Hubert Selby, Jr. Passes Away
04-29-04, 07:31 PM
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Hubert Selby, Jr. Passes Away
I always enjoyed reading "Last Exit To Brooklyn" and "Requiem For A Dream". It's a testament to his fine writing that his books were much stronger than the filmed versions of them, IMO. I added this eulogy written about him by Nick Tosches, the author of "Dino" and "Hellfire":
_
HUBERT SELBY, JR.
July 23, 1928 - April 26, 2004
Hubert Selby died often. But he always came back, smiling that beautiful smile of his, and those blue eyes of his so full of life. This time he will not be back. My saints have always come from hell, and now, with his passing, there are no more saints. The world is different. Yesterday, as he lay dying, the sky here in New York was dark and full of rain. Today it is the color of those eyes of his.
All that remained of his lungs was one piece like a small black stone that the doctors’ X-rays could not penetrate. He had lived for most of his seventy-five years taking his breath with that small black stone. And he gave us so much with that blessed breath: not only his friends, but the whole world. Now the world is different, and we will have to breathe without him. Breath, spiration, inspiration, it is all the same; and that small black stone was a source of divinity. I imagined him living to a hundred because I wanted him to live to a hundred. After all, he had come this far with his small black stone unclaimed by death, it seemed that maybe death had forgotten him.
About a year ago, last spring, he wrote to me: “I dont know whats going on. It feels like Ive forgotten how to write like i forget everything else. Everything has changed. cant breathe, cant stay awake, cant move much. Sometimes I sit and cry. My hearts broken by this whole thing. Ive worked very hard to learn how to write a simple line and have it mean something, and now I cant put what Ive learned to use. Obviously Im asking life to be fair. Pretty funny, eh? But theres an element in my life now that I have not experienced in the past... being ashamed of my country. That really adds to the heart break. I too have thought of moving to Europe, but I cant now, its too late. I cant breathe, cant walk much, plus my family is here. See what you did El Woppo, you got me all excited. Anyway, I love you my friend and am grateful for your life and all the beauty and insight that you have added to our ability to understand this human experience. A river derci, cubby.”
Now it seems that he was saying good-bye. But there were more words after that. The last time he wrote to me, he asked if I ever wondered why we bothered to go on. I wrote back to him that we must not give satisfaction to those who want to see us dead. But I did not hear from him again.
It is good to know that he died in his sleep, with the classical music he loved so much drifting through the room, his dog on the bed, his ex-wife and friend Suzanne there (it was at her home), and children from his first marriage (he had two sons, two daughters). His son Bill said that, according to the doctors, he died of something called Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. Words that mean nothing. He continued to smoke until about a month ago, when the small black stone no longer allowed him to do so. It is as if the small black stone, like Cubby himself, was tired.
He was a great man. He was a beautiful man. He was a wise man. He lived life. He endured life. He renewed the lives of so many. He was a source of light and love and strength. I don’t know what more to say.
Nick Tosches
_
HUBERT SELBY, JR.
July 23, 1928 - April 26, 2004
Hubert Selby died often. But he always came back, smiling that beautiful smile of his, and those blue eyes of his so full of life. This time he will not be back. My saints have always come from hell, and now, with his passing, there are no more saints. The world is different. Yesterday, as he lay dying, the sky here in New York was dark and full of rain. Today it is the color of those eyes of his.
All that remained of his lungs was one piece like a small black stone that the doctors’ X-rays could not penetrate. He had lived for most of his seventy-five years taking his breath with that small black stone. And he gave us so much with that blessed breath: not only his friends, but the whole world. Now the world is different, and we will have to breathe without him. Breath, spiration, inspiration, it is all the same; and that small black stone was a source of divinity. I imagined him living to a hundred because I wanted him to live to a hundred. After all, he had come this far with his small black stone unclaimed by death, it seemed that maybe death had forgotten him.
About a year ago, last spring, he wrote to me: “I dont know whats going on. It feels like Ive forgotten how to write like i forget everything else. Everything has changed. cant breathe, cant stay awake, cant move much. Sometimes I sit and cry. My hearts broken by this whole thing. Ive worked very hard to learn how to write a simple line and have it mean something, and now I cant put what Ive learned to use. Obviously Im asking life to be fair. Pretty funny, eh? But theres an element in my life now that I have not experienced in the past... being ashamed of my country. That really adds to the heart break. I too have thought of moving to Europe, but I cant now, its too late. I cant breathe, cant walk much, plus my family is here. See what you did El Woppo, you got me all excited. Anyway, I love you my friend and am grateful for your life and all the beauty and insight that you have added to our ability to understand this human experience. A river derci, cubby.”
Now it seems that he was saying good-bye. But there were more words after that. The last time he wrote to me, he asked if I ever wondered why we bothered to go on. I wrote back to him that we must not give satisfaction to those who want to see us dead. But I did not hear from him again.
It is good to know that he died in his sleep, with the classical music he loved so much drifting through the room, his dog on the bed, his ex-wife and friend Suzanne there (it was at her home), and children from his first marriage (he had two sons, two daughters). His son Bill said that, according to the doctors, he died of something called Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. Words that mean nothing. He continued to smoke until about a month ago, when the small black stone no longer allowed him to do so. It is as if the small black stone, like Cubby himself, was tired.
He was a great man. He was a beautiful man. He was a wise man. He lived life. He endured life. He renewed the lives of so many. He was a source of light and love and strength. I don’t know what more to say.
Nick Tosches
04-30-04, 10:54 AM
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Saw this on the ticker on CNN last night. I read The Room not too long ago, and was looking forward to reading more of Selby's works. It was interesting to me that I was getting into reading a living author (I read the classics mostly).
It was sad to see the news.
It was sad to see the news.
04-30-04, 12:55 PM
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The Room is one of the most intense books I've ever read. If you can find a copy of The Demon you'll have an equally disturbing reading experience from him. 
05-01-04, 12:10 AM
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The Room was definitely intense. I wrote an Amazon review for it, if you care to jot on over there and take a gander. I have all of his books now, including The Demon. I'll either be reading that or Requiem next.
