A new tale to tell.

Armistead Maupin talks about The Night Listener (his first novel in eight years), the Hollywood closet, dating, and Jennifer Love Hewitt

The long wait is over--after eight years we finally have a new novel from Armistead Maupin. Not that he hasn't been busy, of course: The author of the popular Tales of the City series and Maybe the Moon has been bringing his characters to television (Showtime will air its version of the third book in the series, Further Tales of the City, next April). The Night Listener (HarperCollins, $26) is Maupin's most autobiographical book to date--it's about Gabriel Noone, a radio serialist made famous by the books of his stories--and also his most disturbing: Gabriel is depressed over his recent breakup with his longtime companion, and a mystery involving a troubled fan takes him to some very dark places in the world and in his soul. Over coffee in his beautiful San Francisco home, Maupin freely acknowledges his similarities to Gabriel Noone (Maupin recently ended his relationship with Terry Anderson, although the two remain very close). At the same time, he reminds readers to "never trust a storyteller," since he will always adorn the truth with invention.

It's a little disturbing to hear Gabriel Noone say, in the first chapter of The Night Listener, that he feels "illegitimate as a writer, as if I'd broken into the Temple of Literature through some unlocked basement window." Even though the character isn't 100% you, it still sounds like the kind of thing that crossed your mind during some dark night of the soul.

Sure. I know very few writers who don't have that thought cross their mind. We all find something about ourselves that keeps us from being "a real writer." In my case respectability was a fairly long time in coming, not that I was striving for that [laughs]. Because Tales of the City started out as a newspaper column in the San Francisco Chronicle, it wasn't exactly on the literary map when the East Coast was thumping its chest about the Violet Quill. And it always bothered me that what I felt I had accomplished in a mainstream context in 1976 was never fully recorded by the Eastern establishment.

What I did with Gabriel was pursue some of my darker demons down whatever alleys they led me through, in the name of Gabriel Noone. But it's not fully me. I have a fairly healthy ego about what I've accomplished [laughs].

Having started out as a serialist, did you feel more like a "real writer" when you were between covers?

Absolutely. In the early days I remember when Rita Mae Brown came to town [and wanted to meet me], a local interviewer said, "What could a newspaper serialist possibly have to talk about to a serious novelist?" and I wondered if that person had actually read my work. But none of that's worth bitching about [laughs]. I think most writers are hideously insecure people, and they'll remember the one line of criticism from a review forever and forget all the nice things that have been said.

This is a book about faith, in a lot of ways. Are you a trusting person? Or are you tough to win over?

The corner of my consciousness always remains skeptical, largely as a sustaining device, because I am an extremely emotional and sentimental person. I will give over a great deal of myself to fantasy, so it's necessary for me to hold back a little in order to protect myself, and that's rather what Gabriel Noone does.

You address your breakup with Terry Anderson in the book. Terry is still your manager and your friend ...

And family.

And family. Were there things in the book that you maybe were hesitant to show him the first time?

I didn't get into specifics with him because it's my nature to avoid conflict if at all possible [laughs]. I can tell you that I held my breath for a very long time while he was reading the first draft of the novel, and he responded much in the way that Jess [the Anderson character] responds in The Night Listener, by calling me and telling me in tears that he loved what I had written, that it was my best work. He remains my greatest support, professionally as well as personally. He knew that I would not be able to begin writing until he had given me his blessing, and he gave me that unequivocally. So his generosity was enormous in that regard.

All the Anne-Ellen press has made it so clear how few gay celebrities there are in public relationships. Is there that much more pressure to be a role model? Did you feel that pressure in your relationship with Terry Anderson?

When Terry and I split, one of my first reactions was, How can this be happening? We were supposed to be the perfect couple that everyone else could emulate! [Laughs] And I realized shortly thereafter what a foolish attitude that was. No one should have that pressure. I'm sure Ellen and Anne felt it to a certain degree, but I hope they didn't allow it to govern their lives. First and foremost, you should be concerned about loving another person and working out your problems as they arise. I have nothing but admiration for those two women and what they've been through, and I did feel a real sense of loss, a real sense of sadness for them, when I'd heard they'd broken up. A straight woman friend called me right after it happened and said, "I've really been depressed all day. I never realized how much I had invested in those two." What they've done for gay people everywhere is immeasurable, and I don't say that casually. I mean, I was annoyed at Ellen for years because she was one of those figures that we all knew to be gay, but she wasn't talking about it. But when she came out, she made up for that in a very, very big way. I'm sure they didn't arrive at their decision to break up lightly.

Is The Night Listener closer to you than anything else you've written?

Absolutely. I would be very coy if I didn't acknowledge at least that much. For years people have told me that my own life was interesting enough to mine, but I've always resisted the urge for fear that it was the ultimate act of serf-indulgence. It is, of course, but it can also serve a writer tremendously.

Many readers think of your San Francisco when they think of the city. What do you think of what's been going on in San Francisco lately? With the influx of Internet millionaires, there's a real change in the complexion of the city. What do you see happening?

I hesitate to use the dreaded term "yuppie" [laughs] because that seems to be a word we all fling at someone else even when we're behaving that way ourselves. But it is a different place these days. There are people who drive around these hills in their SUVs with a very clear sense of entitlement that comes from nowhere other than money, and that's not the San Francisco I remember. On the other hand, I myself am finally able to afford a house here, so I may have joined the ranks of the very people I dread. And I think there is still enough eccentricity here in all its forms to keep me happy. The geography alone sustains me, in a very magical way, still. I'm completely in love with this place and always have been.

Further Tales also takes us to Hollywood, with its fictionalized version of your tryst with Rock Hudson. Will we see Rock in the miniseries? Or do we just see his back, like Christ in Ben-Hur?

We had a big discussion about what to name this character. In the novel he's simply a series of blanks. [In the miniseries] we had the option to call him Rock Hudson. I was perfectly willing to do that; I felt this was an affectionate fictional portrait of the man. But I was concerned that people would watch whatever actor was playing the role, and say, "That's not Rock Hudson." I couldn't watch that damn Audrey Hepburn story because Jennifer Love Hewitt did not in any way match up to the original. So I decided to invent a name for him that would be reminiscent of those names that Henry Willson, the agent, invented in the early '50s. We named him Cage Tyler. And as it happens, though, the actor who plays him, John Robinson, has a certain quality about him that is reminiscent of Rock, a kind of shambling, slightly weary bonhomie that gave me eerie little shudders because of the way it did recall Rock.

And do we see Nancy Reagan [who famously walked in on one of Hudson's private gay parties]?

We have a--I wouldn't exactly call her a look-alike--we have an old broad in a red dress [laughs].

When he was still alive, you tried to get Hudson to come out, and in the years since then you've been very vocal about the Hollywood closet. Do you see any chinks in the door?

Very few. It's a much more sophisticated mechanism these days. Most of the gay superstars are married and flaunting their wife and children, which is hardly an improvement. What disturbs me most about the closet today is that organizatious like GLAAD [Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation] cooperate with it fully, allowing closeted actors to show up at their awards ceremonies and act as if they're not homophobic creatures. In fact, they're the very embodiment of homophobia: They are afraid of what they are. And unwilling to sacrifice money for the opportunity to display character. The whole outing discussion is boring after all these years, but the fact remains that I have no respect for people who behave this way. I can love their work to the nth degree, but I wouldn't want to be friends with them.

There seems to be a new code. Instead of vehemently denying they're gay, they adopt the "No, but some of my best friends are" pose or the classic "I love all my fans" routine.

Oh, there's an even more annoying angle, which is, "I prefer not to discuss that because it would destroy my mystique as an actor." Well, all that's saying is, "I'm queer, and I'm ashamed of it." No heterosexual actor is ever concerned about destroying his mystique as an actor once we know he's straight. I'm thinking of a certain sitcom star who plays a nelly character--we have so many gay characters on TV now that I'm not compromising myself by naming anyone in particular [laughs]--but he pisses me off every time he opens his mouth because he's denying the very thing he seems to be creating on the screen, this sense of a man who's proud of who he is and happy about it.

You've always been very much an activist. Where do you see gay activism now as opposed to ten years ago, and where do you think it's going?

I've always maintained that this is largely a cultural revolution. I don't mean in any way to disparage the political efforts that have gone on and will continue to go on. But fundamentally this last great civil rights movement is about our visibility and our ability to communicate directly with our straight brothers and sisters, and our liberation has occurred in direct proportion to our willingness to do that. I think a lot of people got forced out of the closet by AIDS. The discussion of AIDS did more for our political liberation than anything that had ever come before. Once gay writers and producers and agents started getting comfortable with their own lives, they felt free to start telling our stories.

On a more personal level: You're a major celebrity. How do you date?

It's hard, period. I think of myself as a very friendly, easy, accessible guy, but I seem to intimidate people, or at least the fact of who I am intimidates people. But I'm just as insecure as I ever was when it comes to dating, so I spend a lot of time wondering if people are just bagging me for a good story to tell their friends or if they're really interested in me. I'd say that the worst thing about fame is that it makes anonymous sex impossible [laughs]. Once or twice I've tried to go down to [San Francisco sex club] Blow Buddies on a hot Saturday night, but I've come away feeling tremendously serf-conscious and uncomfortable. Years ago I had a guy actually lean down into the glory hole and speak through it, saying, "I love your books," and I felt like saying, "Excuse me, but it wasn't my books that I just stuck through the hole!"

Do you date, though?

I do. And I don't know what to say [laughs]. I meet people through friends; I meet people on the street sometimes, strike up conversations with them, and ask them out. And I have to go rather slow because I realize the experience is somewhat traumatizing for them. This makes no sense to me. I'm still the same old queen that's been trudging around these streets for 25 years, but I now have this mythology I have to fight. I get to meet people I wouldn't ordinarily meet. I'm not complaining--it's just a different set of circumstances to deal with.

So are we going to have to wait eight more years for a new novel, or what?

Maybe! [Laughs] I'm not a driven man. It's extremely important to me that I remain interesting, so I don't want to write just to be writing. I feel like a student who has to explain why his term paper was late, but it may help to know that I had to produce and, in part, write two miniseries during that time, and I also adapted my last novel, Maybe the Moon, as a feature film. We have yet to find a producer, but the writing process took about a year. So I don't know what's on the horizon for me, and I rather like that sensation.

Do you worry that some fans of Tales will find The Night Listener a little shocking or dark or disturbing?

No, I don't. I told the story I wanted to tell, and I think it reflects my own personality as much as anything I've ever written in Tales. And I think that most readers will hear the same voice they've heard in the past, just a more mature version. I know that I did my best on this novel. I know that as surely as I know anything, so I'm not insecure about it. It's the story I wanted to tell, the way I wanted to tell it, and I'm pretty happy with it myself, and I hope that other people will be too.

For more of this interview with Armistead Maupin, go to www.advocate.com