Sometimes it takes a warm cadaver for people to take notice of forgotten novelists. I had hoped that would happen with James Purdy, above (photo by Robert Giard), who died on Friday the 13th, this past March. But even though the New York Times honored him with a perfunctory obituary, few others in the media paid homage. The “In Memoriam” segment of This Week with George Stephanopolous, for instance, cited several celebrity deaths that Sunday, but made no mention of James Purdy, whom some have argued was one of America’s finest authors. When I mentioned this to Alfred Corn, a writer and friend, he turned to me with obvious surprise and an unspoken “duh” and said “Well, of course not. He was gay.”

I guess that’s what it comes down to in the end, although James Purdy’s work covered a much wider and far more bizarre terrain than simply homosexuality. He wrote of serial killers, society misfits, and what New Directions cited as “the paradox of love and loneliness.” Perhaps you’ve never heard of him. I wouldn’t be surprised, even though he wrote numerous darkly comic novels, including the acclaimed Jeremy’s Version; The Nephew; Cabot Wright Returns; and Narrow Rooms. One of my favorite works of his is Colour of Darkness, an eerie short story first published as 63: Dream Palace. It was the first of his pieces that garnered accolades, thanks to a rousing recommendation from Dame Edith Sitwell who, only occasionally prone to hyperbole, claimed he was the most significant writer to come along in a hundred years.

John Powys called him “certainly the best kind of original genius of our day.” The Times of London said, vis a vis Malcolm, perhaps his best-known novel, “Mr. Purdy writes like an angel… a fallen angel, versed in the sinful ways of man.” Dorothy Parker, who knew a few things about humor, called Malcolm, “The most prodigiously funny book to streak across these heavy-hanging times.” Orville Prescott, who so famously dissed Gore Vidal, championed Malcolm’s young author, stating that “Mr. Purdy is in some danger of becoming the center of a literary cult.”

What also surprised me about Purdy’s death — certainly not unexpected since he was 94 — was that the New York Times obituary felt like it had been rushed into print, without any preparation. It left out two very prominent facts of his wide-ranging career. First, it made no mention of Edward Albee’s play version of Malcolm which opened on Broadway in 1966 and ran a scant seven performances. Not every writer can lay claim to such a monumental flop.

And second, William Grimes, who wrote the obit, completely overlooked the cult film In A Shallow Grave, directed by Kenneth Bowser, starring Michael Biehn and Patrick Dempsey, which was adapted from Purdy’s novel of the same name. It was produced by American Playhouse in 1988. As far as I know it has never been released on DVD.

As a tribute to James Purdy, who lived in Brooklyn and whom I once met briefly at a literary party, I decided to devote last night to rewatching In A Shallow Grave. Sadly, it’s not on Netflix; I had to make do with a scratchy old VHS copy. Of course, I’ve seen the film a dozen times. But I wanted to savor its dark, tortured mysteries yet again. Michael Biehn gives the performance of his career in it, as a soldier returned from the war with severe disfigurements to his face — a far cry from his Terminator beefcake roles. In fact, he is so unattractive in this film that you can hardly recognize him.

Categorized as a gay film when it came out, because it included some homoerotic themes, In A Shallow Grave is anything but. It’s a deeply disturbing film about war, race relations, male bonding, and the redeeming power of love. When the book was first released, the New York Times Book Review stated emphatically: “In A Shallow Grave is a funny…and touching book…a modern Book of Revelation, filled with prophesies, visions and demoniac landscapes. It will bring to Purdy the wider audience he deserves.” Perhaps it still can.

ADDENDUM

Here are links to two fascinating interviews that will illuminate much more than I can say about James Purdy: Here and There.