no idea the health you were in. Got carried away by the rhythm of my rant.

(I want to delete the old post now. It seems small-minded, not the lovely One Heart I’d like to present to the world. What would Mr. Mailer do?

“He never committed the ugliness of insinuating that he screwed up for art’s sake. He let the ugliness and the imprudence of his actions speak for themselves.” [NYT])

OK, it stays. Namaste, baby.