A few years back, when Denis Johnson refused to do press for his novel Tree of Smoke, which went on to win the National Book Award, it was considered newsworthy. (Note: He has since vowed “to learn how to interact with people.”) But in an age where widespread self-promotion (and in many cases, oversharing) is just 140 characters away, the idea of a reclusive author seems both counter-intuitive and strangely romantic. Inspired by Harper Lee’s recent chocolate-fueled assault by a British tabloid reporter, we decided to examine why a few authors of a certain age chose to shut themselves away from the media, and in some cases, from publication and society, as well.
Marcel Proust
The French novelist/social climber was a fixture of Paris salon society up until the turn of the century, but a series of personal events — his brother’s marriage and the deaths of both his parents — along with his deteriorating health and crippling asthma, turned Marcel Proust into a something of a recluse for the final 17 years of his life.
And we’re not just talking a reformed party boy. Proust, who soundproofed his studio with cork walls and installed layers of heavy curtains to keep the light out, would stay up for days on end working on his 3,200-page masterpiece, In Search of Lost Time. When greeting guests, he was often unsure of whether it was day or night. As his writer friend Leon-Paul Fargue described him at the time: “He looked like a man who no longer lives outdoors or by day, a hermit who hasn’t emerged from his oak tree for a long time.”
Before he died of pneumonia and a pulmonary abscess in 1922, there was a three year period where Proust rarely (if ever) left his apartment. Dramatic, for sure, but he’s got nothing on Ms. Emily Dickinson, who didn’t leave her family compound for 20 years.
Comments (24)
Tree of Smoke was note Denis Johnson’s first novel. Not even close.
Thank you so much for this, but I could vent all day long. I am so sick and tired of the exhibitionist/voyeur culture we live in. A whole lot of over-exposed no-talents– including so-called authors and journalists–make me want throw away my tv and to never read another newspaper, or magazine, ever again! I’ve even tried to scale down my use of the internet. To this day, I have no Facebook or Myspace page and I refuse to follow anyone on twitter. Although I do appreciate your blog, I am a bit put-off by the label “recluse” in refering to these writers. Even though, nowadays, we are constantly inundated with shameless no-talent self-promoters (writer, journalists, reality tv stars, you name it) no one labels those losers “camera whores” or show-offs. Worst yet, bookshelves are lined with NYT-bestsellers that should have been deposited in garbage cans or used to line bird cages rather than published. You get the distinct impression that most of today’s “journalists” and “writers” are most concerned with making money!! As such, I consider these so-called reclusive writers icons not only for their talents, but also, for their strength in resisting the media over-consumption. To everyone who would dare call them recluses, I say F%CK YOU. To so-called journalists who won’t let them alone, I say you are lazy and have no talent, considering that the best you can offer your audience is a clear imposition on someone else’s privacy.
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Worst final sentence ever.
First, read Kim Powers’s remarkable CAPOTE IN KANSAS for an interesting and fictional-but-perhaps true account of the reasons behind Ms. Lee’s decision. And see also Alice Randall’s recent essay in GARDEN AND GUN, one of those true “musts” that come along only once in a blue moon, and not only in Kentucky. (Randall is also a songwriter (the first African-American woman to win the CMA’s “Song of the Year” award; I honor its title in all of my e-mail valedictions), screenwriter, and most recently, author of the remarkable REBEL YELL.
Second, what about poets? Most of us are forced into a state of reclusion by our culture’s rejection of arts that generate no money, and the result has been a revoltingly rampant “mad scramble” (thank you, Mr. Lowell) of self-promotion. The late Herbert Morris, and also Eleanor Ross Taylor and Jean Valentine come quickly to mind–I don’t believe Ms. Valentine gives readings at all, and Mrs. Taylor did one or two only recently.
As someone already mentioned, “recluse” doesn’t seem to be the right word. Howard Hughes was a recluse. Gloria Swanson in “Sunset Boulevard” was a recluse.
I would call these authors–writers who are privacy-minded.
Very good point.
Those of us who write need to do what we have to do to protect that. That’s all. Harper Lee’s integrity is, literally, unassailable.
You should include some non English-speaking authors. There are even some writers whose identity is not known at all, Elena Ferrante, the Italian author of the threatening Days of Abandonment, for instance. Any clue about her/his real personality?
As a writer it is important to spend a lot of time alone and be cool rather than hot headed. Then when your work is done go out with friends drink, smoke and have fun. Oh, and shut up about what you just wrote.
[...] 7, 2010 · Leave a Comment *RECLUSIVE* if only in such a great way as these writers…Rather than offering up the depressing outfit which I am currently residing (my [...]
Ahh poor Blood Meridian, that cross-eyed child, left out of the family portrait.
[...] to settle things down a bit, In Defense of Privacy: The 20th Century’s Most Reclusive Authors. No real surprises in the list of Marcel Proust, J. D. Salinger, Thomas Pynchon, Cormac McCarthy [...]
@Rena
I always say the same thing
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hi
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