![]() ![]() His journey won’t be easy, not in Puritan America. Mad, pilgrim, flesh-free associate: Monkish lunatic, sex. This book, the cover by Paul Davis tells us, will be about a man who’s larger than life, perceptive and snarky, addictive, and stuck in some Purgatorial place. The colors of the words overlaying this image-baby pink juxtaposed with bright yellow-add to the discord. ![]() He’s standing in front of the most toxic sunset you’ve ever seen, the sky an apocalyptic orange, the earth beneath it dark green, roiling. His eyes shine with intelligence while his sensual lips beneath the moustache lift slightly at the edges, as if he’s about to mouth a bon mot. On the cover, a middle-aged guy who looks like an out-of-shape Clark Gable stuffed into a dark suit and pink silk tie, holds a smoking cigarillo and stares at us. John Lahr’s new biography of Tennessee Williams, Mad Pilgrimage of the Flesh, makes an impression before you even open it. ![]()
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