Norman Mailer

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Norman Mailer’s published his first novel, The Naked and the Dead (1948), at the age of twenty-five. “I felt like someone who had been dropped onto Mars,” he recalled of his sudden celebrity. Later works, including the bestselling An American Dream (1965) and the Pulitzer Prize-winning The Executioner’s Song (1979), secured his universal renown.

Harper’s Magazine editor Willie Morris was unable for some time to get Mailer’s work approved by management. “They were scared to death of him,” Morris said. “I think they expected some kind of naked Bolshevik.” Mailer’s first article for Harper’s Magazine was about an anti-Vietnam demonstration at the Pentagon. “Norman went to the demonstrations,” said his editor, Midge Decter, “got himself arrested, and then a day or two later he called up Harper’s and said, ‘I’d like to do a piece on it.’ ” At ninety-five pages, “The Steps of the Pentagon” (March 1968) was the longest article the magazine had ever published, and comprised the first half of The Armies of Night (1968), which went on to win the Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award.

In 1969, Mailer declined to write a piece on the moon landing, claiming that he preferred to write in the tradition of “participatory journalism.” “How can I participate in a landing on the moon?” he asked. “God damnit, I really would like to go to the moon. I’d even get in shape.” He ended up writing the article for Life, which offered him a larger sum.

Mailer’s final article for Harper’s Magazine was an analysis of the women’s liberation movement. “The Prisoner of Sex” constituted virtually the entire March 1971 issue, which sold more copies than any previous. Morris and six other editors resigned at the beginning of March due to long-simmering disagreements with management; he wrote a letter to the press contending that the “article in our current issue by Norman Mailer has deeply disturbed the magazine’s owners,” which fueled interest in the piece. So did Mailer’s feud with Gore Vidal, whose critique of “Prisoner” in The New York Review of Books compared Mailer to Henry Miller and Charles Manson. “We all know that I stabbed my wife many years ago,” Mailer said to Vidal on The Dick Cavett Show, after head-butting him. “You were playing on that.”

Mailer co-founded The Village Voice in 1955, and unsuccessfully ran for mayor of New York City in 1969. In 2007, he published his last novel and died at the age of 84.

Wraparound — From the July 1975 issue

Why are we in Thailand?

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Article — From the March 1971 issue

The prisoner of sex

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Article — From the November 1968 issue

Miami Beach and Chicago

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Article — From the March 1968 issue

The steps of the Pentagon

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Mrs. B’s Baby Village Day Care was on a frontage road between a mattress wholesaler and a knife outlet. There were six or so babies as regulars and another one or two on weekends when their parents were passing through looking for work. They wouldn’t find work, of course, all the security positions were full, the timber and ore had all been taken under the active-stewardship program, and the closest new start-up industry was the geothermal field hundreds of miles away. Mrs. B didn’t even bother to write those babies’ names down in her book. It was fifteen dollars a day and they had to be in reasonable health. Even so the occasional mischievous illness would arise and empty the place out.

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Mrs. B’s Baby Village Day Care was on a frontage road between a mattress wholesaler and a knife outlet. There were six or so babies as regulars and another one or two on weekends when their parents were passing through looking for work. They wouldn’t find work, of course, all the security positions were full, the timber and ore had all been taken under the active-stewardship program, and the closest new start-up industry was the geothermal field hundreds of miles away. Mrs. B didn’t even bother to write those babies’ names down in her book. It was fifteen dollars a day and they had to be in reasonable health. Even so the occasional mischievous illness would arise and empty the place out.

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Mrs. B’s Baby Village Day Care was on a frontage road between a mattress wholesaler and a knife outlet. There were six or so babies as regulars and another one or two on weekends when their parents were passing through looking for work. They wouldn’t find work, of course, all the security positions were full, the timber and ore had all been taken under the active-stewardship program, and the closest new start-up industry was the geothermal field hundreds of miles away. Mrs. B didn’t even bother to write those babies’ names down in her book. It was fifteen dollars a day and they had to be in reasonable health. Even so the occasional mischievous illness would arise and empty the place out.

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Mrs. B’s Baby Village Day Care was on a frontage road between a mattress wholesaler and a knife outlet. There were six or so babies as regulars and another one or two on weekends when their parents were passing through looking for work. They wouldn’t find work, of course, all the security positions were full, the timber and ore had all been taken under the active-stewardship program, and the closest new start-up industry was the geothermal field hundreds of miles away. Mrs. B didn’t even bother to write those babies’ names down in her book. It was fifteen dollars a day and they had to be in reasonable health. Even so the occasional mischievous illness would arise and empty the place out.

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Mrs. B’s Baby Village Day Care was on a frontage road between a mattress wholesaler and a knife outlet. There were six or so babies as regulars and another one or two on weekends when their parents were passing through looking for work. They wouldn’t find work, of course, all the security positions were full, the timber and ore had all been taken under the active-stewardship program, and the closest new start-up industry was the geothermal field hundreds of miles away. Mrs. B didn’t even bother to write those babies’ names down in her book. It was fifteen dollars a day and they had to be in reasonable health. Even so the occasional mischievous illness would arise and empty the place out.

Illustration by Katherine Streeter

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"It is an interesting and somewhat macabre parlor game to play at a large gathering of one’s acquaintances: to speculate who in a showdown would go Nazi. By now, I think I know. I have gone through the experience many times—in Germany, in Austria, and in France. I have come to know the types: the born Nazis, the Nazis whom democracy itself has created, the certain-to-be fellow-travelers. And I also know those who never, under any conceivable circumstances, would become Nazis."

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