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Morris Kight, a gay American original (Photos)

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Only if you knew what went before do you feel its absence.

Today, crimped by the coronavirus crisis, the quiet streets of West Hollywood are haunted by gay activists of the past — the rallies against police harassment and the anti-gay Briggs Initiative, the AIDS vigils and ACT UP protests, and the ground troops organizing for pro-gay politicians in a consequential election year.

Ubiquitous among the generations of activists was Morris Kight, the radical gay rights advocate with a theatrical cadence and genteel nod who adored the spotlight and brazenly asserted in a matter-of-fact manner that he had essentially founded all things gay in L.A. About half of that was true – though it’s hard to gauge with complete accuracy.

Today, when TikTok makes originality commonplace, the younger LGBTQ community might not fathom how original this gay rights pioneer was when homosexuality was illegal and in an environment where more conservative gays and lesbians intensely squabbled with more radical LGBTQ activists who insisted on respect, not respectability.

Kight, like Ivy Bottini, his lesbian feminist sister in the movement for gay and lesbian liberation, rebuked assimilation, while at the same time exercising his ability to command a mainstream stage the minute he walked through the door and demanding attention be paid for gays and other minorities during his more than 20 years on the Los Angeles County Human Rights Commission.

Morris Kight was 83 when he died at the Carl Bean Hospice in 2003. But for those who feel the absence of his theatrical activism, one wonders: what would Morris do if he were alive and thriving today?

“He’d be very busy. He would probably have multiple phone lines,” says ally and Kight friend Mary Ann Cherry, the “hopelessly hetero” author of Morris Kight: Humanist, Liberationist, Fantabulist during a recent phone interview. “First let’s acknowledge that the needs have changed. When there’s a gay teen runaway, when a teen is abandoned by their family, they have places to go and if they don’t know about them, they quickly learn about them.”

That’s considerably different from the 1960s and 1970s when Kight handed out his card to homeless LGBTQ teens and offered help with no strings attached.

If Kight were alive today, Cherry’s best guess is that “Morris would be focused on the Black Lives Matter movement. They are out there, they’re doing it. They are determined and they’re very obvious and vocal about it.”

And though Kight was known nationally, his focus was on a local level. “He would have been all over this homeless issue years ago,” Cherry tells the Los Angeles Blade. He would attend city council meetings complaining about years of economic injustice through development deals that “are now coming home to roost.”

Kight would also be complaining against the cooptation of the LGBTQ liberation movement through the influx of money, especially corporate money.

“The gay community has become very respectable, so to speak, and they don’t want to be identified with the old hippie roots,” says Cherry. “And there’s also a need to disidentify with the liberal ideology, because the truth is — not all gay people are going to be antiwar. And not all gay people are going to be pro-Black Lives Matter. We can’t assume anybody’s ideology based upon their sexual identity. And we make that mistake. And I think Morris made that mistake.”

Gay couples were the same before the Supreme Court granted same sex couples the freedom to marry, she notes.

“We understand, we appreciate the importance of being able to marry the person you choose to be with,” Cherry says. “But Morris always worried about the gay community becoming ‘heterosexuized’ — that they give into what the heterosexual community was about. And I think gay marriage kind of speaks to that — but it legitimizes people.”

Kight was also opposed to the City of West Hollywood “appeasing” Coors Beer, as was Don Kilhefner, who co-founded with Kight the LA Chapter of the Gay Liberation Front, which confronted psychiatrists over their use of lobotomies and other “behavior modification” practices, now known as “conversion therapy.” Kight also used his resources Rolodex when co-founding the LA Gay Community Services Center on Wilshire Boulevard in 1971. Kilhefner did not speak with Cherry for the book.

Kight was opposed to letting Coors off the hook. The boycott against the anti-gay company started in the late 1970s when Kight’s friend, San Francisco activist Harvey Milk, sided with union truck drivers and started a long association between gay rights advocates and the labor movement, which became critical in defeating the anti-gay Briggs Initiative in 1978. Eventually Coors Brewing Company met the boycott demands, though patriarch Adolph Coors continued to contribute to anti-gay causes.

Morris thought Coors hadn’t really done what needed to be done,” Cherry says. “You really can’t force a corporation or even a family like Coors to change their values.”

Kight and Kilhefner are linked together in LGBTQ history but that’s not the whole story. “When they had a cause in common, they were a great front. They really were very strong and powerful,” Cherry says. “But that was only around a cause — that wasn’t who they were as individuals.”

Indeed, Kight’s relationship with Rev. Troy Perry, founder of the Metropolitan Community Church, was one of mutual respect and allowances for human foibles such as Kight’s renowned self-aggrandizement. The two LA gay activists, along with homeless advocate Rev. Bob Humphries, co-founded Christopher Street West and the Pride Parade.

Morris Kight: Humanist, Liberationist, Fantabulist, Cherry says, is “this man’s story about how one person can make a difference.”

But this well-research biography also serves a larger purpose, telling the unflinching but colorful arc of L.A. LGBTQ history through the life of this one dramatic original gay activist, Morris Kight.

Postscript: Mary Ann Cherry was the perfect person to write this well-research, dense biography of Morris Kight – most of the rest of us who knew Morris would no doubt have written a skewed version through whatever kaleidoscope lens we might be looking at him. This was a 17 year commitment. And Mary Ann also raises an issue not really tackled in LGBTQ history books: the serious ripple effects and harmful impact The Closet has on unsuspecting heterosexual spouses, children and friends. While LGBTQ people might deal with the devastation of internalized homophobia, Mary Ann looks at the selfishness of keeping that secret. She also honestly writes about Morris’ out-sized ego, as well as the monumental humanitarian community services he provided to marginalized people, especially LGBTQ youth with nowhere else to turn. Morris deserves this book and the LGBTQ community owes Mary Ann a debt of gratitude for adding such an important, serious contribution to LGBTQ history.

When I first started reporting for the “gay press” in the late 1980s after a career in mainstream media, I had no idea there was a gay or lesbian community. By 1988, I’d met a lot of gay people through 12 Step programs and AIDS services and memorials. But honestly, it wasn’t until I had long talks with Harry Hay, Jim Kepner and Morris Kight that I really grasped that we were an oppressed minority around whom straights devised a mythical reputation as abnormal sexual perverts and predators (thank you for the synopsis, Vito Russo!) – which we internalized as the truth!

It was an awakening. I was very grateful. So I took my job reporting LGBT news very seriously – while also giving myself permission to be a perpetual student.

Like Mary Ann, Morris used to call me at 6:00am about something that was happening. I explained to him that Frontiers, for which I was freelancing at the time, published every other week, not daily, so he could have called later. And like Mary Ann, Morris would finish whatever he had to say, then just hang up. No “goodbye.” It was as if he just didn’t have time for some of these minor niceties. And Morris didn’t drive so that sometimes fell to me – though mostly to AHF stalwart Miki Jackson.

Mary Ann’ book has lots of photos but here are some I took that I thought might be of interest:

I drove Morris to Dorr Legg’s memorial at the Milbank Mansion in 1994. It was my first realization that the LA gay movement of elders (not L or B or T yet) was essentially two contingents – the Harry Hay group and the Morris Kight group.

That division kept on for a long time.

But there were other times, especially at an event where Harry was being honored, where they would put their differences aside. Since I knew them fairly well by then, I asked if I could take a three shot of the movement’s honored elders – and they complied.

Morris, a pacifist, constantly challenged anti-gay LAPD Chief Daryl Gates, who militarized the police and for whom openly racist and homophobic LAPD Chief William H. Parker had been a mentor. It was odd, then, to see the two in public – holding their positions but sometimes being unexpectedly jovial.

Morris, who co-founded Stonewall Democratic Club, had the political era of many electeds and introduced then to the LGBT community, such as taking former Gov. Jerry Brown to the French Market in West Hollywood in 1992; or driving newly-elected Seattle City Councilmember Sherry Harris through riot-scared LA then to the LA Gay & Lesbian Community Services Center on Highland with AHF’s Miki Jackson; or celebrating Ivy Bottini’s birthday with LA County Supervisor Zev Yaroslavsky. Morris also advocated for the Death with Dignity initiative with Torie Osborn and Rev. Malcolm Boyd.

Morris also decided to rename “Queer Village” — the triangle at Santa Monica Boulevard and Crescent Heights in West Hollywood where AIDS and AB 101 (the gay civil rights bill) fasting protests had occurred — the Matthew Shepard Human Rights Triangle after the tragic hate murder of gay Wyoming student Matthew Shepard.

In 2001, the City of West Hollywood planted trees and plaques at that site honoring both Morris and Ivy for their decades of LGBTQ activism.

Morris with Don Kilhefner, Betty Berzon, Gwen Baldwin and Lillene Fifield.

In 1983, Morris helped found Aid for AIDS, a small organization that raised money to give to people with AIDS for emergency payment of rent, mortgages and utilities to enable them to die with dignity at home instead of homeless on the streets. Later a friendship developed between AIDS activist Michael Weinstein, who went on to co-found the Chris Brownlie Hospice in 1987 and subsequently, the AIDS Healthcare Foundation. Morris attended AHF fundraisers and hung out during CSW Pride, if he wasn’t the focus of the parade. Morris died at AHF’s Carl Bean Hospice; his memorial at MCC in West Hollywood drew scores of dignitaries and old friends.

In 2003, the LA City Council, led by Councilmember Eric Garcetti, and Morris’ friends, including CSW co-founder Rev. Troy Perry, designated the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and McCadden Place as “Morris Kight Square” as the site of the first CSW Pride Parade in 1970. Several people noticed the amusing ironic fact that the Square is right outside the Scientology Hollywood store front, as if Morris was haunting the anti-gay “religion.”

 

 

 

 

 

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‘Fiona and Jane’ an enticing look at lifelong friendship

Two women bicker, fall distant – then meet again

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(Book cover image courtesy of Viking)

‘Fiona and Jane’
By Jean Chen Ho
c. 2022, Viking
$26/275 pages

“Fiona and Jane,” a new short story collection by Jean Chen Ho is an enticing New Year’s present. The captivating volume features secrets, family conflict, queerness, astute cultural observations, and above all, friendship.

We long to fall in love. So we lose our hearts to our lovers and go to pieces when our relationships break up.

Yet, especially, if we’re women and/or queer, we want a best friend as much, maybe more, than we do a lover.

Fiona and Jane, Asian Americans, grew up in Los Angeles. They’ve been best friends since they met in LA in second grade. Jane’s family emigrated to Los Angeles from Taiwan. Fiona, with her mother, came to LA from Taiwan when she was a young child.

In “Fiona and Jane,” Ho’s debut collection, the two friends over 30 years grow from second-graders to 30-somethings. Ho’s linked stories draw us into Fiona and Jane’s friendship as they become, at different times, incredibly close, then distant (both geographically and emotionally) from each other.

Ho, 41, has more writing chops than you can imagine. She is a doctoral candidate in creative writing and literature at the University of Southern California where she is a Dornsife Fellow in fiction. Ho has an MFA from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Her writing has been published in The Georgia Review, GQ, Harper’s Bazaar, McSweeney’s, and other publications.

Ho was born in Taiwan, grew up in Southern California and lives in Los Angeles. But, “none of the things that happen to Fiona and Jane are autobiographical,” she said on the podcast “All of It with Alison Stewart,” “I didn’t mine my particular life experiences and put them in the book out of respect to my oldest and dearest friends.”

Fiona is hetero, smart  and attractive. As a teen, she earns enough money to buy a secondhand car (named Shamu, Ho writes, “after the Sea World killer whale because of the corroding white patches all over the black paint.”).

While Fiona’s mother isn’t religious, Jane’s Mom is devoutly Christian. Jane is bisexual. When she and Fiona are teens, they kiss  “to practice” – what kissing’s like. Though she doesn’t tell her Mom, Jane, when a teenager, has a romantic relationship with her female piano teacher.

When she’s young, Jane often does what Fiona does. Because Jane’s tall, she’s often thought of as “Fiona’s bodyguard.” As she grows older, Jane begins to rely more on herself.

Fiona is eager to leave LA. She goes to college, then moves to New York City with her first boyfriend. She enters law school, then drops out.

Jane stays in Los Angeles. She opts to take a gap year between high school and college. The gap year morphs into a couple of years. Jane has relationships with women as well as with Julian, a vet who has PTSD.

Though Fiona and Jane are quite different from one another, they keep circling back to each other. Despite their differences, they have one thing in common: they both have lost their fathers.

In one of the collection’s most moving stories, “The Night Market,” Jane speaks of her visit before she graduated high school to Taiwan where she has come to see her Dad. Her Dad has gone from LA to Taiwan for a temporary job. Jane learns that he’s going to stay in Taiwan because he’s fallen in love with a man there. Her Dad asks her to keep this a secret. But, in her pain at his revelation, she outs him. Jane blames herself for his suicide.

Fiona discovers as a child that she’s never known her father. Her mother raises her on her own.

Over the years, Fiona and Jane bicker, fall distant – then meet again. As teens, they help each other get fake IDs so they can drink. As adults, they help each other through moving apartments, love affairs and mourning.

 “Sixteen years since my father died, and I was still alive,” Jane thinks, “I got up, every morning. I lived, day by day. I had my best friend, Fiona Lin.”

Check out “Fiona and Jane.” Then, text your best friend.

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Garbo: ubiquitous yet mysterious

An illuminating biography of screen icon and her time

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(Book cover image courtesy of Farrar, Straus & Giroux)

Decades before Cher, Garbo became known by just her last name. “Garbo Talks!” said the ads for her first talking picture “Anna Christie.” “Garbo Laughs!” shouted the ads for her 1939 comedy “Ninotchka.”

Yet, 31 years after her death in 1990, Garbo, remains, as she was during her life, enveloped in mystery.

“Garbo,” by Robert Gottlieb, a former editor of The New Yorker, is a fascinating biography of the movie legend. Gottlieb, a critic, understands that much of Garbo’s life (her sexuality, her inner thoughts) remains mysterious.

Yet Gottlieb, a former Simon & Schuster editor-in-chief and former head of Alfred A. Knopf, pens an illuminating portrait of Garbo and her time.

An extensive array of photos and movie stills add to the beauty of the book. A selection of articles by critics and contemporaries enhances our picture of Garbo.

Garbo was born (with the name Greta Lovisa Gustafsson) in 1905 in a poor neighborhood in Stockholm, Sweden.

Garbo was only in Hollywood for 16 years, and 24 movies, Gottlieb writes.

At just 36 years old, and still adored by her fans, Garbo suddenly retired from Hollywood. She didn’t give her public a very insightful reason for why she stopped making movies.

“I have made enough faces,” Garbo told actor David Niven when he asked her about it, Gottlieb reports.
After leaving Tinseltown, Garbo lived for nearly half a century, mainly in New York City, until she died in 1990.

Garbo wasn’t as popular as Charlie Chaplin or Mary Pickford, Gottlieb tells us in “Why Garbo,” his lively introduction to the bio, “yet the impact she had on the world was as great as theirs.”

The mystery of why Garbo lived in “self-imposed seclusion” after retiring from Hollywood was irresistible, but “almost a distraction,” Gottlieb writes.

Many of her movies were “cliched or worse,” Gottlieb points out. At first, MGM presented Garbo as a vamp, “luring men on with her vampish ways,” Gottlieb reports, “but she hated that.”

Eventually, Garbo became an icon. “But none of that goes to explain,” Gottlieb writes, “why more than any other star she invaded the subconscious of the audience:”

Wherever you look in the period between 1925 and 1941, Gottlieb adds, “Garbo is in people’s minds, hearts, and dreams.”

Garbo is referenced in Ernest Hemingway’s novel “For Whom the Bell Tolls” and in the letters of poet Marianne Moore. More recently, allusions of Garbo have appeared in the song “Bette Davis Eyes” and even in “The Simpsons.”

Her Hollywood peers loved Garbo as much as movie audiences. “Other Hollywood stars … were as eager to meet her,” Gottlieb writes, “or just get a glimpse of her as your ordinary fan.”

Her work is “pure witchcraft,” Bette Davis said of Garbo. “I cannot analyze this woman’s acting.”
While Gottlieb is respectful of and fascinated by Garbo, his biography isn’t hagiography.

Garbo, who grew up in poverty as a child, could be cheap. In New York, she was known for being stingy with tips and salaries for people who worked for her and shopkeepers.

Perhaps, due to shyness or to her lack of education (she had to leave school at 14 to help support her family), she wasn’t a great conversationalist.

She had relationships with men and women – from actor John Gilbert to queer fashion photographer Cecil Beaton to writer Mercedes de Acosta. But the extent to which (or if) these relationships were sexual isn’t known, Gottlieb reports.

It is known that Garbo, offscreen, dressed in men’s pants, shirts, and shoes. “How ironic if ‘the Most Beautiful Woman in the World’ really would rather have been a man,” Gottlieb writes.

Reading “Garbo” is like sipping whiskey (or ginger ale) with the iconic star. Drink up!

‘Garbo′
By Robert Gottlieb
c.2021, Farrar, Straus & Giroux
$40/448 pages

Few icons are more ubiquitous in the cultural landscape, yet more mysterious than queer icon Greta Garbo.

Even if you’ve never seen “Grand Hotel,” you likely know that in this 1932 film, Garbo famously said, “I want to be alone.”

Even the most fervent teetotaler would savor watching Garbo say, in the 1930 movie “Anna Christie,” “Gimme a whiskey, ginger ale on the side, and don’t be stingy, baby!”

Decades before Cher, Garbo became known by just her last name. “Garbo Talks!” said the ads for her first talking picture “Anna Christie.” “Garbo Laughs!” shouted the ads for her 1939 comedy “Ninotchka.”
Yet, 31 years after her death in 1990, Garbo, remains, as she was during her life, enveloped in mystery.

“Garbo,” by Robert Gottlieb, a former editor of The New Yorker, is a fascinating biography of the movie legend. Gottlieb, a critic, understands that much of Garbo’s life (her sexuality, her inner thoughts) remains mysterious.

Yet Gottlieb, a former Simon & Schuster editor-in-chief and former head of Alfred A. Knopf, pens an illuminating portrait of Garbo and her time.

An extensive array of photos and movie stills add to the beauty of the book. A selection of articles by critics and contemporaries enhances our picture of Garbo.

Garbo was born (with the name Greta Lovisa Gustafsson) in 1905 in a poor neighborhood in Stockholm, Sweden.

Garbo was only in Hollywood for 16 years, and 24 movies, Gottlieb writes.

At just 36 years old, and still adored by her fans, Garbo suddenly retired from Hollywood. She didn’t give her public a very insightful reason for why she stopped making movies.

“I have made enough faces,” Garbo told actor David Niven when he asked her about it, Gottlieb reports.

After leaving Tinseltown, Garbo lived for nearly half a century, mainly in New York City, until she died in 1990.

Garbo wasn’t as popular as Charlie Chaplin or Mary Pickford, Gottlieb tells us in “Why Garbo,” his lively introduction to the bio, “yet the impact she had on the world was as great as theirs.”

The mystery of why Garbo lived in “self-imposed seclusion” after retiring from Hollywood was irresistible, but “almost a distraction,” Gottlieb writes.

Many of her movies were “cliched or worse,” Gottlieb points out. At first, MGM presented Garbo as a vamp, “luring men on with her vampish ways,” Gottlieb reports, “but she hated that.”

Eventually, Garbo became an icon. “But none of that goes to explain,” Gottlieb writes, “why more than any other star she invaded the subconscious of the audience:”

Wherever you look in the period between 1925 and 1941, Gottlieb adds, “Garbo is in people’s minds, hearts, and dreams.”

Garbo is referenced in Ernest Hemingway’s novel “For Whom the Bell Tolls” and in the letters of poet Marianne Moore. More recently, allusions of Garbo have appeared in the song “Bette Davis Eyes” and even in “The Simpsons.”

Her Hollywood peers loved Garbo as much as movie audiences. “Other Hollywood stars … were as eager to meet her,” Gottlieb writes, “or just get a glimpse of her as your ordinary fan.”

Her work is “pure witchcraft,” Bette Davis said of Garbo. “I cannot analyze this woman’s acting.”

While Gottlieb is respectful of and fascinated by Garbo, his biography isn’t hagiography.

Garbo, who grew up in poverty as a child, could be cheap. In New York, she was known for being stingy with tips and salaries for people who worked for her and shopkeepers.

Perhaps, due to shyness or to her lack of education (she had to leave school at 14 to help support her family), she wasn’t a great conversationalist.

She had relationships with men and women – from actor John Gilbert to queer fashion photographer Cecil Beaton to writer Mercedes de Acosta. But the extent to which (or if) these relationships were sexual isn’t known, Gottlieb reports.

It is known that Garbo, offscreen, dressed in men’s pants, shirts, and shoes. “How ironic if ‘the Most Beautiful Woman in the World’ really would rather have been a man,” Gottlieb writes.

Reading “Garbo” is like sipping whiskey (or ginger ale) with the iconic star. Drink up!

Continue Reading

Books

After 1,000 pages, you’ll hunger for more Highsmith

Acclaimed queer novelist revealed in new tome of diaries

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(Book cover photo courtesy of Liveright)

‘Patricia Highsmith: Her Diaries and Notebooks: 1941-1995′
Edited by Anna Von Planta
c.2020, Liveright
$39.95/1,024 pages

“The unfortunate truth is that art sometimes thrives on unhappiness,” queer novelist Patricia Highsmith, who lived from 1921 to 1995, wrote in her journals.

Fortunately, for aficionados of charming murderers, Hitchcock and queer folk on the cultural scene decades before Stonewall, this was true for Highsmith.

The creative process will always remain mysterious. Yet, in “Patricia Highsmith: Her Diaries and Notebooks: 1941-1995,” brilliantly edited by Anna Von Planta, we gain insight into how Highsmith made art while living a hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-loving life. Along with gossip and fascinating glimpses of Highsmith’s travels.

But fair warning: seeing how literary sausage is made isn’t always pretty.

Highsmith lived an often unhappy, misanthropic life. As she got older, she came to prefer snails to people and dedicated one of her books to her cat.

Yet, Highsmith created more art than most of us could even dream of.

Over half a century, Highsmith wrote numerous short stories and 22 novels. Some of her best-known works are embedded in the cultural landscape.

Her novel “Strangers on a Train” was made into an unforgettable movie with the same name by Alfred Hitchcock. If you can sleep soundly after watching the amusement park scene in “Strangers,” you’re a more intrepid movie fan than I.

Her 1952 novel “The Price of Salt” (later reissued as “Carol”) is one of the first novels to feature lesbian characters with a happy ending. (The characters don’t die or go to prison.) In 2015, “Carol” was made into a movie by Todd Haynes.

Her Ripley novels featuring the captivating murderer Tom Ripley have also been adapted into movies.

If you’re entranced by murder, you’re likely a Highsmith fan. And, you’re in good company. Gore Vidal called Highsmith “one of our great modernist writers.” Graham Greene dubbed her “the poet of apprehension.”

Sometimes an iconic writer’s work stops being relatable. Not so with Highsmith.

Her novels, in which murderers routinely disguise themselves and identities shift, are more timely than ever in this age of avatars and catfishing.

A film adaptation of HIghsmith’s novel “Deep Water,” starring Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas, is forthcoming in 2022.

Yet, despite her popularity, during her lifetime, Highsmith hid much of her private life.

Born in Texas, she went to Barnard College and lived in Greenwich Village in New York in the 1940s. After that, she lived in Europe.

Her last home in Switzerland, her friends said, was “practically windowless.” They likened it to “Hitler’s bunker.”

It’s not surprising that Anna Von Planta has said that it took 25 years to edit Highsmith’s diaries and notebooks.

At some 1,000 pages, the volume is a lot to read. Yet, after Highsmith died, 8,000 pages of diaries and notebooks were found.

Unless you’re an indefatigable, insatiable scholar or fan, you wouldn’t want to read Highsmith’s diaries and notebooks in one sitting. It would be like eating five holiday feasts without a break. No matter how delicious, the food would be too filling, and, boring, by the fifth go-around.

These journals and notebooks are meant to be dipped into and savored morsel by morsel.

In her diary entries, Highsmith recorded the events of her life – the gossip, the sex, the drinking, the break-ups – the parties.

“Why can’t I go to a resort, pick up a girl, have a whirl, and drop her?” Highsmith writes in her diary in June 1950.

Highsmith’s notebook entries contained her thoughts on writing and writers. “Why writers drink: they must change their identities a million times in their writing,” Highsmith writes in a August 1951 notebook entry. “This is tiring, but drinking does it automatically for them. One minute they are a king, the next a murderer, a jaded dilettante, a passionate and forsaken lover.”

In her journals, Highsmith is witty, observant, bitter, narcissistic and bigoted (as, when, as she aged, she became increasingly anti-Semitic). But, she is, always, alive.

“I am ravenously hungry for a woman” she writes in her diary in 1950.

Long after reading Highsmith’s last journal entry, where she writes “death’s more like life, unpredictable,” you’ll hunger for more Highsmith.

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