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A few months ago the news media gave a lot of attention to the passing of author Norman Mailer. I believe he wrote more than 40 books during his career but I was able to wade through just one, although I also read a couple of his short stories. Maybe if I had read more of Mailer's stuff I could understand why he was so highly regarded in some circles.

I suspect, however, that a lot of Mailer's fame had more to do with his colorful and often insulting nature than from his ability to put words on paper. For some reason, a lot of arty people seem to think bad behavior is evidence of great talent. I feel the same way about another recently-deceased literary lion named Hunter Thompson, who appeared to enthrall intellectuals mostly because of his legendary consumption of drugs and alcohol. Why didn't I think of that? Perhaps if I had put away more hooch after I wrote my only book a few years back it wouldn't have been such a flop, but I doubt it. You need a better press agent than I can afford to turn a common drunk into an icon.

I don't expect every competent writer to be a normal person. In fact, being a little loony can even be an asset to an author. One of my favorites, mystery writer Raymond Chandler, was a big-time boozer, doing some of his best work while deeply under the influence. Another writer whom I consider one of the best American authors of the 20th century, Ross Lockridge, Jr., inexplicably committed suicide just as it became clear that his first and only book, Raintree County, was going to be a blockbuster. He killed himself in the midst of hoopla from Hollywood that big stars including Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Clift would bring Raintree County to life on the screen.

I doubt that hardly any of you have read Raintree County or even heard of the book and that's no reflection on your literary IQ. It's because the book first came out in 1948, was over 1,000 pages long and the subsequent movie version was so hokey that it surely must have put off a lot of potential book buyers. Even so, Raintree County became a best seller, then sank from view like most best sellers eventually do. But the book has been re-issued recently, perhaps as proof that great talent will usually rise again. Buy a copy and you'll understand what I'm saying.

Nobody knows for sure why Lockridge ended his life at the very moment he was at the top of his game. From the day it came off the presses, many of the most respected critics were calling Raintree County the Great American Novel. Major studios were clamoring for the movie rights. Under these circumstances most authors would have become euphoric, built huge ski lodges at Aspen and spent the rest of their days in riotous living. So what happened to Lockridge? Why did he apparently feel that his life was no longer worth living so soon after he delivered his priceless manuscript to the publisher?

I think one reason might have been that Raintree County is an exquisitely detailed piece of work, one that would drain almost anybody's creative juices for all time. A chronic depressive, Lockridge could have been overwhelmed by the haunting sense that he could never again produce anything that would approach Raintree County. It's possible he couldn't stand the thought of being a one-book sensation. It's sad to imagine that somebody so talented might have confused quantity with quality and failed to realize that one masterpiece like Raintree County would be more than enough to assure literary immortality.