It would be easy to judge Arthur Miller harshly, and some do. For them, he was a hypocrite, a weak and narcissistic man who used the press and the power of his celebrity to perpetuate a cruel lie. But Miller's behavior also raises more complicated questions about the relationship between his life and his art. A writer, used to being in control of narratives, Miller excised a central character who didn't fit the plot of his life as he wanted it to be. Whether he was motivated by shame, selfishness, or fear—or, more likely, all three—Miller's failure to tackle the truth created a hole in the heart of his story.
This is the kind of article that suffers most from reading it on a glowing screen from a pithy link on a third-rate blog that compares the tragic but somehow redemptive subject to a wizard in a children's book. The article is touching, not funny, and long, and deserves to be read in dead tree form while sitting in an armchair. But it deserves to be read, so I'm linking.
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