Why The Silence Of The Lambs author Thomas Harris hasn't spoken in public for 38 years... plus a world exclusive extract from his new novel, Cari Mora
In the autumn of 1981, Thomas Harris was on a tour of the United States promoting his new novel, Red Dragon. A lot of people wanted to talk to the author about the nightmare-inducing anti-hero it had introduced to the world. From where in his imagination, they wanted to know, did he unearth Hannibal Lecter, the cannibal gourmand who would go on to eat a census-taker’s liver with fava beans and a bottle of chianti?
During the relentless round of marketing events, book signings and public readings, the questions became more pressing: how did a former journalist come up with such a richly textured, intensely detailed and morally repugnant villain? How did he discover that the best human organ to use in the preparation of sweetbreads is the pancreas? It was perhaps no surprise that, in one interview, Harris was asked by a curious reporter if, in order to present this vivid portrayal of evil he didn’t have to be ‘a bit of a psychopath’ himself.
It was at this point that the author decided such a line of interrogation was not for him. Ever polite, brought up by his God-fearing Southern parents to be respectful at all times, he didn’t walk out. He simply told his agent he would rather not engage in the process any more. He was going underground.
One thing is for sure: when Thomas Harris's new novel, Cari Mora (his first book in 13 years, and the first in 40 that does not feature Hannibal), is published, we will not be hearing from him
At least, that is thought to be the reason why he decided never again to make a public appearance. As he has given no subsequent interviews we can only speculate as to his motive. But one thing is for sure: when Cari Mora is published, we will not be hearing from him.
There will be no lengthy interview in the The New York Review Of Books. Graham Norton will not be inviting him into the studio for a cosy chat-show grilling. Andrew Marr will not be asking him to start his week on the radio. Instead, he will let, as he has for 38 years, his book do the talking.
But then his books do talk very loudly indeed. He has sold more than 30 million of them worldwide. The movie rights for his Lecter collection are among the priciest ever negotiated. Though it was worth the studios forking out: when it won best picture, best director, best screenplay, best actor and best actress at the 1992 Oscars, The Silence Of The Lambs became one of only four movies ever to yield a clean sweep of the main Academy awards.
Yet, as his carefully researched books have introduced us to a whole new level of violent criminality, of the man behind them we know very little. Beyond the fact that he turns 79 in September.
One thing we can say about Harris, however, is that he is not a recluse. Unlike the other shy greats of American literature – JD Salinger, Thomas Pynchon and Harper Lee – he does not hide away alone and aloof.
In 1981, the author told his agent he would rather not engage in the relentless process of book promotion any more and disappeared from public view, leaving his books to do the talking
Harris may have disappeared from public view but he lives a mainstream, upper middle-class life. We know what he looks like: the dust jacket of his latest book reveals a sizeable man with a full white beard and a gentle, friendly smile.
We know that, until her death in 2011, Harris had the closest of relationships with his mother, Polly, because she would always cheerfully talk to the curious about her son. We know what he sounds like, too: he always reads his own novels for audio release, his accent revealing much about his formal, old-school Mississippi upbringing.
We also know where he lives: he has a sizeable house in Miami Beach and spends his summers at his property in Sag Harbor in the Hamptons, where he entertains friends to dinners he carefully prepares in the manner he studied while attending cookery lessons in Paris. We even know what he drives: there are always pricey European sports cars parked outside his properties. This is a man who evidently enjoys the rewards of his craft.
And this is the point. Very soon after Red Dragon sold out its substantial initial print run, Harris was able to set the terms of his working life. Such was the demand for his books, he was no longer required to engage in a process that he did not find comfortable.
As he told a reporter from The Mail On Sunday who approached him for an interview outside his ocean-front Miami house in 1999, ‘I used to be a journalist and I understand people have a fascination with me and my work. And I am very appreciative of people’s interest. But I prefer to live my life quietly and not get involved. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’
And they talk very loudly indeed. He's sold more than 30 million copies worldwide and the film rights for his Lecter collection starring Anthony Hopkins (above) are among the priciest ever
The trouble is, as he left his books to do the talking, we have heard less and less from him. With none of the machine-like productivity of other thriller authors such as John Grisham or Stephen King, his output is, to put it politely, slow. Cari Mora is his first book in 13 years, since Hannibal Rising in 2006. The reason, according to his friend, the playwright Joe Pintauro, is that Harris does not enjoy the actual process of writing.
‘We were talking about writing,’ he said of Harris in a recent profile. ‘Tom was telling me, “I’d rather dig a ditch 60ft long than do one day’s work writing. That’s how it feels to me. It is very difficult.”’
So what of his new novel?
Cari Mora marks a substantial change of direction. It is the first time in 40 years that a Harris book does not feature Hannibal Lecter. But that does not mean there are not recognisable Harris tropes within it. Like The Silence Of The Lambs, there is a strong female protagonist.
From the author who gave us Clarice Starling and her gimlet-eyed determination comes the title character, Cari Mora, a refugee who has fled to Miami to escape the chaos of her South American homeland. She finds work as caretaker of a waterfront mansion in the city but is fearful that at any moment the immigration authorities might send her back whence she came.
Unbeknown to Mora, however, buried under the house she’s looking after is $25 million in cash, the ill-gotten gains of a notorious drug cartel. And once word seeps out about the valuable stash, some unscrupulous characters are keen to make her acquaintance. Across the book’s tense and twisting plot, her survival instincts are put to the most demanding of tests...
Any journalists wanting to find out more about Harris or his book should perhaps recall what happened to an over-inquisitive hack in his fictional world. In Red Dragon we learn of a journalist who asks one too many questions. He is bound to a wheelchair, his lips are cut off and he is set on fire. So maybe it’s best if we just leave Harris’s writing to do the talking, with a compelling and exclusive extract from the book the world has waited 13 years to read.