In 1959, Norman Mailer—between novels at the time—published a book called Advertisements for Myself. Even for Mailer, it was an unusual book—part compendium of unpublished short fiction, part clearing house for published short fiction, part a series of “Advertisements,” in which the writer, according to his own “Note to the Reader,” “surrounds all these writings with his present tastes, preferences, apologies, prides and occasional confessions.”
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