Читать книгу Spine Intact, Some Creases - Victor J. Banis - Страница 7

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

When I first wrote this book of memoirs a few years ago, I had mostly been out of the publishing arena for several years. Since then, I have gotten more involved in it, and I have found that the business of getting published is far harder today than it was for me in the past, although that may be in part because I am less driven to do so, feeling as I do that I have little left to prove. That is not to say that I am any less motivated to write; indeed, I think that I am more so. Certainly I am enjoying writing now in a way that I never did before—and, again, that may be because I am less concerned with seeing anything published, and am content to write for no profit but my own pleasure—and I am inclined to think that, as a result, I am actually writing better.

I do see, however, that some of my remarks on the subject of getting published may seem a trifle ingenuous to today’s writers, who face different challenges, harder ones, I think, than I faced in the past.

Likewise, during this same period of time, I have had the opportunity to read a great deal of new gay and lesbian fiction. If, as I assert in the original edition, we have yet to see the Great Gay Novel or the Great Gay Novelist, I must say that, with writers of the caliber of Dorien Grey, Rick Reed, Lori Lake, Ruth Sims, Anthony Bidulka, Allen Hollinghurst, Gregg Herren, E. M. Kahn, Adam Berlin, Dean James, and Gregory Hinton plying their craft—and I am sure I have forgotten one or two others—and with old pros like James Purdy, William Maltese, and Ann Bannon still at it, I think that the future of gay and lesbian fiction is in very good hands indeed; and since I have not yet read everything by any of them, it may even be that one of them has already penned that great novel, and the more fool I.

So, the temptation was there, to revisit what I had written and to update it, but for the most part, I have resisted that temptation. This book was ever an imperfect one, more a personal journal than any literary achievement. I have apologized elsewhere already for its discursive nature, and explained, I think quite clearly, that it is little more than a summing up of my experiences and of the opinions that I have formed as a result of them. I meant it to be read much as if the reader and I were sitting together in a room chatting, and I am happy to say that many of those who read it found it to be exactly like that; and with that, I remain content.

I have never pretended to be a great writer, though I believe that, at my best (and every writer deserves to be judged by his best), I am a good one. I have come to believe that I can take little credit for that, however. The rain dancer dances, but when the droplets begin to fall, they are nonetheless a gift from Heaven. I have worked hard to learn the steps and sometimes the Gods have smiled upon me, but the raindrops are still a gift for which I can only be humbly grateful.

I could certainly without pause name a hundred or so writers better than I am, and I am sure that everyone reading this could add as many or more to the list. I can say with all due modesty, however, that there are probably few who have been as devoted to their craft as I have been over the last several years of my life; and none, I am convinced, more dedicated to furthering the genre of gay and lesbian fiction.

* * * *

Someone recently referred to me as one of the Grand Old Men of gay writing. Mister Maugham was once asked how he came to be The Grand Old Man of English Letters, and he replied that it was easy; he had simply outlived all the others.

I’m not sure that I qualify as a grand old anything—well, I suppose I must grant the “old” part of it—but in any event, my reply would certainly be the same. With the exception of James Purdy, and surely he must be regarded as The Grand Old Man of Gay Writing, there are few gay writers still around who go back as far as I do and are still at it—I have already mentioned William Maltese and he is indeed a fine writer, and came along only a few years after I did, but I think that he would agree with my assertion that those few years are significant.

Apart from Purdy, Larry Townsend, and, in the realm of lesbian fiction, the also already mentioned Ann Bannon, I can’t think of anyone who was with me in the starting gate (and, in all fairness, Ann Bannon and James Purdy were there ahead of me), though it is possible that I have overlooked someone, in which case I apologize sincerely.

Does my fortuitous longevity make those opinions I express so cavalierly any more valuable? Probably not. I have said before, and have no reluctance in saying again, whatever treasures I have gained from having lived these many years, wisdom is not among them. But I like to think that you may find some of those opinions amusing. Better yet, it is my fondest hope that they will inspire one or two of you to ponder the points I raise, perhaps even to disagree with them.

That is a good thing, I think, and perhaps as much as any writer can aspire to.