#ive been told i have old hippie music taste

[whumpbug]

hi hi hi I am working on your misc questions but I want to return the favor so your your BOYS i have. an interview.

For them all, what song are they listening to right now?

For Archie and Simon, what is one underrated quality they adore about the other?

For Gene and Cassidy, beyond all of their rivalry, are they worried about the other? Why?

For Archie and Cassidy, what's something about the world that gives them joy, even if it's small?

For Simon and Gene, what's something they do to make them feel like they're younger? Being a caretaker, or the adult, is hard. How do they destress?

and some lil this or thats:

For Archie, sitting under the stars or under the sun?

For Simon, date nights at home or out in the world?

For Gene, luck or fate?

For Cassidy, is the glass half full or half empty?

i hope this isn't too many but I am enthralled by your sillies and I will read anything with utter glee!!!!

seth it is never too many. if anything there aren't ENOUGH questions /hj (i don't mean to pressure u into asking more tho)

these are genuinely some of my favorite questions ive been asked UGH u know just what to ask seth these are unbelievably good. u know the drill. extremely long post incoming because these sillies are everything to me.

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what song are they listening to?

ok im going to give real answers for simon and archie but since i don't really know what songs were like. around. in the 1860s, i'm going to give a song that describes gene and cassidy's Current Mental State instead and the lyric i think encapsulates it best (i'm sorry in advance)

simon: "light my fire" by the doors

archie: "good old-fashioned lover boy" by queen

gene: once more to see you by mitski

lyric: but with everybody watching us, our every move / we do have reputations / we keep it secret / won't let them have it

cassidy: "hello it's me" by todd rundgren

lyric: you know that I'd be with you if I could / i'll come around to see you once in a while / or if I ever need a reason to smile

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archie and simon: what is one underrated quality they adore about the other?

archie:

archie is absolutely, positively, utterly, obsessed with simon's smile. and not the fake, practiced one he gives to strangers when making small talk or when he's trying to lighten the mood with patients. his real smile.

archie loves how slight it is, yet still somehow brightens his entire face. he loves the way it reaches his eyes with that subtle crinkle near his cheek. he loves that simon's teeth are just the smallest bit crooked, like he didn't wear his retainer as much as he should have as a kid. he loves the way it is usually accompanied with a snort-laugh. and he loves that he practically gets it all to himself.

simon:

i don't think theres a single part of archie body or personality that doesn't captivate simon in some way. if you asked him this, he would struggle to answer because how can he when everything is just so. perfect. but, his answer would ultimately be archie's eyes. they are the color of a stormy sea, yet somehow the warmest eyes simon has ever had the pleasure of looking in.

when they first met, simon would find himself staring at them far too often. he played it off like he was checking for neurological function, but i think archie knew. simon's wishes he could swim in them, they're just so lovely.

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gene and cassidy: beyond all of their rivalry, are they worried about the other?

short answer: yes. very much yes.

cassidy:

cassidy had been worried for gene since they met, but the reason has long since changed.

at first, he was worried about his views. he found him to be extremely disillusioned about the world. he didn't understand how someone could be so "passive" and still claim to care about others, and this worried him because he knew gene's inaction would lead him to a tough spot one day. the worry was masked by frustration.

then, it changed. when he saw that gene actually did put in the work to help his people (e.g. working late hours to break up bar fights and get people home safely, making sure the orphanages and churches were well funded, even if it came out of his own pocket, etc.), he began to think, ironically, maybe it was too much. he worried about gene stretching himself too thin, and being used by people (haha. take a look in the mirror bud.)

gene:

god. not a day goes by that gene doesn't worry about cassidy.

gene, being the deputy, has had a few run-ins with montana, and that is enough to get a sense for the kind of man he is. he is mean, cold, and not afraid to pull all the wrong strings to get what he wants.

if it wasn't for meeting him face to face, i think gene would still have a sense of him by the the way cassidy reacts to certain things. gene notices that cassidy is jumpy, and flinches whenever he so much as raises his voice (thought he tries his hardest not to). he notices that cassidy doesn't like eating in front of others. he notices that he closes right up whenever gene asks about his past. he notices that sometimes, he keeps his head tilted down so the brim of his hat can hide the deep bruise around his eye.

he worries that cassidy will never escape that man.

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archie and cassidy: what's something about the world that gives them joy, even if it's small?

archie:

archie appreciates a lot of the littler things in life. he loves when he finds a shirt or sweater that is just the right material and won't agitate his over-sensitive skin. he loves when pets look like their owners. he loves when simon falls asleep in his lap. he loves eating good food.

on a larger scale, he loved seeings acts of kindness. he loves seeing big brothers zipping up their baby brothers' coats and parents carrying their children when they get tired. its things like that that remind him why he fights as vigil-- to preserve happiness.

cassidy:

similar to archie, cassidy loves a lot of little things but specifically when he knows he had a part of it.

he loves seeing the little girls at the orphanage twirl and twirl in their new dresses after he donated a hefty sum. he loves seeing the couple that had their house destroyed in a hurricane raise their baby in the one cassidy and some boys from the gang built from the ground up.

more than anything though? he loves seeing people being kind to stray kids on the street. whether its a store clerk slipping the kid a can of beans or a lawman turning a blind eye when the kid snags a new pair of pants, it warms his heart because that was him. he would have given anything for just a fraction of that kindness.

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for simon and gene: what's something they do to make them feel like they're younger?

simon:

for simon, the answer is quite simple. sleep.

something about curling up, especially in archie's lap, makes him feel safe and cozy like he's a kid again. after a long day of work, it's exactly what he needs. when archie sees that he's overwhelmed or stressed, he'll often just open his arms in an invitation, and simon will completely melt into it. he's most comfortable when archie is laying down as well, that way he can lay his head on his chest and hike up a leg to drape over archie's middle. this man attaches to archie. and then archie is just. stuck there.

gene:

for him, it is definitely when he gets to pamper calliope. something about baby-talking his horse while he brushes every inch of her coat and braids her mane and cleans her hooves thoroughly brings him right back to when he was 15 and working on his father's ranch. he coos at her and feeds her sugarcubes and lets her lay her head in his lap while they both nap under the afternoon sun. its rare that he has a day off, but he'll most likely spend it with her. he loves that damn horse so much.

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this or thats!

for archie, sitting under the stars or under the sun?

it has to be sun. archie adores the sunshine and the way it feels on his skin. its a pleasant warmth that never fails to ground him and leave his head feeling just a little clearer. it drives simon crazy that archie consistently forgets sunblock.

for simon, date nights at home or out in the world?

at home for sure. he is very much an introvert. plus, his work and school requires him to be around a LOT of people. he's quite burnt out when he comes home, and wants nothing more than to spend a night with the person he adores, away from everything else.

for gene, luck or fate?

fate. he believes, in some way, everything happens for a reason. even if its a reason he can't quite understand himself, and even if its a reason he despises. all he can do is hope that his own fate is kind and merciful. it's all he can do.

for cassidy, is the glass half full or half empty?

in his heart of hearts, he'd want to say half full, but he can't. he's seen and experienced so many awful things in his life, and as much as he doesn't like to admit, it takes a toll on him. he puts on this front of a sly, competent, bright fellow, but in truth, he feels hopeless a lot of the time. trapped, even.

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SETH thank you so much for letting me ramble about my darlings. as always, never be afraid to ask more because i look forward to talking about these guys. these questions were AMAZING thank u so so so MUCH!!!!!!!!!

[justforbooks]

A Writer to the Very End: Remembering the Great “Gatz”

By Maryanne Vollers

William “Gatz” Hjortsberg had everything going for him except time. Days before the diagnosis in early March—pancreatic cancer, stage IV—Gatz had finished the long-awaited sequel to his groundbreaking novel, Falling Angel. He’d hoped to have enough time to edit it. But the end came faster than anyone expected. He was in hospice care at home in Livingston, MT, and feeling strong enough to entertain visitors, including his old friend, Tom McGuane, who told him how much he liked the new book. Gatz was so encouraged that he decided to try a round of chemo to see if it could give him an extra month or so to get the book to a publisher. That was Thursday, April 20th.

I live around the corner from Gatz and his wife, the artist Janie Camp, so on Saturday morning I knocked on their door with a plate of fresh banana bread, thinking he might be able to eat a bite or two. He smiled when he saw me, but he was done with food or drink.

Gatz—a childhood nickname that evolved from his unpronounceable last name—had a genius for storytelling that he translated into a large and diverse body of work, including essays, novels, screenplays, and a captivating, encyclopedic biography of Richard Brautigan, a former friend and neighbor. Hjortsberg and Brautigan were part of a cohort of writers and actors who adopted Montana as home in the late 1960s and 70s, including McGuane, Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, Jeff Bridges, Tim Cahill, Russell Chatham, and, at least part-time, Jim Harrison. A lot of the ones who survived the gunfire and divorce lawyers stuck around, including Gatz.

William Hjortsberg was born in New York City on February 23, 1941, the only child of a Swedish restaurateur and his Swiss wife. He lived the high life until his father died when he was ten, leaving no money. His mother worked as a hotel maid to put him through private school while they lived in a transient hotel on Amsterdam Avenue. Gatz worked his way through Dartmouth College, attended the Yale School of Drama—where he met McGuane—and spent two years at Stanford as a Stegner Fellow. During the 1960s Gatz and his first wife, Marian, bounced between the United States and various exotic locales, teaching, homesteading, and doing what hippies tend to do while bringing up their young daughter, Lorca. During the 70s they settled in the Paradise Valley, south of Livingston, where a son, Max, was born (and where the marriage eventually ended).

Gatz was an exceedingly original writer, with a passion for history, mystery, and the occult—and a flair for twisting it all into elegant plots with a sense of wicked fun. As John Leonard wrote in a New York Times review of Gatz’s first novel, Alp, in 1969, he was “a satanic S.J. Perelman… by way of Disney and de Sade.”

It was sometimes hard to reconcile Gatz’s gruesome subject matter with his sunny, ebullient personality. He was a mischievous presence, a fascinating conversationalist, and the kindest, most generous of friends. The writer who detailed demonic orgies with the glee of an ax murderer was also a doting father and grandfather who patiently taught children to fish for trout. He kept an extensive collection of antique toys. He loved art. His totem, he said, was the penguin, the most cheerful bon vivant of the animal kingdom. And yet, there was the dark well from which he drew inspiration: “The door to my lower consciousness is always open,” he once said. “And the little lizard people who live down in there are always wriggling out and whispering nasty things.” In 1978 one of those nasty ideas grew into the best-selling Falling Angel, a supernatural detective novel. In 1987 it was adapted into the film, Angel Heart, starring Mickey Rourke, Lisa Bonet, and Robert DeNiro.

Gatz’s focus drifted to Hollywood, where he wrote Ridley Scott’s cult classic, Legend, and countless other scripts, some of which were even made into films. He made a good living from his screenplays, but he returned to letters, pursuing the definitive Brautigan biography with the demented zeal of an Ahab stalking his whale. Happily, Gatz’s obsession had a better ending. Jubilee Hitchhiker, which he labored over for two decades, was well received when it was published in 2012.

His accomplishments were often eclipsed by those of his famous buddies (even at his peak, reviewers described him as “underappreciated”), but Gatz had recently been experiencing late-career revival. He published a new novel, Mañana, in 2015, and was working on some other projects when he had a revelation. The sequel to Falling Angel had been percolating in his mind for years, but he didn’t know how it ended. Suddenly he did. Gatz started writing immediately.

I met Gatz when my husband Bill Campbell and I moved to Livingston 20 years ago. It was easy to be his friend; he was irresistible. And when he fell in love with Janie Camp, who lived practically next door, Gatz became a neighbor, too.

The last time we spoke he joked that we should have installed tracks or, better yet, a zip-line between our yards to make cocktail hour more efficient.

Maybe Gatz was so adept at fantasy and fairytales because he was childlike himself. A friend who grew up around him told me that children loved Gatz because he never patronized them. “He always listened, took you completely seriously. Once you were human you were part of the game,” she said. Gatz embraced his stepsons, Michel Leroy and Jake Camp, as his own. He was close to his daughter, Lorca, who works for a toy company based in Los Angeles, and Max, a poet and conservationist, who lives in Livingston with his wife, Anna (the younger daughter of Jim Harrison) and their son Silas.

After Gatz was diagnosed with cancer, he and his son Max made plans to prepare the Falling Angel sequel for submission to publishers. A few weeks ago, at a memorial for Jim Harrison, Max slipped his old pal Tom McGuane a thumb drive of the manuscript.

On Monday, April 17, Tom popped by to visit Gatz and stayed for a couple of hours. When he left, Gatz was elated. I sent McGuane an email to ask him what he thought of the sequel. He wrote: “It is extraordinarily imaginative and detailed and I think might remind any reader why The Los Angeles Times said that its predecessor, Falling Angel, was an absolute game changer.” He added what he told Gatz: “I intend to help the new book find its way however I can.“

When I walked through the door the next Saturday morning, it was obvious that Gatz wasn’t going to get the time he’d hoped for. The book was his only unfinished business. He had no other regrets, he told his doctor, who had visited him the night before and then placed a call to hospice. He was hoping to have a more festive death, he said, one with music and friends gathered around. But there was no time for it.

I know he would like you to hear this: His last hours on this planet were peaceful. The drugs worked and there was no pain. He was never afraid. Max arrived, and a few friends and relatives came by to help with what was needed. Gatz smiled at everyone. His grip was strong and he knew us all. The last thing I saw him do was put his arm around Janie to comfort her. Courtly to the end. Gatz died at 9:15pm Saturday.

Because this is a very small town we knew that the undertaker, Colin, was asleep, because he lives with his young family right next door to me and Bill and we saw their lights were out. But when Janie was ready to let the hospice nurse call, Colin answered the phone and came by a few minutes later. It was a neighborly affair.

The sad news spread through Livingston before it got out into the world. Glenn Godward opened up the Park Place Tavern on a Sunday afternoon for an impromptu wake. Glenn’s place is a favorite watering hole for local novelists, journalists, artists, ranchers and poets—Jim Harrison used to position himself at the patio entrance like Cerberus with a taste for cabernet. The whole damn town must have been there that day. All that was missing was Gatz’s roaring chainsaw of a laugh, a sound that could cut through any level of pandemonium. Gatz, who never missed a good party, would have enjoyed it. God, I’ll miss hearing that voice. We all will.

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