I was naturally moved by the death of my cousin, probably the best writer of novels at the end of the 20th century in America. I first met Louis in New York after the Army; he wasn't the only person I knew there at the time, but he was the only one I wanted to talk to. We were related, of course: we shared a stepfather, who was a dismal person, but that was our problem, not yours. Louis was so clever on how to analyze people and was always fair. I was interested in what he thought of Brooke Astor, a person I considered to be a bore, and I suspected he did too, although he never said as much. "After all," he told me, "we are all different people." "Your loyalty does you credit," I said.
Vidal's latest book is Snapshots in History's Glare
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