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“If you’re gonna write, for God in heaven’s sake, try to get naked. Try to write the truth. Try to get underneath all the sham, all the excuses, all the lies that you’ve been told.”

-- Author and playwright Harry Crews, who died yesterday at 76

I do not recall ever hearing about him.

_ _ _

Harry Crews, whose novels out-Gothic Southern Gothic by conjuring a world of hard-drinking, punch-throwing, snake-oil-selling characters whose physical, mental, social and sexual deviations render them somehow entirely normal and eminently sympathetic, died on Wednesday at his home in Gainesville, Fla. He was 76. [...]

A Georgia-born Rabelais, Mr. Crews was renowned for darkly comic, bitingly satirical, grotesquely populated and almost preternaturally violent novels.

Though his books captivated many reviewers, they were not the stuff of best-seller lists, in part because they bewildered some readers and repelled others. But they attracted a cadre of fans so fiercely devoted that the phrase “cult following” seems inadequate to describe their ardor.

-- Margalit Fox at The New York Times

_ _ _

If they put out "Classic Crews: A Harry Crews Reader" in an affordable Kindle edition, I would be tempted to get it.
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monk222

May 2019

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