FINAL:
HIGHEST RECOMMENDATION!: A deeply moving crime book, which turns out largely to be about the killer; and it's amazing how the perpetrator of such a savage crime can gain reader sympathy, but Fosburgh goes deep into his life story, life's loser who finally erupts at the last straw. The final line packs an incredible wallop and is full of multiple irony. It is the last word of a dead man, and it bespeaks another incredible failure. This was a page turner, meticulously and superbly told and a great read.
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(EARLIER COMMENT)
I read Judith Rossner's beautiful fictionalization of this murder case a few months back, "Looking for Mr. Goodbar," (and saw the film some years ago; sufficiently disturbed by the experience) and was curious about the real case. Rossner in her novel attempted to enter the mind and world of the woman, to understand her, to delve into her motivations, conflicts, desires. The quiet, dedicated, upstanding school teacher who did everything right by day, paid her bills and taxes and stayed out of people's way; who by night hit bars looking for one-night-stand noncommittal sex. Fosburgh, for her part, admits she didn't learn as much about her real protagonist, Katherine Cleary, because the family would not cooperate and grant interviews. This book is half about the murderer, Joe Willie Simpson, and half about Cleary. In the novel and film, the killer more or less comes out of nowhere and is an ill-defined monster (though Rossner does to a small degree attempt a rationale for the killer's rage; he was set off by aspersions about his manhood; his sexuality ambiguous). Fosburgh digs deeply into Simpson's life, finding out how a good boy turned bad. How he attempted to escape from phantom physical and mental illnesses and a repressive Midwestern upbringing to see America and be independent, a path that led him to peddle his handsome ass on 42nd street -- to many willing buyers. He was a hustler and con man, but largely not seen as a bad person; a survivor, but one storing up unexpressed rage. The night of the killing brought it to the fore with a vengeance. Cleary's own insecurities often led her to joke sarcastically with people about things they didn't find funny (Diane Keaton captured this well in the film). This is no excuse for murder, but one does need to watch what one says to a psycho, especially a total stranger brought home for a one-night stand. Simpson was heterosexual, apparently, but found homosexuality lucrative and even enjoyable eventually. He took up with a sugar daddy of the Park Avenue set in NYC. Sexual confusion was part of his volatile mix. As recent high-profile mass shootings have shown, perceived slights or dissing by a particular class can turn perceived humiliation into rage.
This book reads like lightning. It is minutely detailed but not in a way that bogs you down in the minutiae. There was something about the way books were written in the '60s and '70s, especially nonfiction ones like this, that bespoke clarity. I'm beginning to appreciate the less pretentious and the simplicity and precision of the reportage as presented here.
A lot of it takes the form of a police procedural. Fosburgh modulates the time-shift structure and narrative very well--something at which a lot of historical writers falter. She goes back and forth in time; covering both the pasts of the victim and killer, the aftermath as the latter went into hiding, and the forward movement of the investigation; blending them and cutting back and forth effortlessly. We see the inexorable meeting of two people who just a day before the fatal meeting were thousands of miles from each, strangers destined to meet one cold New York City night; both from similar repressive backgrounds, both damaged parts of the American grain, both with desires and perceptions that clash. There's a moment of epiphany, a masterstroke of Fosburgh's, when she found out that Simpson as a child was chastised by a teacher and reassured by his mother, "teachers think they're better than everybody else anyway." A nugget that must have stayed in his disturbed mind until the fatal day. The book also is about class, social and intellectual differences that breed conflict, sometimes even in the so-called melting pot, where the boil can explode into a thousand murders a year.
Fosburgh and Rossner converge a bit at points, especially in the matter of Cleary's childhood scoliosis, and the effect it had on her psyche and self image and her abandonment of the comforts of religion; the seeking of comfort in pleasure. Another motivator was Cleary's own attempt to realize her potential as a woman, free of traditional domestic and marital expectations. Fosburgh does show novelistic tendencies often; getting into her subject's head, having her railing at God for her plight and so on, with internal monologues. Fosburgh does advise us at the beginning that this an "interpretive biography." It's no surprise then that Capote praised this book.