Lyle Stuart, one of those delightful, outsized people in the book world, died on Saturday at 83 of a heart attack.
Famous for publishing The Anarchist's Cookbook, Jackie Oh!, Naked Came the Stranger, The Turner Diaries and other controversial titles and for engaging in long-running legal and rhetorical battles with Walter Winchell, Stephen Wynn, Scientology and others, Stuart headed his eponymous publishing house for years. After selling it in 1990, he founded Barricade Books, which he headed until his death. He was always a scrappy publisher who loved muckraking and free speech. He had a flair for self-promotion, and occasionally e-mailed us with tips about his titles.
Stuart was also a journalist, who edited a monthly tabloid originally named Exposé, then the Independent. He also wrote a regular newsletter in which he commented on events in the industry and titles he was excited about as well as described his trips and kept everyone updated on his friends and family. (The only odd aspect involved tales of his own gambling prowess. Taking his winnings at face value, it seemed he should have died richer than Bill Gates.) As ever, in his writing he could be as wonderfully acerbic as kind.
Famous for publishing The Anarchist's Cookbook, Jackie Oh!, Naked Came the Stranger, The Turner Diaries and other controversial titles and for engaging in long-running legal and rhetorical battles with Walter Winchell, Stephen Wynn, Scientology and others, Stuart headed his eponymous publishing house for years. After selling it in 1990, he founded Barricade Books, which he headed until his death. He was always a scrappy publisher who loved muckraking and free speech. He had a flair for self-promotion, and occasionally e-mailed us with tips about his titles.
Stuart was also a journalist, who edited a monthly tabloid originally named Exposé, then the Independent. He also wrote a regular newsletter in which he commented on events in the industry and titles he was excited about as well as described his trips and kept everyone updated on his friends and family. (The only odd aspect involved tales of his own gambling prowess. Taking his winnings at face value, it seemed he should have died richer than Bill Gates.) As ever, in his writing he could be as wonderfully acerbic as kind.