Is it a book tour if only the book is traveling the globe?
Sebastian Horsley has been deported, although his so-called memoir was allowed entry from the U.K. The self-proclaimed dandy was going to hawk his book from sea to shining sea, but Homeland Security thought better of it. He's been told to go back to England and it's a pity that he's missed his own book launch party but life's a bitch, ain't it.
Given the current hysteria over artificially contrived memoirs, Mr. Horsley has not been forthcoming when asked how real his written word might be. He's a dandy, you see, someone who exists to attend parties and amuse the guests with outrageous tales. He's not holding up the bar at the local. His memoir is in the same vein: an amusement that may or may not be accurate. As long as the book sells, why should he care?
His book details wild excesses of drug abuse and purchased sex. One must presume that Mr. Horsley was not much of a romantic, as one might expect of a classical dandy. Beau Brummel is in the past, as is the art of seduction. Mr. Horsley had to shell out thousands of pounds for thousands of prostitutes, all in his quest to go over the top.
Authorities at Newark Airport were aware of the author's fondness for drugs and whores. Taking his memoirs as fact, they applied the "moral turpitude" label to the man and denied him entry.
The party went on without the guest of honor, who had a long flight ahead of him. Publisher Carrie Kania was so moved by Mr. Horsley's prose that she was determined to carry on. We must all read this shite, it's so very important, and no, Harper Perennial didn't fact check the manuscript.
Isn't this just what the book-buying public is clamoring for?