“Gore Vidal?! He hates everything!” - Dr. Frasier Crane

"Henry James was one of the nicest old ladies I ever met"... William Faulkner.

"The greatest zircon in the diadem of American Literature..." jesus what a sentence

"I'll shall be in business as long as you're alive..." wow! He cursed Hitchens!

Vidal and Mailer buried the hatchet before they both checked out. Vidal did NOT hate Tennessee Williams, he even coined Williams' moniker "the Glorious Bird" to describe his art. They fell out in later years over religion and creative differences but Vidal most definitely did not hate him.

He and Capote had two things in common: they were both hopelessly addicted to the limelight and they both tore viciously at the hands that fed them.

"The greatest zircon in the diadem of American lit-rah-chah." Such invention always impresses me.

Most of the jabs here I believe (but certainly not all of them!) should be taken with a grain of salt. They are cocktail party fare, extremely witty and yes - even precise (usually) - but they are (like most cocktail-party fare) deliberately aiming at only the weaknesses of his rivals, and rarely extol any of the virtues. But that is what makes them hilarious.

Don't know much about this Vidal guy, but if the youtube commenters hate him, he must be worth a look.

When Gore thought of Minnesota he thought of LaFollette, which is strange since LaFollette’s whole Progressive career took place in Wisconsin.

His line about The Fly’s Help me Help me opening being the deceased Truman Capote is a good one, you must admit.

I think the lesson here is that if people you have met personally write books, you're less likely to enjoy them as you will see all their worst qualities as people into their writing.

Gore Vidal is many things, acerbic, aristocratically arrogant, a sharp wit that can cut the marrow, unabridged confidence. He had a humor about himself that he didn't reveal only to a trusted few. He loved to read, he loved to write, he loved to learn, and he loved a good conversation. He was devastatingly honest, either you hate him or you love him, he was never boring. His critics may siren condemnation towards him and he would say, frankly, I don't give a damn, an imperfect man perfecting himself. Requiescat in Pace, my mentor.

Vidal especially hated writers more popular than himself..

My man Gore has been trolling since back in the day. The grand master at throwing shade.

At

That Fitzgerald was 23 when he wrote "This Side of Paradise" is nothing short of astounding. And if anybody is under the impression that Gatsby is his best novel, I would charge that they must not have read Tender is the night, a mature, slow, impassioned novel that clashes with the glamour of Gatsby but lends to a real and honest tone while maintaining its stunning lyricism. On this alone I question his legitimacy as an honest critic.

Once again Gore displays his adamant belief that having a snarky comment to deliver is always a good substitute for actually knowing something about what you are speaking of.

This is the age of the image. We have moved into a post literary society.

Truman Capote on Vidal: "I rather liked Gore. He was amusing, bright, and always very vinegary, and we had a lot of things in common. His mother was an alcoholic, and my mother was an alcoholic. His mother’s name was Nina, and my mother’s name was Nina. Those things sound superficial, but they’re not. And we were both terribly young and at the same time very knowledgeable about what we were doing. We used to sit at those little lunches at the Plaza, and he would explain to me exactly, in the greatest detail-he was very methodical about it-how he was going to manage his life. He planned to become the grand old man of American letters, the American Somerset Maugham. He wanted to write popular books, make lots of money, and have a house on the Riviera, just as Maugham did. He always used to say, ‘Longevity’s the answer. If you live long enough, everything will turn your way.’ I would say, ‘Gore, you will do it all if you really want to.’ And he did, too. He got it all except for one thing: he will never be as popular as Maugham was, and none of his books will ever be as good or readable as the best of Maugham. He has no talent, except for writing essays. He has no interior sensitivity-he can’t put himself into someone else’s place-and except for Myra Breckinridge, he never really found his voice. Anybody could have written Julian or Burr.”