Don’t blame us. It was PI-1 who said the female figure on the cover of Roy Chanslor’s 1953 novel The Naked I looked like she was doing a trick for a glass of Champagne. Anytime she tries to help with this website we have to go with it. And she’s right—no? This looks like trick-for-treat. For our part, we can understand the motivation—we’d kneel for a glass of Champagne too. The art is not credited, unfortunately. We could take a guess who painted it, but we’d probably be wrong, so why bother?
The Naked I is another Hollywood melodrama but with more verve than usual. The main character Maggy McLeod is a stuntwoman turned actress who becomes so famous she’s soon a one-name superstar—simply Maggy—whose many relationships become tabloid fodder. The narrative follows her affairs, marriages, and splits in multi-pov style, with the various characters narrating their parts in her life. There are many liaisons, as the salacious rear cover text implies, but the book isn’t a sex romp. It’s an attempt at serious literature, though within the popular fold.
A portrait of Maggy emerges—she’s sweet, liberated, and sentimental, yet far too career oriented to be distracted from her goals by the wants and wishes of men. At least until that special one finally comes along. He’s Sam Blake, an ambitious novelist slumming by deigning to write for Hollywood, driven onward by his equally ambitious wife Eve, who believes it’s her role to keep her husband on the path to literary greatness. What eventually emerges is a love triangle between Eve, Sam, and Maggy.
These characters evolve in curious ways, but for most modern readers we suspect Eve initially will be perceived to be a doormat, and Sam a cad. He has numerous affairs and Eve always takes him back. At one point she even puts a number to his sexual encounters—thirty one. It’s unclear if these are all extramarital flings or it’s more of a full body count, but it’s made clear in any case that Sam’s wanderings have been many. Why does Eve continually forgive him? She’s the most interesting character in the story, in our view, because of this question. We weren’t pleased with how Chanslor resolved it, but others may feel differently.
Other aspects are very pleasing. The Naked I is pretty much the brand-droppingnest novel you’ll ever read: Ciro’s, Mocambo, Bellodgia, Amatista, Chasen’s, Top of the Mark, 21, Romanoff’s. For pop history buffs these are like names from colonial empires long gone, as magical sounding as Constantinople and Siam. Chanslor really seems to love Hollywood, and no wonder—he was an accomplished screenwriter who produced more than sixty scripts, including Black Angel, Framed, and Cat Ballou. But like his character Sam Blake, maybe he should have written more books.
While many authors avoid making their main characters too autobiographical, in The Naked I Chanslor leans hard the other direction. We can assume he largely is Blake. That’s rammed fully home when Blake finally sits down to write the great American novel, and it’s called—guess what? Yup. The Naked I. “Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.” Sure, sure, Roy, you’re not Blake. But we get you: Follow your dreams, never compromise, in art or in women. And superstar Maggy tells us: Follow your dreams, never compromise, in art or in men. They’re a perfect match.
