June began with the death of two literary giants: Edmund White (died June 3, 2025 at 85) and Frederick Forsyth (died June 9,2025 at 86). Our literary editor, Alex Liberto, had met and corresponded with the former and has written this touching tribute.
EDMUND WHITE
“When we are young… we often experience things in the present with a nostalgia-in-advance, but we seldom guess what we will truly prize years from now.” (City boy: My Life in New York in the 1960s and 70s)
As the outpouring of tributes to author Edmund White continues to flood the world, I cannot help feeling how the man, Edmund White, would have reacted to the adulation.
He was a very reserved and unassuming gentle soul, with a wicked sense of humour; always on board for a laugh. I met Edmund several years back when I was a lecturer at the American University of Rome. Our first encounter was fraught with laughter and surreptitious jokes. He was about to give a talk and a reading of his book A Married Man at John Cabot University in Trastevere. The lecture hall was slowly filling up with a varied array of socialites, intellectuals, students and faculty. He was standing by the podium in an almost bashful poise. I introduced myself with that perfunctory tone academics often use. He looked at me and without hesitation said, “This is so embarrassing …do you know who the woman behind you is? I am sure I’m meant to know her?” I glanced behind my shoulder and noticed a very flamboyant lady, oozing eccentricity. At that point I thought I’d jump to the rescue, for Edmund White I would have done anything. I swung around and grabbed the lady by the hand, introduced myself and welcomed her. She was surprisingly soft spoken, introducing herself with a demure smile. I smiled back, bowed slightly, and then turned to Edmund who was, in the meantime, speaking with other guests. I leant towards his ear and whispered… “Clotilde!” He nonchalantly looked at me with a hint of a nod and kept on doing what he was doing. Seconds later he turned around and loudly called out… “Clotilde my dear, how lovely to see you!” This little incident sealed our special connection. We had since then been sporadically in touch. Edmund was always there for me when I needed advice with my own humble writing.
I shall miss the man, Edmund White, but as for the author, I shall never miss him, for he will always be present, in every book he has written, in every sentence he has wrought. From his debut novel, Forgetting Elena published in 1973, to his following masterpieces like Nocturnes for the King of Naples; A Boy’s Own Story; The Beautiful Room is Empty; The Farewell Symphony; and of course, The Married Man, White has always communicated with us, almost tangibly. His words have the unique effect of creating a physical sense of intimacy between the reader and the author. One doesn’t just simply read Edmund White, one experiences a corporeal, yet spiritual, connection with the author.
“If a writer has the desire to communicate by writing and be heard, then he necessarily cares about seeing it in print. I suppose it’s the difference between masturbation and making love—the real writer wants to touch another person.” (E. White)
Yes, love was the key. Edmund White has touched many, and will continue to do so. He will never be forgotten and he will definitely have a special place in my heart.
Alex Liberto
