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The sphinx
Susan Sontag's beauty and brains made her America's most famous intellectual, but her true self is a mystery.

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By Vivian Gornick

Aug. 10, 2000 | Susan Sontag, through less fault of her own than you might imagine, has been a national celebrity for more than 30 years. The word "celebrity" is subsuming: artist, intellectual, performer, politician -- it matters little which one it is, it's the celebrity part of an identity that carries the weight. It imprisons its bearer in such fantasy that fans and murderers alike approach as though the celebrity in question were an artifact rather than a human being. The book we have in hand is a demonstration of the process at work: a pair of biographers, who more closely resemble paparazzi than writers, fasten on a woman of intellect, driving to ground the images and impressions connected with her, leaving both the woman and the intellectual behind in their pursuit of her fame.

Reading this book I became aware that the unauthorized celebrity bio is indeed a genre and this one, I think, must be a good example of the form. The tone is professionally cool, the writing dominated by the canned sound of "intelligent summary" that emanates from the industry of untalented researchers. Sontag's biographers are not engaged by her ideas, but they catalog them assiduously; they are not unskeptical of how she got where she is, but they admire the success; they insinuate whenever they can, yet they do not sit in judgment. The book neither sympathizes with its subject nor trashes her. A kind of semiruthless, semi-good-natured impersonality prevails throughout. In short, she is simply a timely subject for a pair of pros -- one of them has already done Marilyn Monroe, Lillian Hellman and Norman Mailer -- for whom pedestrian evenhandedness is a signature trait.



Susan Sontag: The Making of an Icon

By Carl Rollyson and Lisa Paddock

Norton 370 pages
Nonfiction



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Sontag herself is a problematic subject for any biographer (much less one to whom she would not speak). Living as she does in a fishbowl, she long ago put in place a way of being in the world -- cold, arrogant, dramatic-looking -- that evolved, ultimately, into an impenetrable disguise, one that remains, finally, unrevealing. As for her writing, although she became famous as a young woman for her bold '60s essays -- the ones announcing a sea change in the culture -- hers was always the voice of an educated urban intellectual, free of inflection or nuance, in rigorous possession of a traditional intelligence that could research an insight and organize the material prodigiously. But she was from the beginning, and has remained to this day, a formal -- not a personal -- essayist. Even when the impetus for the work is openly derived from her own experience (as in "Illness as Metaphor"), she herself is not there on the page.

This book never penetrates the glazed surface of Sontag's appearance or the formal character of her work. It simply recapitulates the career, paying heavy attention to the time and effort both she and her publisher, Roger Straus, have put into the management of her public persona. As if this is big news, it announces her lesbianism, with no insight into what it has meant to her to love women instead of men; and it gossips about her unconventional relation to her son -- an Israeli writer said, watching them together, "She's not a mother and he's not a son." But however many interviews were conducted with friends and enemies alike, the reader is left knowing that a wall still stands behind which Susan Sontag lurks, undetected and unknown.

. Next page | How much of Sontag's success does she owe to her looks?
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Photograph by Camera Press Ltd/Jeffery Blankfort/Archive Photos


 



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