Robert Rosen

When my first book, Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon, was published 25 years ago, I had no idea what to expect. The manuscript had been kicking around for 18 years before Soft Skull Press brought out the first hardcover edition. One thing I didn't expect was that it would become an instant bestseller in the US and UK. But that's what happened, and since then, there have been many editions in many languages. And here I am, still writing and talking about the book.

 

What is it about Nowhere Man that's enabled it to endure for a quarter century? Well, from what I've been told, people enjoy reading the book—it takes you into Lennon's head and has the feel of a novel. But more than good writing is necessary for a book to survive this long. So I'd also suggest that the heat and friction generated when accolades and attacks collide (there've been plenty of both) leave people wondering what's true and what isn't, and they want to figure it out for themselves. So they seek out the book. A generation not born when Nowhere Man was originally published have since discovered it.

 

No writer enjoys being subjected to vicious personal attacks from (mostly) anonymous trolls or having critics rip apart their work. But praise from both readers and professional critics counterbalances the attacks. As Oscar Wilde said, "When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself."

 

Apparently I've given critics a lot to disagree about. Is Nowhere Man an irresistibly gripping read that's obsessive, corrosive, and unforgettable? Or is it vulgar gossip and lies?

 

Twenty-five years ago, an excerpt of Nowhere Man that ran as the cover story in Uncut magazine, along with positive coverage in The Times of London, launched the book into the stratosphere. Mojo magazine and Court TV loved it, too. So did Booklist, which is one of the places libraries turn to when deciding which books to acquire. Then Christianity Today (of all places) included Nowhere Man on its list of the 10 best books of 2000. Foreign editions came next, and perhaps the most unexpected thing was the reaction of the media in Spanish-speaking countries. They treated Nowhere Man as literature, especially in Mexico, Colombia, Chile, Argentina, and eventually Spain. Invitations to discuss the book followed. During a 2003 visit to Mexico and a 2005 visit to Chile, it was as if I'd entered an alternate universe where everything I'd ever worked for had come to pass in a language I didn't speak. (Muchas gracias a los traductores.)

 

It was enough to make me forget about the attacks, which had begun in 1984, 16 years before Nowhere Man was published. That's when it became public knowledge that I'd had access to Lennon's private diaries and had written a book about what I'd learned.

 

Forty-one years ago, three articles ran in Playboy, People, and the New York Post. By all appearances, it was a coordinated attack, organized by Yoko Ono, to make me look like a criminal and prevent the story I told in Nowhere Man from ever being published. The day the articles came out, in January 1984, the New York District Attorney's Office informed me that I'd be arrested on criminal conspiracy charges, having to do with my access to Lennon's diaries, unless I signed a document forfeiting my First Amendment rights to tell the story. But the scheme fell apart when David Lewis, a high-powered criminal attorney more accustomed to defending mafiosi, took my case pro bono. A simple phone call Lewis made to the district attorney, telling him, "You're in gross violation of my client's constitutional rights," ended it. I signed nothing. I wasn't arrested. I never heard from the DA again. (I tell this story in more detail in Nowhere Man.)

 

Years later, after a couple of conspiracy theorists accused me of being a CIA operative involved in Lennon's murder, the Mexican news magazine Proceso ran a piece I wrote, which they titled (translated from the Spanish) "I just believe in one conspiracy: Yoko Ono's against me." (Check out Lennon's song "God" if you don't get the reference.)

 

Ironically, in 2002, Ono's attorneys subpoenaed me to testify at the copyright infringement trial of Fred Seaman, Lennon's personal assistant who gave me the diaries. My sworn testimony was the very story Ono had tried to suppress in 1984: the "John Lennon's Diaries" chapter of Nowhere Man.

 

I've come to understand that those who see me or any of my books as a target for their hatred can't help themselves. The best thing I can do is ignore them. Still, personal attacks, often based on the 41-year-old discredited Playboy story, are disturbing. But three years ago, in the Venezuelan newspaper Últimas Noticias, Nowhere Man appeared on a list, compiled by playwright Paúl Salazar, of five indispensable books that also included One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel García Márquez. That, to me, felt like vindication, and it was the kind of recognition that makes me glad I wrote Nowhere Man.

 

I write not to get rich quick, as some have ludicrously suggested, but because I feel a primal need to communicate. And I take inspiration from people who've reached out to me to say that Nowhere Man made them want to be a better father or that reading the book out loud to their brother who was recovering from cancer had helped him get through the ordeal.

 

And speaking of cultural impact, let's not forget about this.

I can hardly wait to see what the next 25 years hold in store.

______

All my books are available on Amazon, all other online bookstores, and at your local brick-and-mortar bookstore.

 

I invite you to join me on Facebook or follow me on Instagram and Threads.

 

In last week's post, "My Habitat," I said I might share a photo showing the chaos of my bookshelves. Well here it is. The two shelves in the photo are similar to my other bookshelves—a disorganized collection of books that have come to me randomly. Some of them I have no idea why they're there or where they came from. Others I've read and loved and will comment on a few of them below.

 

Before taking the photo, I removed the artwork and most of the tchotchkes on the bottom shelf so you could read the spines. The top shelf I left as is to give you the true flavor of my library.

 

I'll begin with some of the titles on the bottom shelf.

 

Lying horizontally in the second pile from the left is Tropic of Cancer, by Henry Miller. I've read it at least 10 times and it was a huge influence on my writing. I went through a phase where everything I wrote came out sounding like Miller—that's how taken I was by his voice. He taught me that it's possible to write a great book that's voice-driven rather than plot-driven.

 

On top of the horizontal pile on the far right is The Good Soldier, by Ford Maddox Ford. It's considered a classic, it's been lying around here since the dawn of time, and I finally picked it up about a year ago. It's boring.

 

Below The Good Soldier is On the Road, by Jack Kerouac. It's another book I've read multiple times, beginning in my late teens. Kerouac turned me into a hitchhiking fanatic. Between 1970, when I took my first serious hitchhiking trip, and 1978, when I quit hitchhiking because the vibes on the road had gotten too threatening, I put on about 25,000 miles by thumb, through the U.S., Canada, Europe, and Israel. This summer marks the 50th anniversary of my hitchhiking from New York to San Francisco, more or less following the route Kerouac took in 1947.

 

Among the books standing upright on the bottom shelf is An American Tragedy, by Theodore Dreiser. I haven't read it, but it did remind me that in 1978 I read his earlier novel, Sister Carrie. I remember little about it other than in the early 1900s it was banned for its "sexual immorality," and I enjoyed reading it more than I thought I would.

 

In the middle of the shelf is Household Hints & Handy Tips, a Reader's Digest book. I mention it only because my wife, Mary Lyn Maiscott, did much of the research for it, which means if you're looking for some handy household hints you can trust this book. We do. (Perhaps we should consult it for the proper care of bookshelves.)

 

City on Fire, by Garth Risk Hallberg, is the fattest book on the shelf. Everybody was writing about this tale of New York City in the 1970s when it was published in 2015—because the author received a $2 million advance, the most ever paid for a debut novel. I read it and it was pretty good. But $2 million good? This guy must have some agent.

 

On the top shelf, where all the spines are partially obscured, I'll comment on the artwork, tchotchkes, and other items. 

 

Long before Nowhere Man was published, I was working on a fictional version of the story, which I called Rockjesus. One of my former coworkers, Rita Trieger, designed the dummy cover, and I used it as part of the package I was sending to agents.

 

Other items on the shelf include a toy Space Shuttle; two paintings of trout by my friend the late John Babbs, a fisherman who lived in Oregon and was on the Electric Kool-Aid Acid bus; an antique menorah with a candle holder missing; and a couple of impressions of my teeth.

 

Behind the fish painting on the left is Jude the Obscure, by Thomas Hardy, one of the very few 19th-century novels I enjoyed reading. 

 

Behind the menorah is The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Vol 2. In college, one of my professors described it as "the crème de la crème" of English literature. It is, and I still refer to it on occasion.

 

Lying horizontally towards the right is a pile of videocassettes. The red one on top is a video of Jeopardy from December 26, 2003, the first time Nowhere Man was a question on the show. The second time was October 18, 2023. So, every 20 years. Cool.

 

Now, if I can only find that copy of Angela's Ashes, by Frank McCourt. I've been meaning to read it for years and it's rumored to be around here somewhere.

______

All my books (the ones I wrote) are available on Amazon, all other online bookstores, and at your local brick-and-mortar bookstore.

 

I invite you to join me on Facebook or follow me on X or my eternally embryonic Instagram or my recently launched Threads.

Jeopardy! premiered March 30, 1964, on NBC and has run, on and off, ever since, with the current edition now in its 40th season. In New York City, the original show, hosted by Art Fleming (Don Pardo was the announcer), aired at 11:30 in the morning. My mother watched it and all the other morning game shows on a small TV in the kitchen as she did her housework. One day, probably in 1968, I was watching it with her and my uncle. I don't remember the category or clue, but the answer (always in the form of a question) was, "What is 'Penny Lane'?" My mother and uncle didn't know it, but I was a Beatles fan and I did, and it prompted my uncle to say, "He should do as well with his schoolwork as he does with Jeopardy!"

 

Flash forward to December 2003. I'm a professional writer enjoying success with my first published book, Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon. It's on best-seller lists. Excerpts are running in magazines. Foreign-language editions are appearing. It's getting reviewed. But my parents, retired and living in Florida, have not grasped how dramatically my life has changed.

 

One night my father calls. "Did you see Jeopardy!?" he asks.

 

"No," I say, aware that he and my mother are big fans of the show. "Why?"

 

"You were a question!"

 

"What?"

 

All he remembers is that my name and Nowhere Man were mentioned. And this to him is proof at last that his son is "a famous writer." 

 

I obtain a videocassette of the show, from December 26. And sure enough, there I am in Double Jeopardy!, "Rock & Roll Bookstore" for $400: "'Nowhere Man' is Robert Rosen's take on 'the final days' of this Beatle."

 

Flash forward again, 20 years, to October 18, 2023. I'm scrolling through Facebook when my messages and notifications suddenly light up: I'm hearing that Bob Rosen was a clue on Jeopardy tonight!... You've hit the big time, my boy!... You were just on Jeopardy!!... Bob, did you know that you're a Jeopardy question??? I'm watching tonight's episode right now!

 

It's the same category, same question, and same $400 from 2003. Except this time half the world is watching, and at least three people managed to take a picture of the clue.

 

I later find out that Jeopardy! has been rerunning questions since the writers' strike. And they reran my question in the age of smartphones and social media.

 

From "Penny Lane" to Nowhere Man, Jeopardy! loves the Beatles.

 

My Jeopardy! moment 2023.

 ________

All my books are available on Amazon, all other online bookstores, and at your local brick-and-mortar bookstore.

 

I invite you to join me on Facebook or follow me on X (the site formerly known as Twitter) or my eternally embryonic Instagram.

How does a writer know if his books are being read--I mean really read, and that his words are penetrating the reader's consciousness and taking up permanent residence there? Sales alone don't tell the whole story. How many books--Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections comes to mind--are bought in mass quantities only to end up as an intellectual art object on a coffee table or carried around as the latest fashion accessory? (E-readers, of course, are putting an end to this practice.)

Letters from readers and blog posts on sites like Tumblr are true indications, I think. But how many times have you read a book that you loved (or hated), and meant to tell the author about it, but just never got around to it?

Another way to tell if a book is really being read is when the book’s title or the author’s name turns up as a clue on a game show or in a crossword puzzle, indicating that the work has, indeed, become part of the popular culture. It’s happened three times that I’m aware of with my John Lennon bio Nowhere Man. The first was in December 2003, when it was a Jeopardy answer—“Rock ’n’ Roll Bookstore” for $400, Alex!” (“Nowhere Man is Robert Rosen’s take on “the final days of” this Beatle,” was the clue.) The second was two years ago, when “Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon author Robert” was 118 across in the L.A. Times syndicated crossword, which was picked up by dozens of newspapers. (The link is to the Palm Beach Post.)

It happened again in the crossword puzzle in the May issue of Buffalo Spree, a venerable regional magazine from Western New York State—same clue as the L.A. Times, but this time it was 117 across, a number more in keeping with the book’s numerology themes.

So yes, I take these incidents as irrefutable and encouraging evidence that Nowhere Man has fully penetrated the popular culture. And I can only hope that Beaver Street isn’t far behind. (And if you don’t know the answer to 117 across, you can click here.)

 Read More