Thomas Mallon’s Intimate Diaries Chronicle New York’s AIDS Era and Literary Scene

Can a diary be both sincere and compelling if its author is consistently kind, thoughtful, and well-mannered? This question arises while reading "The Very Heart of It: New York Diaries, 1983-1994," a collection of intimate journals by novelist and critic Thomas Mallon. His earnest and affable nature creates a distinct, almost cinematic persona.

Mallon, a longtime New Yorker now based in Washington, D.C., has authored eleven acclaimed novels, often centered on historical and political themes, including titles like "Henry and Clara" and "Fellow Travelers." His nonfiction works include explorations of literary diaries and the complexities of plagiarism.

In the 1990s, Mallon served as literary editor for GQ magazine during an era when men’s magazines had generous budgets and actively competed to feature the best short fiction. He has also contributed numerous essays and reviews to prominent literary publications, recalling with wry humor the gritty offices of a major New York book review outlet that resembled a chaotic police precinct filled with the detritus of a used bookstore.

Persisting through Mallon’s diaries reveals a nuanced portrait of New York City during a turbulent decade. His writing captures the spirit of the times with careful observation and a blend of naïveté and reflection, akin to a thoughtful character in a Sondheim musical about a newcomer navigating a complex city.

The entries begin in 1983, when Mallon was in his early 30s, on the cusp of tenure at Vassar’s English department and preparing to publish a book on literary diaries. As a gay man leaning toward neoconservatism, he navigated the pre-digital dating world of bars and fleeting encounters amid the early, frightening days of the AIDS epidemic.

Mallon describes himself as youthful and ardent, frequenting bars with a restless energy, searching repeatedly for connection. The AIDS crisis casts a persistent shadow, with friends and lovers succumbing to the disease. His diaries reveal a growing desire for affectionate and meaningful relationships over casual encounters, expressing a longing to be "protected, cuddled, adored."

He often notes the anxiety surrounding symptoms and health scares, reflecting the pervasive fear of Kaposi’s sarcoma and other AIDS-related illnesses. His partners’ families often found comfort in Mallon’s demeanor, seeing him as a reassuring figure.

To support himself, Mallon turned to literary criticism, discovering a talent that would sustain him. He reflects candidly on the thrill of his early successes and the sting of harsh reviews, lamenting the gradual disappearance of book reviewing in American media—a significant yet overlooked cultural loss.

As his own novels were published, Mallon distanced himself from academia, feeling politically out of sync with his environment. He recounts his experience ghostwriting Dan Quayle’s 1994 memoir, finding the former vice president and his family unexpectedly endearing despite political differences.

Mallon’s reactions to critical reception range from exhilaration over praise by literary giants to devastation over negative critiques, revealing the vulnerability behind the author’s public persona.

Throughout the diaries, notable literary figures make appearances, often described with a mix of affection and critique—Michael Chabon as "pretty," Jane Smiley "unaffected and gawky," Susan Sontag "a thumping bore," and others painted vividly with sharp, sometimes humorous observations.

One recurring subject of Mallon’s disdain is David Leavitt, a fellow gay author prominent in the 1980s, whom Mallon regards as self-important. Later entries highlight Art Cooper, the boisterous and embattled GQ editor from 1983 to 2003, who emerges as a compelling presence.

"The Very Heart of It" serves as a tribute to New York City’s unique energy and cultural landmarks. Mallon frequently expresses gratitude for living amid icons like the Frick Collection, the Carlyle Hotel, and the Chrysler Building, which he describes as "twinkling across the street like the world’s ultimate Christmas tree."

While Mallon’s diary entries include moments of self-deprecating humor and occasional frustration, they ultimately convey a deep affection for his city and his identity, exemplified by a memorable Fourth of July reflection: "Yes, God Bless America and keep my queer shoulder to the wheel."