Selected Letters of William Styron (49 page)

I don’t know if you got my cable from Rome or not, announcing what happened to
STHOF
(“La Proie des flammes”) in France. Quite simply, it made the biggest splash there of any American novel since Faulkner. The reviews were unanimously overflowing with praise, almost embarrassingly so; they were all so sanguine that I began to get suspicious and even hankered for a small word of disfavor.
L’Express
, for instance, which next to
Le Monde
is the most important paper, called the book “the most optimistic and intelligent of the great American tragedies.”
Le Monde
itself, in a rather unprecedented full page review which was more like a news story, simply called it “a very great book, a vast allegory of the American condition.” As a result of all this, the book last month was #3 on
L’Express
’s monthly best seller list (a compendium of all books, fiction and nonfiction)
and is expected to be #1 this month—something which has happened to no American book, fiction or non-fiction, in the 12 years
L’Express
has been running, and something which happened to only one other non-French book—
Dr. Zhivago
. Guy Schoeller, who runs Hachette which in turn owns Gallimard, my publisher, said he was fully confident that by the end of the year (sales are somewhat slower in France) the book will have sold between 70–80,000 copies. This would be the equivalent in America of a quarter of a million (Bennett Cerf just told me that the Random House edition sold something less than 18,000, which is a reflection on something). After having been treated by the American critics as a somewhat more clumsy Richard Ruark, I expect you can understand how I feel zestily vindicated. I wish there were some way I could rub Arthur Mizener’s nose in it all, but I suspect this victory is its own reward.

Do you think you could come visit us at the Vineyard again this summer? We don’t have the same house, unfortunately, and we would have to put you up in a place nearby, but we would love to have you. Try to make it. I will have a larger sailboat, a more comfortable one so there will be no risk of spilling overboard in the channel. I’m delighted, while I think about it, over the reception Reynolds Price’s book has been getting; it certainly deserves it, and Hiram told me that it is selling well, which means the most important thing—readers.

Let me hear from you soon.

As ever,

Bill

PS: I think the boy in Hartford is going to escape the electric chair. There has been a tremendous ruckus up there since that article.
^*dd
Again, never underestimate the power of the written word, learned at the Blackburnian knee.

T
O
E
LIZABETH
M
C
K
EE

May 6, 1962 Roxbury, CT

Dear Elizabeth: This is going to be an extraordinarily difficult letter for me to write, since I might as well say at the outset that it is to inform you that I am leaving the Agency. I have the deepest and warmest feeling for you personally, as you must well know, and that makes it all the tougher for me.

Primarily, the difficulty for me stems not so much from the Agency itself, or from your management of my literary affairs, but from my foreign rights, which I sincerely believe have been badly mishandled. This occurred to me for the first time the year before last when both Plon and Robert Laffont in France were haggling over
Set This House on Fire
. At that time, you will recall, I was in Ravello and you were in Milan. It was about the first time I really had had a crisis over any of my books, and I called you on the phone to ask you to straighten it out for me. About halfway through the conversation I was interrupted—and rather brusquely, too, I might add—by Ted, who informed me that you were going to the opera. And that was the end of that. By great luck, several days after that Gallimard stepped in from the outside and saved the situation nicely, but I was left with the distinct feeling that had that not happened I would have been left to cope with the Plon-Laffont difficulty myself. And at that time it not unnaturally occurred to me that I was paying a whopping 20% of my foreign rights income to people who not only were not helping me a bit but were actually impeding my progress. Recently, when I was in Frankfurt, Mrs. Fischer told me something else which jarred me. She said that after
Lie Down in Darkness
came out she wrote repeatedly to your office, asking what the German rights situation was, and received no answer. I know this must be true, because she offered to show me copies of the letters. At any rate, the upshot was that I was published by a lousy little house in Geneva and was wretchedly translated to boot. I have no idea who was to blame in this matter of the letters—I rather suspect it was the Horch office—but in any event it couldn’t have been handled worse.

The success of
Set This House
in France (I hardly need emphasize that I handled personally all negotiations with Gallimard) has certainly made me aware of the importance of foreign rights; in fact, since I’ve already sold more copies in France than any of my books sold in their original
editions in the U.S., I feel that my foreign rights are even more important than my domestic affairs. In Paris I met a lady, who shall remain nameless (not Mrs. Bradley), who when I told her I had no translations in Holland, Israel, Poland, Yugoslavia, etc., was astounded. She handles, incidentally, foreign rights for American writers, and said that she could sell the rights to all of my work in the countries just named within a week. I believe her, as she has done just this for two writers I know very well. She was further surprised that neither you nor Horch had made any attempt to sell my
Esquire
piece on capital punishment, which she had just read, and which she said she was positive she could sell the rights for in 15 languages.

I am writing Horch—Roz Siegel, that is—telling them that I am terminating my relationship with them at this date. I won’t go into any details with Roz, and trust you will eventually tell her why. I could not feel more certain that my foreign rights have been badly handled.

As for my relationship with McIntosh-McKee, I am not nearly so dissatisfied; in fact, in most respects I think everything has worked out extremely well. At the same time, I honestly no longer feel the need for an agent. As I have gone along in my literary career, I realize that I am primarily a novelist, working for long stretches on one book, and my relationship with my publishers (especially Random House) is and has always been eminently satisfactory. In other words, with all due respect to you as an agent, I simply do not need you to get $5,000 more out of Bennett Cerf. He is all too happy to give it to me freely at any time. Such few articles as I write and will continue to write for, let us say,
Esquire
, are articles they are pleased to get out of me, and you have not had to “sell” them. Surely you are aware of this, and I simply cannot see the plain reasonableness of paying the Agency 10% for doing in the end so little work. To be sure, I will be the first to admit that you have done a considerable amount of work for me. I am aware of all the inquiries you have handled and of all the foolish people you have steered off my track, but I cannot help asking myself if the 10% of the money, say, that I made last year—the Agency’s commission being around $3,000, in round-figure terms of my income, that is—is equitable in regard to the services rendered.

Further, I am not at all satisfied with Famous Artists. Abramson is an amiable but total oaf, and Harriet Pilpel has informed me that the contracts they have been drawing up have been near-disastrous. Fortunately, Pilpel saved the day, but again I have to ask myself why I am associated
with these characters, people like Abramson. To be sure none of my books have been the hottest thing around in terms of the movies, so this aspect has been difficult all around. Yet now, after seeing what Greenbaum, Wolff & Ernst did to my advantage in those contracts, I would far rather have her simply act as my lawyer—I am speaking of Harriet—have her actually draw up the contract and pay her the large but in the end reasonable fee she would ask, than to have a big commission go to an outfit like Famous Artists. These are simple economic facts, and I’m sure you must be aware of the reasonableness of my argument.

Finally, of course, you still in a sense remain my agent. For naturally anything to do with any of my past work (except future foreign rights) will be handled through the Agency. I expect our professional relationship to continue much as it did in the past; because I am such a slow worker, and because all my past works seem still to have so much “Life,” I am sure business will continue to come to me through the Agency. Anything in regard to any of my future work,
including
“
Nat Turner
,” I will handle on my own. The Agency will also collect commissions on the English Penguin edition of
The Long March
, which John Dodds
^*ee
wrote me about, and will collect commissions with Horch and Heath on foreign rights already sold. All future movie rights and all future foreign rights I will also handle on my own. It doesn’t seem nearly so awful as it might have been, does it? At least, that’s the way I feel.

In the end, in case you were silly enough to entertain the notion that there is or was anything personal in all this, or that I bore you any kind of resentment whatever, kindly put it out of your mind.
^*ff
To me you are still one of the prized and valued people I know anywhere, and I shall care very deeply for you always. Enjoy your trip and come back soon to Roxbury.

Love

Bill

T
O
H
OPE
L
ERESCHE
^*gg

May 11, 1962 Roxbury, CT

Dear Miss (or is it Mrs?) Leresche:

Maybe you will remember me from a pleasant evening at James Jones’. I am writing you to tell you that I have terminated my association with both my general agent and my agent for foreign rights, Franz J. Horch Associates of New York. I have done this for the several reasons we discussed that night—mainly the fact that I don’t believe Horch has displayed much initiative in selling my work—and I wonder if you are still willing to take me on as a client for foreign rights. Rather conveniently, in an effort to justify their good works, Horch sent me a list (complete) of the contracts they have concluded for me. The most important one—the Gallimard contract for
SET THIS HOUSE ON FIRE
—I negotiated myself, as I told you. Perhaps you’ve seen this month’s French
Vogue
, an article by François Nourrissier who said, quite accurately, that
La Proie des flammes
is the most successful American novel to be published in France since
LOLITA
. At any rate, I thought you’d like to see this list so that, in case you decide to take me on, you can determine what gaps there are in my foreign rights. Incidentally, since I am breaking off with my general agent, McKee-McIntosh, this means that I will be breaking off with their corresponding agent in England, which is Heath, so I presume that this means you will become my agent for England, too.

I think we spoke of the
Esquire
article I did on capital punishment. It has since caused a big commotion here, and it looks as if the condemned boy I wrote about may be reprieved—have his sentence commuted to life, that is. You said that you felt this article might very well be of interest to readers in various countries.
^*hh
I would be glad to have copies of the article made available to you if you think you can use them.

At any rate, if you are agreeable to becoming my English and foreign rights agent for all my future work and past work not already contracted for, I hope you will let me know.
^*ii

Sincerely,

William Styron

T
O
G
EORGE
P
LIMPTON

May 22, 1962 Roxbury, CT

Dear George:

Many thanks for your note about the Century.
^*jj
I expect to see Red Warren this Friday night and will bring the matter up, although he is leaving for France for the summer sometime next week.

The party at your place, forever hereinafter to be known as “the Jones Affair,” was certainly a historic blowout, and I hope the damage wasn’t too awful. Anyway, send along the bill at your convenience. I can stand the trauma, being most grateful to you for the use of the premises.

Hope to see you soon. We are making the Vineyard scene as of July First. What are the chances of your paying us a visit up there during the sullen summer months?

Ever yours

B.

T
O
H
OPE
L
ERESCHE

May 23, 1962 Roxbury, CT

Dear Miss Leresche:

As a kind of addendum to my letter of yesterday (which I hope you’ve received by now), I thought I might write a small précis to you about my work, so that perhaps you may be better equipped to talk about it when it comes to dealing with the various people you will be dealing with. I am speaking rather subjectively—a writer is always the last person to know where he himself “stands”—but nonetheless I thought it might be useful to record these observations.

For example, I would suspect rather strongly that at the moment my reputation in America rests largely upon my first novel,
LIE DOWN IN DARKNESS
. Since it was published in 1951, it has achieved a low but steady renown, and though, for instance, it is nowhere near so well known as
THE CATCHER IN THE RYE
, it is the only novel which even approaches Salinger’s book in terms of “adoptions” in college English courses. I’m of course speaking of novels by the younger or post-war U.S. writers. It is still fully in print in three editions (the original hardback, one “quality” reprint, and one cheap reprint—the last now in its fifth printing), and there is a steady and large demand for it, especially among college students. In a recent poll, for instance taken among a large group of college English teachers, asked to name the twelve U.S. literary classics of the last twenty years (this was published in the
Saturday Review
),
LIE DOWN IN DARKNESS
was one of the four novels named (the other were poems or plays)—the other novels being
CATCHER IN THE RYE
, Warren’s
ALL THE KING’S MEN
, and Hemingway’s
THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA
. In terms of a final literary judgment, of course, this means little, but it does indicate the book’s rather remarkable and enduring popularity. (Forgive me if I seem to be blowing my own horn, but I’m trying to provide a practical guide for you.)