In 1965 I suggested to Alan Brien...that he choose for discussion Mailer's first novel for 10 years, The American Dream.

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Over the years the American author had my BBC career on the line more than once
November 21, 2007 10:00 AM

The head of the Third Programme thought Norman Mailer's ideas were half-baked, even mad, but eventually became a fan.

The death of Norman Mailer brings back memories of three odd and related incidents at the BBC. As a newly arrived producer at Broadcasting House in 1961 I proposed that Norman Mailer be invited to discuss his new book Advertisements for Myself for the Third Programme (now Radio Three). It was accepted with a certain reluctance as Mailer, then on bail for the attempted murder of his wife, was out of favour. My chosen interviewer was another maverick social observer, Colin MacInnes - I thought the result splendid and so did they. I called the talk A Cruel Soil for Talent, which was Mailer's description of the prevailing cultural climate in the US, and sent a billing to the Radio Times. Then early one evening the head of the Third, PH Newby, the novelist and first winner of the Booker prize, phoned to say he'd heard the programme, thought Mailer's ideas about God, Satan, politics, existentialism and modern sexuality half-baked, even mad, and he'd withdrawn it from the schedules. When I suggested I wouldn't work for him again if it wasn't broadcast, he took the unprecedented step of arranging a playback for all Third Programme producers who'd then be asked to vote. Around 30 people attended, there was a vote and I won by a fairly decent margin. The programme went out (though it was cut by 10 minutes to show official disapproval) and the press reception was excellent. Newby became a Mailer fan, and I worked at the BBC for another 30 years.

In 1965 I suggested to Alan Brien (theatre critic and Spectator columnist), the then book reviewer on the Home Service's Sunday lunchtime programme, The Critics, that he choose for discussion Mailer's first novel for 10 years, The American Dream. Two days later he told me the producers had dropped the book because it featured anal sex. So he'd resigned and was taking the story to Fleet Street. Some minutes later I had a call from the assistant head of radio publicity to say that, to refute Brien's claim, the BBC was putting out a press release saying The American Dream had been withdrawn from The Critics to avoid duplication with my Third Programme magazine, New Comment. I immediately phoned my boss, the legendary radio pioneer and friend of Ezra Pound, DG Bridson. "Geoffrey," I said, "I've just had a call from a stupid bitch in publicity called Joyce Rowe and they're going to put out a lying statement that will make us all look like fucking idiots." There was a pause. Bridson said: "Joyce Rowe is my wife." In his 1971 memoir Prospero and Ariel, Bridson wrote of this affair: "I was intrigued to find myself pilloried as another Pastor Manders. But though I have no objection to sodomitical practices (among consenting adults) I still think they might have proved unacceptable to the old ladies of Cheltenham if the book had been recommended to them over lunch one Sunday morning."

Three years later, in 1968, the novelist and historian David Caute was invited to review Mailer's Armies of the Night, his book on the anti-war march in Washington, for the Third Programme. In the course of the talk he quoted from another Mailer book, the novel Why Are We In Vietnam?, a long, scatological monologue on the theme of machismo. A couple of days before transmission the head of the talks department saw the script and demanded that the quotation be cut and the talk rerecorded. Caute refused and the talk was withdrawn. The novelist and playwright Julian Mitchell, a friend of Caute's, got up a letter of protest to the Listener, the BBC's prestigious weekly journal (it was closed down in 1989 for reasons of economy) signed by a couple of dozen writers, John Updike and Angus Wilson among them.

The following year I launched a new programme, The Arts This Week, to go out live on the Third Programme every Wednesday evening. My co-producer was Russell Harty and the programme was presented by Bryan Magee, the philosopher, broadcaster and future MP. One of the items for discussion was Why Are We In Vietnam? and the speakers were Eric Mottram, lecturer in American literature at London University, and Julian Mitchell. In retrospect I'm not sure just what we expected, but a few minutes into the discussion, Mitchell said something to the effect that it was impossible to get a sense of the book's tone without quoting from it, and after telling listeners that they had 20 seconds to get over to their radio sets and switch off, he quoted a passage from the book that contained more than half-a-dozen four letter words.

I don't recall how many people phoned in to complain - not many, I think. I do remember that immediately after the programme ended Howard Newby, still head of the Third Programme, called the studio to say how much he'd liked it, and there were a number of calls from people who'd enjoyed it. The following morning the weekly Third Programme talks meeting began with a brief review of the previous seven days' broadcasting. But before the discussion got going, George Camacho, the head of talks and previously the controller of the Light Programme (the future Radios 1 and 2), said to Howard Newby, who was in the chair: "I think we've got something to discuss". "What's that George?" said Newby. "I think you know perfectly well," said Camacho. "We'd banned Caute six months ago, and this is going to make us appear to say the least a little inconsistent." "But George," said Newby, with quiet reasonableness, "'Caute was quoting a book that hadn't yet been published. Last night's discussion was specifically centred on the published book. It's a very different situation."

Such Jesuitical argumentation was very characteristic of the BBC at the time. Camacho's response was what is usually conveyed in print by 'hrummffph', and the meeting went on to other business. In the early 1970s, in an article in the quarterly magazine Encounter on changing tastes and values in broadcasting, Camacho vigorously defended his decision. I had gone into the meeting wondering if my career was on the line again, but The Arts This Week went out live for another 97 editions.

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