November 21, 1989
When Tom Wolfe speaks, people listen. For someone whose manner is so unassertive, almost courtly, Wolfe is practically impossible to tune out, a master at shaking the reading public by its lapels. To a significant extent, that's because his voice (written not spoken) is as delicately pitched as a Geronimo war whoop, shrieking for (and commanding) attention, in whatever literary precinct he happens to be working: "New Journalism," social commentary, or, most recently, pop fiction. Wolfe's latest whoop is a...