Michael Rockefeller

Space doesn’t permit me to quote this accidental masterpiece of smug condescension at length, which reads like an especially amusing excerpt from a mid-career Tom Wolfe novel.

In brief: Price is affronted by “the very idea of a museum guard commenting on a display””€”that is, a photomural of Michael flanked by a grinning Asmat tribesman“€”and, worse, repeating the rumor that he’d been cannibalized.

Price knows better, of course: “A colleague” (presumably a “member of the educated elite”) reassures her that Rockefeller drowned. “The public appetite for sensationalism, however””€”her sniff is almost audible“€”“could not pass up this golden opportunity to link Primitive Savagery with the fate of a young blond heir.”

Neither could Hoffman, of course, and while he may be correct, there remains something a bit…tasteless about this entire enterprise.

Despite the fact that crowdsourcing is the hottest of topics, none of the articles I read about Savage Harvest note that Hoffman raised money to research the book through a successful Kickstarter campaign.

Backers who pledged $50 or more would receive an autographed copy of the finished tome. The penultimate prize? Cough up $5000 and…

The Asmat are some of the greatest carvers in the world”€”Michael Rockefeller lost his life collecting their art”€”and you’ll get a genuine, hand carved Asmat shield. We’re talking five to six feet long, ornately carved with head hunting symbols, a “penis” projecting from its top”€”the real deal.

Finally, for a pledge of $10,000 or more, Hoffman promised to take his lucky patron “to the wild rivers of Asmat, just you and me,” where they will “shake the hands” of the “sons of the men who saw [Rockefeller] last.”

“[L]ook into their eyes while they drum and chant,” adds Hoffman, who presumably forgot to finish that sentence with an exclamation point and who was wearing a sideshow barker’s outfit when he typed it.

I see there were no takers.