The truth about Rockefeller—revealed in the headlines in 2008—shocks Kirn. Not only because a man he’d considered a friend turns out to be fraud, but because Kirn can now see the ways in which he remained willfully blind to the sham. “What a perfect mark I’d been,” Kirn laments. “Rationalizing, justifying, imagining. I’d worked as hard at being conned by him as he had at conning me. I wasn’t a victim; I was a collaborator.” Kirn’s book turns angry along with its narrator and becomes more straightforwardly a takedown—a mildly paranoid one, in the final pages of which Kirn imagines himself as Rockefeller’s potential murder victim.
What makes Blood Will Out so absorbing is its teller more than its subject. Kirn’s persona is captivating—funny, pissed off, highly literate, and self-searching. He’s also an elegant, classic writer. He compares the lame dog Shelby’s faint heartbeat to “a grasshopper jumping inside a paper bag”; then he weeps when she refuses to drink. His is the kind of voice you wish you had narrating your day-to-day life, finding comedy in its corners and meaning in its blunders.
What new material Kirn lends to this well-trod case can only be described as a literary explication of Clark Rockefeller’s life. By studying works of literature and film noir that he knew Rockefeller to have admired, Kirn finds Rockefeller’s “narrative DNA” in the 1985 murder of John Sohus, for which Rockefeller was convicted in 2013. Kirn reads allusions to Patricia Highsmith and Hitchcock in the Sohus crime scene. Rockefeller himself, Kirn tells us, is a terrifyingly postmodern imitation of an imitation—“impeccably derivative,” borrowing his affect from characters like Thurston Howell III from Gilligan’s Island. And at each step, Kirn is there to detail the ways in which he, too, is unreliable, guilty, gullible, or suffering from “promiscuous readiness”—a readiness to believe, to dig for material, to make alliances. Again and again, Kirn honestly examines his own motivations, which—to the writer and the thinking man or woman—are endlessly complex, and are, finally, the most elusive subject of all.
I guess this is where I ought to say that I recently wrote a novel that borrowed several details from Clark Rockefeller’s over-the-top life. I never hoped to be associated with the “real” Clark Rockefeller, and, like Kirn, I rue the association. I have little interest in murderers, and in light of his recent conviction, I am disappointed in Rockefeller for his psychopathologies on a literary level. That is to say, like Kirn, I am always trying to figure out how I can yank fiction out of life. Like Kirn—like all writers—I am “promiscuously ready” to steal anything, given the chance: secrets once told, sweet things my kids said in moments of trust. All of it. Into the fictional fire!
Naturally, the journalist, whom Kirn calls the “professional truth seeker,” has a far more complex relationship with his real-world material than the novelist, but one does not get into the writing profession without the instinct to describe the “real world.” Reading Blood Will Out, I kept thinking of a writer whose profiles appeared in The New Yorker long before Kirn’s—Joseph Mitchell, whose masterwork, Joe Gould’s Secret, was about a different writer meeting a different fraud in a very different New York. In the early 1940s, Mitchell became friendly with a subject who fooled him—a bohemian who claimed to be compiling an oral history of America—and in so doing both exhausted himself and gained a despairing vision of his own self-deception and grandiosity. In the best writers, the outward-reaching interest in the “found subject” leads back at a hairpin to some uncomfortable inner recognition that the writer has journeyed very far to see; he comes home half-dead.
Kirn’s book on lies, writing, and murder reaches both outward and inward. It’s a portrait of a now-famous imposter, as well as a colorful blow-by-blow of his murder trial. It’s also a lamentation about what it feels like to be screwed over. It’s such an honest book that I feel Kirn is finally too hard on himself for believing Rockefeller—Kirn is a writer, after all, and he has to follow the story before it even takes shape as a story. Joseph Mitchell once commented that, because of his profession, he had “been tortured by some of the fanciest ear-benders in the world,” and that he had “long since lost the ability to detect insanity.” Perhaps Kirn’s good faith in Rockefeller had a similar root. Add the highly readable, intricately told Blood Will Out to the list of great books about the dizzying tensions of the writing life and the maddening difficulty of getting at the truth.
Blood Will Out: The True Story of a Murder, a Mystery and a Masquerade by Walter Kirn. Liveright.
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