The talented and quirky author W.P. Kinsella died over the weekend. Or, as they say in show biz, “He’s dead, Jim.”
I’m glad he received some recognition, although it irks me that he’s best known as the guy who wrote a book (“Shoeless Joe”) that became a very popular movie (“Field of Dreams”). It’s an old and worthless lament — books don’t get the acclaim or reward that movies inspire — and a sad commentary on the culture and education of the American public.
If I say, “Clockwork Orange,” do you think of Anthony Burgess, who wrote the book, or Stanley Kubrick, who made the movie? You can play this game all day ’til the popcorn cools and it will end the same way every time.
Still, a paycheck is a paycheck, and I don’t doubt Kinsella was delighted to get his. Besides, it was a decent movie, as faithful to the book as it needed to be. He struck me as smart enough to take the food before biting the hand that fed him.
Godspeed, my friend, and when you bump into Ernie, tell him Let’s play two.