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Norman Mailer and I meet for lunch at the Bel Air Hotel, his current favorite in Los Angeles. He is here doing publicity for the new anthology of his work, “The Time of Our Time.” Everyone tells me that the only thing you can do with a man who has been interviewed over the decades as much as he has is try to derail him—make him mad. This makes me dread lunch, since it’s a beautiful day and do I really want to argue with Norman Mailer? There he sits, part imp and part prizefighter, at 75 America’s most famous living writer.