Friend, confidant, editor and author

Quentin was such a vivid presence that I still can’t believe he’s gone. I once told him that he was in Technicolor and the rest of us were in black and white.

I continue to wait for the phone to ring and to hear, “Not to worry, it’s only me.” Every single day, something happens to remind me of him, and I think that wherever he is, it’s likely that he has something to do with those little and large reminders.

It is my fervent hope that the new movie about him, An Englishman in New York, will generate new interest in his legacy, and that the vast body of his unpublished and out-of-print writing will at long last appear and reappear. I still think Tim Burton should make a film of Quentin’s novel Chog. He was especially fond of that book. But one mustn’t hope for too much in this life.

Do remember him on “Mr. Claus’s day,” and raise a cup of cheer in his honor. He would be so pleased.

Read what Tom Steele wrote for the tribute booklet
An Evening for Quentin Crisp: The Memorial.

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Photograph courtesy of Tom Steele.

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