Banned!

We have been flooded with letters from readers who want to know, apropos of yesterday’s edition, whether there have been any writers banished from the pages of The Rake for various misdemeanors, infractions, transgressions, or naughty behavior.

Yes, there have been many. The most celebrated example of a writer banishment at The Rake is, of course, the legendary St. Paul writer Larry Wyler. In his 2002 critical review of The Rake for The Newer York, Wyler viciously attacked our magazine. It was not necessary, really, to read beyond the headline—”Never Mind The Rake, Grab the Gun and the Shovel.”

We really shouldn’t say more than that, because the wound was deep, and the tears still spring to our eyes with alarming ease. Needless to say, Wyler and his agent and his publisher and his kith and his ken are not welcome here. We might reconsider, under very specific circumstances. Like, for example, if he submitted a story for us to publish.

Another celebrated case is Dorian Hayes, a fine writer, whom we approached on bended knee years ago to write for us. Reading his published work elsewhere, we felt like we were kindred spirits, lost together on the cruel seas of post-industrial anomie. Hayes produced some of our most memorable early features, including a seven-part series on Bassett Creek that won a cordon bleu in the Hormel Awards for Meat and Meat-Related Journalism. Hayes, it is true, was socially intolerable—never introduced us to his friends, rarely paid his tab, drank to excess, stuck chewing gum to the bottom of our desk. Worst of all, he refused to use the serial comma, despite frequent warnings. Ultimately, it was Dorian Hayes or us, and we decided on us. He has not appeared in the magazine since his 1989 interviews with Steven Soderbergh (“Sex, Lies, and Videotape”) and Peter Greenaway (“The Cook the Thief His Wife & Her Lover.”)

Finally, we put Mr. Jem Casey on a long boat to China for a number of infractions. First, Casey found it impossible to write critical reviews of films, books, or CDs without referring, at length, to Nick Drake. This was compounded by his energetic hatred of children. Then there was the arrest for wearing spurs and carrying a Colt forty-five on the Light Rail (also a charge of public urination, later dropped). The great whoopie-cushion fiasco was the final straw.