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My Boss's Suicide

 Before my senior year of college, I interned at Vintage Books; my boss was Russell Perreault, a bright, irascible man who had climbed up from very little (and who kept climbing, climbing, climbing).


Russell loved books; he gave me three, when I met him. One was "Revolutionary Road," by Richard Yates, who has become "the artist of my life." I admire Yates's energy and his sense of humor, even in his "minor" novels ("A Good School," "Cold Spring Harbor"). Russell also gave me "What Makes Sammy Run" and "The Monk," a Gothic novel. I'm not sure I'll ever read "The Monk," but "Sammy" seems appealing to me, now that I'm in my forties and interested in Old Hollywood.

Russell was known for having very little patience, and I think he realized (quickly) that I wasn't meant for a publicity department. I recall asking for Random House to cover my subway expenses; I could sense Russell's irritation as he dismissed my request. A year later, when I applied for a job, Russell didn't even bother to reply to my email; he had a minion send a NO. I think Russell made the correct decision--I, too, would have opted not to hire me--but I think he could have employed a bit more tact.

Hindsight is interesting. One story Russell told was that he always went to interviews in a bowtie; he thought, If they don't like my bowtie, I don't want to work with them. Twenty years ago, this seemed sort of admirable and ballsy, to me; now, it seems to be a sign of rigidity. Why make things harder for yourself? Just play the game....

In his early fifties, Russell lost the love he'd once felt for his job. People were complaining about his inappropriate workplace conduct. If you Google his image, you can detect the sadness in his eyes. In any case, in 2019, he walked the dogs, returned them to his husband, then wandered over to his barn, where he hanged himself from the ceiling.

Lorrie Moore has said that a memoir should be a chance for advocacy; the writer of the memoir should recall his or her audience, and try to offer some useful information. Sloane Crosley seems to have missed this note. Crosley's book on Russell Perreault--"Grief Is for People"--is weirdly incurious about Perreault's death, and about suicide in general. It's a sloppy, sometimes tedious book, and it needed two or three more years of work before publication.

The analogy that "explains" suicide to me comes from someone else. Imagine you are in a burning building, and if you remain in the building for another minute, your lungs will actually explode. It's not really that you "choose" to jump from the building; something impells you to get out of your situation, because anything else would seem insane.

Tipping my hat to Russell today. Life is strange.
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