Letters (64 page)
Authors: Saul Bellow
I thought you might be mildly amused by this.
In any case, I would welcome the opportunity to see you in New York, between planes.
With best regards,
To Richard Stern
October 1, 1977 Cambridge
Dear Richard:
[ . . . ] I strive manfully with life’s problems. They will say in the next world, “You certainly went on in good faith, Kid, doing what you were brought up to do. Very responsible. You may have missed a thing or two (of importance) by sticking to these commitments.” But there’s nothing to be done now. I feel a little weaker than I did in the last decade. I don’t recover all my strength in sleep or other forms of rest. I get more and more restless, to less and less purpose. And I can’t keep up with all the difficulties. The reason I was slow to write to you was that the court proceedings were hotter and heavier than usual. Just now, for instance, I am in contempt. I am coming to Daniel’s bar mitzvah but I may be arrested in front of K[ehilath] A[nshe] M[a’ariv] next Saturday despite my truce agreement (for the weekend) with Susan. The court held me in contempt because—I will tell it in legal language—pursuant to advice of counsel I refused to comply with the alimony assessment of the court but appealed the decision. Until the appeal is formally filed, I am in comtempt (I can’t even spell the damn word, there’s so much emotional interference). My lawyers tell me that I won’t be hand-cuffed and dragged away to alimony row. Such a vile shock, or culmination, might actually reverse the emotional tides and bring me peace. Who knows?
So, I go on lecturing on Joseph Conrad, and writing odds and ends, taking absurd telephone messages. For example, this morning:
Fortune
wants to print an article on the earnings of authors. The Franklin Mint Co. wants to put out
Humboldt’s Gift
in limp leather, an inscribed edition of fifteen thousand. They will pay me two bucks per signature. If I consent to sign my name fifteen thousand times I will be thirty thousand richer. I mean fifteen, for the govt. would take half. Shall I sign my name fifteen thousand times? My idea is to hire a forger, and pay him two bits per.
Fortune
wants to print an article on the earnings of authors. The Franklin Mint Co. wants to put out
Humboldt’s Gift
in limp leather, an inscribed edition of fifteen thousand. They will pay me two bucks per signature. If I consent to sign my name fifteen thousand times I will be thirty thousand richer. I mean fifteen, for the govt. would take half. Shall I sign my name fifteen thousand times? My idea is to hire a forger, and pay him two bits per.
If I’m not in County Jail next weekend, I shall give you a ring.
Yours affectionately,
To Richard Stern
[Postmarked Cambridge, Mass., 4 October 1977]
Dear Dick,
Congratulations! Another son. Wordsworth said, “Stern daughter” (“Ode to Duty”) but Gay came through with a boy. Well, a son is what the old folks used to call “
a Gan-Eden-schlepper,
” a puller-into Paradise. [ . . . ] I’m very glad for you, and the kid is fortunate in his parents and siblings. The children must be terribly excited—Chris gets a bigger crew, but poor Andrew, he’ll find it hard to swallow at first.
a Gan-Eden-schlepper,
” a puller-into Paradise. [ . . . ] I’m very glad for you, and the kid is fortunate in his parents and siblings. The children must be terribly excited—Chris gets a bigger crew, but poor Andrew, he’ll find it hard to swallow at first.
I’m glad to get your kind words about
Herzog
. What am I saying?—I swallow them with joy. That
Herzog
is all right. I hope his luck will last. Though I father interesting characters, it’s in the upbringing that they lose out.
Herzog
. What am I saying?—I swallow them with joy. That
Herzog
is all right. I hope his luck will last. Though I father interesting characters, it’s in the upbringing that they lose out.
I’m a very imperfect and accidental sort of person, a poor over-interrogated witness; you should outstrip me soon. Perhaps even will in any case. I know better than to take any writer’s word about his own book. Already in the first pages there was a good deal of strong feeling [in yours].
As for Leeds, I’m sorry for your sake but pleased you’ll be in Chicago next winter—
and
Shils. As Edward would say, it’s going to be capital.
and
Shils. As Edward would say, it’s going to be capital.
Try to come out in Sept. Blessings on Gay, and young Nick.
Yours affectionately,
To Edward Shils
November 14, 1977 Cambridge
Dear Edward,
Your call the other morning came when I needed support and I was hoping for just such a sign of affection and solidarity. You told me once that one didn’t need many friends; that is perfectly true and it’s also just as well since one need not expect to have too many. I am very lucky in having the few that are essential. And you have a friend in me, I assure you. [. . . ]
I’m able to fend off my troubles most of the time and get some work done. My anxieties have a way of attacking me at about 3:00 A.M. when my defenses are down and then I think all kinds of nonsensical things and feel agitated. I don’t need eight hours of rest, I’m in good health. My mind, though, does require a longer nightly absence from consciousness than it is getting and sometimes feels sere at the edges. Cambridge does not fascinate me. I can take these masses of ivy or leave them. Alexandra, among her mathematicians, is very cheerful but I am beginning to long for vulgar Chicago where facts are facts.
Yours most affectionately,
1978
To Leon Wieseltier
January 18, 1978 Chicago
Dear Leon:
I intended to write at once about your essays but life insists on teaching me a few more lessons. I thought I knew corrupt Chicago, the money world, the legal and accounting professions and all their psychological types and all the political parallels—I did, of course, but it was an intelligent person’s closet knowledge and fate decided that I should get a finishing course, that I should feel all the fingers on my skin and have my internal organs well squeezed. In its way this is fair enough. I
said
I wanted to know; I claimed that I already knew; and I held positions in the Higher Life, was its representative in the Midwest. All that has got to be paid for, and I’m in the process of doing that. There is no other way. It’s time-consuming, sordid—one is abused, dragged through the
schmutz
[
85
], publicized. That’s one’s country, as it is, and that’s one’s own high-minded self, dedicated to art and wisdom. But then convenience and comfort make us dimwitted, and celebrity threatens to complete one’s imbecility. I’ve seen more than one big figure turn into a cork dummy. It might be nice to have a garden of one’s own to cultivate at a time like this and let the preposterous world do its preposterous things. I love rose bushes, but I love objectivity even more, and self-objectivity more than any other type. This makes all the noise, troubling, cheating, vengefulness and money-grabbing tolerable and at times even welcome. When I come home, though, or go to my office, I find the books, journals and letters flooding in. I haven’t the time to read, much less comment or answer. No sorcerer arrives to bail the apprentice out. When insomnia permits it, I dream of monasteries or hermit’s caves. But I’m a Jew, and married—uxorious.
said
I wanted to know; I claimed that I already knew; and I held positions in the Higher Life, was its representative in the Midwest. All that has got to be paid for, and I’m in the process of doing that. There is no other way. It’s time-consuming, sordid—one is abused, dragged through the
schmutz
[
85
], publicized. That’s one’s country, as it is, and that’s one’s own high-minded self, dedicated to art and wisdom. But then convenience and comfort make us dimwitted, and celebrity threatens to complete one’s imbecility. I’ve seen more than one big figure turn into a cork dummy. It might be nice to have a garden of one’s own to cultivate at a time like this and let the preposterous world do its preposterous things. I love rose bushes, but I love objectivity even more, and self-objectivity more than any other type. This makes all the noise, troubling, cheating, vengefulness and money-grabbing tolerable and at times even welcome. When I come home, though, or go to my office, I find the books, journals and letters flooding in. I haven’t the time to read, much less comment or answer. No sorcerer arrives to bail the apprentice out. When insomnia permits it, I dream of monasteries or hermit’s caves. But I’m a Jew, and married—uxorious.
I tell you these things—for openers—because I found that I could tell you things. It made me happy to see you. It will take you some time to learn that I’ve a reputation for reticence. A Village painter who did psychiatry as a sideline once called me an “oral miser.” He was right, I’m afraid. I couldn’t talk to him. There’s no one in Chicago to make me freely conversational. Joe Epstein I like and respect but I don’t open my heart to him because he doesn’t have the impulse—your impulse—to open up. Besides he’s more fair-minded than we are, or more circumspect when he discusses our bogus contemporaries. You and I have in common a vivid impatience with jerks which makes us wave our arms and cry out. You won me with your first outburst.
So I galloped at once through the articles you sent and was disappointed only when there was no more to read. They were, as I expected (no, I got more than I expected), comprehensively intelligent, learned, lively, without nonsense, delightful. Some of your views I don’t share. I knew [Nicola] Chiaromonte well, liked him, occasionally agreed with him, considered him to be one of the better European intellectuals of the Fifties and Sixties. But Nick was, in many ways, a standard product, often deficient in taste, snobbish. You came closest to the truth in examining his agreement with Hannah Arendt, that superior Krautess, on the differences between Platonic and Marxian intellectuals. The reason Nick and Hannah failed to notice the congealment of intellectuals into their own “stratum” (your word) was that they were terribly proud of their own super-eligibility for the highest of all strata. Their American friends could never hope to join them there. We were very nice but not
kulturny
enough to be taken seriously. But I shan’t go on about Nick, who was certainly a considerable person. I don’t always respect the rule of
de mortuis
[
86
] but in his case I shall. Even in Hannah’s case, though she tempts me more strongly. I used to say unforgivably wicked things about her, and that wickedness should yield to Death. Still it is hard to stop the genius of abuse. If
belles lettres
still existed it would be pleasant to write something about that. I’m sure it’s already been done. Probably by Lucian, or someone else I haven’t read. But mostly I was in enthusiastic agreement with your views and sent up more than one cheer.
kulturny
enough to be taken seriously. But I shan’t go on about Nick, who was certainly a considerable person. I don’t always respect the rule of
de mortuis
[
86
] but in his case I shall. Even in Hannah’s case, though she tempts me more strongly. I used to say unforgivably wicked things about her, and that wickedness should yield to Death. Still it is hard to stop the genius of abuse. If
belles lettres
still existed it would be pleasant to write something about that. I’m sure it’s already been done. Probably by Lucian, or someone else I haven’t read. But mostly I was in enthusiastic agreement with your views and sent up more than one cheer.
What a pity we had so little time to talk. We have a good deal to tell each other.
All best,
At Bellow’s request, Wieseltier had sent a selection of his essays including a review of Chiaromonte’s
The Worm of Consciousness and Other Essays, from The New York Review of Books.
The Worm of Consciousness and Other Essays, from The New York Review of Books.
To Sam Wanamaker
March 3, 1978 Chicago
Dear Sam,
I take your proposition [about a film of
Henderson the Rain King
] seriously, and Marlon Brando in the role has a certain charm for me—the charm of the unlikely but feasible. There are any number of reasons why I could not write a screenplay—one is that I am writing a book; no, two books. I don’t know what Harriet Wasserman has done about Public Television; we’ve been out of touch, but I am sending your letter to her and she will be able to give you (I hope) the information you want.
Henderson the Rain King
] seriously, and Marlon Brando in the role has a certain charm for me—the charm of the unlikely but feasible. There are any number of reasons why I could not write a screenplay—one is that I am writing a book; no, two books. I don’t know what Harriet Wasserman has done about Public Television; we’ve been out of touch, but I am sending your letter to her and she will be able to give you (I hope) the information you want.
All best to you,
To Leon Wieseltier
March 9, 1978 Chicago
Dear Leon:
We’re taking off for London on one of those diabolical machines that persuade you your journey is necessary. Well, maybe it is. But from my window over Lake Michigan, which is frozen two miles out, bands of spring water begin to show, green, blue and white. The air is the same. You feel it all squeezing and opening like the folds of an accordion. You
are
the accordion, the transparencies are inside. Even if the music is somewhat silly, I don’t want to leave. Also, against my will, I have to write a review for the
Times
of Kollek’s
Memoirs
. That puts me into the field of diplomacy. First I gather my real opinions together, then I run them through the adapter and hope for a balanced compromise. I like Teddy’s kind of character; he is rude, bumptious, but the book is interesting in its way and more candid than most of its kind. The “personal” books of politicians are vexing. How many exceptions are there? De Gaulle, Clemenceau. But if it takes big wars to beget these Clemenceaus we can do without them.
are
the accordion, the transparencies are inside. Even if the music is somewhat silly, I don’t want to leave. Also, against my will, I have to write a review for the
Times
of Kollek’s
Memoirs
. That puts me into the field of diplomacy. First I gather my real opinions together, then I run them through the adapter and hope for a balanced compromise. I like Teddy’s kind of character; he is rude, bumptious, but the book is interesting in its way and more candid than most of its kind. The “personal” books of politicians are vexing. How many exceptions are there? De Gaulle, Clemenceau. But if it takes big wars to beget these Clemenceaus we can do without them.
I’m sure your piece [“Auschwitz and Peace,” in
The New York Times
] was extremely hard to write. It’s a good one, and it will turn discussion in the right direction. You know what to expect from hot controversy over Jewish questions—bangs and blows on the noggin. But it was most important to call attention to the effects of Auschwitz on Israeli leaders, and you were more than tactful in putting it—“saving realism,” “accommodation is not surrender,” the Jews “never hungered for conquest.” I don’t see what there is for intelligent people to object to. And one of the encouraging things about the Jews is that they can always come up, as if under warranty, with a number of good heads. The others, too, of course, are always there, and you can count on them to call you a trendy dove. A
dayge
[
87
]!
The New York Times
] was extremely hard to write. It’s a good one, and it will turn discussion in the right direction. You know what to expect from hot controversy over Jewish questions—bangs and blows on the noggin. But it was most important to call attention to the effects of Auschwitz on Israeli leaders, and you were more than tactful in putting it—“saving realism,” “accommodation is not surrender,” the Jews “never hungered for conquest.” I don’t see what there is for intelligent people to object to. And one of the encouraging things about the Jews is that they can always come up, as if under warranty, with a number of good heads. The others, too, of course, are always there, and you can count on them to call you a trendy dove. A
dayge
[
87
]!
You touch some rather deep questions—is anything worth writing that doesn’t
graze
these at least? I wonder what this stiffness [ . . . ] really signifies. Sometimes I think of it as an impossible degree of wakefulness or bolt-uprightness. Supposing the Europeans, and especially the Germans, to have made their wars and their death-camps in a state of possession, nearly a dream state, the effect on the victims and sufferers was one of super wakefulness. Their portion was—reality. At the very least. In this wakefulness they built their society, their army, fought their wars. Perhaps they see the
goyim
still ruled by these fatal phantasmagorias of theirs. Is America awake? No kidding! Or France, blundering towards its next elections? And aren’t these Jews still spiritually in Europe, together with their dead millions of the war? It’s tempting to think whether this reckless game (I wonder whether Begin isn’t acting from
fated
motives) may not have its source in some need for critically heightened consciousness.
graze
these at least? I wonder what this stiffness [ . . . ] really signifies. Sometimes I think of it as an impossible degree of wakefulness or bolt-uprightness. Supposing the Europeans, and especially the Germans, to have made their wars and their death-camps in a state of possession, nearly a dream state, the effect on the victims and sufferers was one of super wakefulness. Their portion was—reality. At the very least. In this wakefulness they built their society, their army, fought their wars. Perhaps they see the
goyim
still ruled by these fatal phantasmagorias of theirs. Is America awake? No kidding! Or France, blundering towards its next elections? And aren’t these Jews still spiritually in Europe, together with their dead millions of the war? It’s tempting to think whether this reckless game (I wonder whether Begin isn’t acting from
fated
motives) may not have its source in some need for critically heightened consciousness.
I’ve concluded, however, that when people say such things they are often talking about themselves. So I pause to check myself out.
Are you coming to Chicago soon? Give me some notice and I may be able to organize a public lecture at the university. We have little money, but there are a few dollars in the Committee’s lecture fund.
All best,
To James Salter
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