A Letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald...from Henry Rollins

The mention of Oprah in the post below caught my eye and reminded me of a bit Henry Rollins did on his show, The Henry Rollins Show, in which he writes a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald. It eloquently illustrates the downward spiral of America's relationship with the literary arts. And, while I applaud Oprah for encouraging people to read and promoting a diverse group of authors, there is something about the almost cult-like devotion of her book club members that does not sit well with me. Oh well, c'est la vie.

The transcript of the letter in included below. Enjoy.

Episode #309. LETTER TO F SCOTT FITZGERALD

Dear Mr. Fitzgerald,

I know I am a bit late getting this letter to you but you died about 21 years before I was born. Nonetheless, I wonder what you would think of the current state of things in the publishing world and how you would survive in the present climate.

These days you would be trying to please Oprah Winfrey and hope that she, a day time TV host, picked your book to be read by millions of people who watch television during the day and get their reading tips that way. Remember towards the end of your life when you were living in Hollywood and writing scripts for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, just trying to survive and how you thought it was degrading?

Well, I hate to tell you but that’s what it’s all about these days. Your agent, if he was any good, might tell you to make your lead male character look more like a guy named Tom Cruise or someone named Tom Hanks so he could start optioning film rights while you were only on the 2nd chapter. And all that complexity and subtlety your characters displayed? Many contemporary readers would close your book after a few pages and come to the conclusion that you were a homo. Thinking is out, self-help and humiliation are in!

You were a horrible alcoholic, you could have written a book about how you kicked it and became born-again and wouldn’t have had to do either, as long as others could pity you from the safety of their perceived lofty vantage point. Remember all your fucked up famous friends and your mentally unstable wife? They would have a better shot at the New York Times bestseller list than you ever could!

These days, many readers love books written by psychotics. There’s a psycho named Ann Coulter who sells truckloads of books, he probably thinks you’re a homo too! Remember those loudmouthed guys who always talked the most and said the least?

Their books are flying off the shelves! There’s a guy named Bill O’Reilly he writes these hilarious books that you pay 25 bucks for, read in under two hours and kill more brain cells than huffing four tubes of glue! Remember all your contemporaries like Hemingway, Wolfe, Lardner and Dos Passos? There’s no one like them around anymore. I tell you Mr. F, it’s rough out here. If I were you, I would stay dead.
Author! Author! --Henry