Venezuelan playwright Paúl Salazar included Nowhere Man, along with One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel García Márquez, on a list of "Five Indispensable Books" that appeared in the newspaper Últimas Noticias on January 31, 2022.
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.
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