Sleaze Lit

The Washington Times takes a look at those celebrity tell-alls, trashing the dead.

From the piece...

I slept with Marilyn Monroe.

Can you prove otherwise? That’s right. You can’t, and that’s my point.

Or, as they’d say around my home, “Too much information, Dad.”

I say the same about books that keep coming out about dead celebrities, told by people who were intimate with them, or so they say.

I do not need all that information.

Let me depart from books for a second to talk about a film that was made for HBO about Hemingway and Gellhorn, starring Clive Owen and Nicole Kidman. This was okay as these specials go, but I did not need those sex scenes, and I turned my head when I knew what was coming, a momentary glimpse of Owen’s back end, meant to convey Hemingway in heat, in addition to his posterior.
Thank you, but I don’t need that about an American legend. Nor do I need all those tell-alls that defame the reputations of people we revere and idolize.

Is this an American thing, this need to destroy our heroes? I call it Sleaze Lit.