Terry Southern’s “Now Dig This: The Unspeakable Writings of Terry Southern (1950 – 1995)”

Another book review…

Yeah, I know. You would prefer it if I wrote one of my smart-ass poems, or finally finished that multi-chapter piece that could possibly be a very interesting book or made-for-public-domain movie. You may even like my stories and other essays. But here’s the thing: I am on the last day of my volunteer service with a film festival, the heat warning we have received is still on (that threat of thunder, lightning and much-needed rain seems like a cruel joke), and I have very little time to tell you all about the reading companion I have taken with me as I worked too often for free in the steam and humidity of my adopted city.

Terry Southern…

Ring a bell?

Probably not, if you were raised in a post-1995 environment and you think that ours is a totally original world, nothing existed before the internet, and that things have never been as chaotic as they are now.

Well, hold on to your Samsungs and Apples as I tell you all about the life of dear Mr. Southern…

Born in Texas, he served in World War Two as a demolition expert, winning a Bronze Star and – this still makes me laugh – Good Conduct Medal. From there, and on the G.I. Bill, he would attend the Sorbonne, live in Greenwich Village, Swinging London, Geneva, and finally New York. It was what he did between all of those stops that amazes me. He had the first ever story published in The Paris Review (“The Accident” – 1953); helped, with assistance from the Beat poet Gregory Corso, get “Naked Lunch” published (his friendship with the author, William S. Burroughs, was guaranteed); co-wrote both “Dr. Strangelove, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb” and “Easy Rider” (Oscar nominations came his way for both efforts), and worked on “Barbarella” (ask your grandparents about the original with Jane Fonda), Saturday Night Live (only one season), “The Pink Panther” series (allegedly, Peter Sellers paid him to write lines for him only), and is credited by Tom “Bonfire of the Vanities” Wolfe in creating New Journalism (the Hunter S. Thompsonesque idea of the writer inserting themselves in the story) with his piece, “Twirling at Ole Miss” (Esquire, February 1963). Oh, and one thing you might like to know, music fans: he is on the cover of the Beatles “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” (he is wearing sunglasses next to W.C. Fields; guess it helped that he knew the photographer, Michael Cooper).

So, do you want to read the book?

Seriously, this is my second time through it, and I do not want to put it down. I realize that this is just a sampling of his oeuvre (I’m sure he would have hated that word), and that the two pieces mentioned are not included. You may feel that I am adding too much honey to the pot and should focus on just the work his son Nile chose for the book. It includes letters, interviews, political pieces, stories too funny or sick to be false, and a very particular picture of what life was like in the brief period when the counterculture could be counted on to counter the official story (say that three times fast). And I know that I am going to be accused of going too deep in my praise.

Well, here’s the problem. I grew up watching the films he worked on and that exposure and interest has made me dig even deeper into the life (that title does work). The collection is a fun ride, but it does something that I am finding much rarer as I read such things from other writers: it makes me want to go out right now and hunt for all of the books that are either out of print, or only available in rare editions.

Oh, and samples of his writing?

From a piece on Mr. Burroughs:

“In life there are things which are funny, and then there are things which are merely presumed to be funny. Literature, out of a misguided appeal to an imaginary popular taste and in the caution of self-distrust, generally follows the latter course, so that the humour found in books is almost always vicarious – meeting certain ‘traditional’ requirements and producing the kind of laughter one might expect: rather strained.”

And that is just the first paragraph. And what about this?

“With the American tour completed, it has become apparent to certain persons who did not previously recognize it – critics and the like – that Mick Jagger has perhaps the single greatest talent for ‘putting a song across’ of anyone in the history of performing arts. In his movements he has somehow combined the most dramatic qualities of James Brown, Rudold Nureyev, and Marcel Marceau. He makes all previous ‘movers’ – Elvis, Sammy Davis, Janis Joplin, and even (saints protect me from sacrilege) the great James B. himself – appear to be waist deep in the grimpenmire”

No, I had no idea what “grimpenmire” meant, and yes, I think the writer doth praise too much, but you could get away with these sentiments in 1972 when the Rolling Stones were at their peak both live and on record (no wonder the band kept bringing him on tour and other groups loved him – Ringo actually chose him for the “Pepper” cover).

As you can see, his style of writing had that free flow feeling of a Hunter S. Thompson and a rigor and inventiveness that would appeal to Kubrick, Sellers (who gave Stanley a copy of one of Southern’s novels, leading to his hiring and use of satire for the final project), the Beatles, the Stones and find him hired by magazines to cover events as diverse as the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago (with Jean Genet! – look him up) and some near-libelous moments with other writers that I am going to leave up to you to judge over their veracity.

What a life and what a world he lived in… Like my Jimmy Breslin piece, this one makes me consider all of the things that I did not dare to do, and all the anarchy and waste I have tried to avoid in my life.

But give me one year in his shoes and I would just…

Oh, never mind.

Just go out and read about the life of one of our wonderful literate madmen…

*

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this, you can add your Insights, Comment, leave a Heart, Tip, Pledge, or Subscribe. I will appreciate any support you have shown for my work.

You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

Give it a look...