"Anonymous " letter by James Purdy

"Decadent" literature boasts very few American authors, but James Purdy is more than adequate to the task. I could raid his wikpedia entry for this post, but let's make it personal. I was introduced to the work of Purdy via a great East Village scenester and author who went by the handle , "Rohan Quine". Purdy and Quine held a joint reading at Sine' , the late great Irish bar/cafe on St Marks Place where you would run into everyone from Johnny Depp and Kate Moss to Sinead O Conner and Jeff Buckey (RIP) . Carl, a bartender there got scouted for Madonna's Sex book and I remember going green with envy at the news. The Quine/Purdy reading was notable because that pairing was sheer will to power on Quine's part. I remember also spending a long Sunday afternoon in this massive, rambling , crumbling Upper West Side apartment where Purdy was holding court. I was a kid then, so names like Djuna Barnes and Carl Van Vechten meant little to me then but so much to me now.
After 10 years I finally sat down to read the copy of "I Am Elijah Thrush" by Purdy that was thrust into my hands back then. The language is not utilitarian. It is majestic and lush and indulgent and showcases words freed from the service of standard logic to yield a beautiful dreamscape. I love it! They say Purdy is enjoying a huge comeback these days , championed as it were by Gore Vidal. The image of this post is a funny and perverse "anonymous" letter Purdy wrote at age 83 which is also touched with some of his drawings.
Given the current sentiment, Purdy is bound to end up in the must read college curriculum but beyond all that I truly treasure the generosity he showed to a bunch of ambitious club kids many years ago. It took a while but I'm starting to feel like the seed finally took.