Part 5 (1/2)

I regret that your friend [Philip] Rieff's magazine went on the rocks. Now I have a long review of Bernanos's Joy Joy to dispose of. I can't send it out as a review at this late date, so I must run it into an article or let it moulder. to dispose of. I can't send it out as a review at this late date, so I must run it into an article or let it moulder.

Please go on feeling epistolary.

Love,

In February, Czech Communists backed by the Soviet Union had seized political and military power in Czechoslovakia, sending shock waves throughout Western Europe, Great Britain and the United States.

To the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation March 26, 1948 Minneapolis Dear Mr. [Henry Allen] Moe: During the past year I earned about four thousand dollars, five hundred of which came from writing. My wife and I used almost all of this money-we have a child of four-although I imagine we could have managed on thirty-five hundred.

I knew of course when I applied for a Guggenheim Fellows.h.i.+p that the stipend was twenty-five hundred and I was, and am still, ready to accept that amount in order to be free from academic duties to write. I have no certain resources for the coming year. I believe that from the sale of things I have already written I could earn five hundred and perhaps a little more.

If I receive the Fellows.h.i.+p, I would prefer it begin in October, 1948. I contemplate leaving Minneapolis and doing my work in New York State.

Sincerely yours,

The Guggenheim Foundation customarily asks successful candidates to submit a budget for the coming year prior to awarding the fellows.h.i.+p. Henry Allen Moe was executive director of the foundation.

To Melvin Tumin April 21, 1948 Minneapolis Dear Moishe: Yes, I turned out after all to be a Guggenheim type. Who would have thought, as the Macbeths said, the old man had so much blood in him? Somehow, under deep layers, the old irremovable feeling lurks that I am a born slightee and that no one can really take very seriously the marks I set on paper. In Chicago last week my father looked, when I told him of the award, as he had looked at the gold star in my third-grade copybook. Yes, very fine, but there is still life with its markets, alleyways and bedrooms where such as you are conceived between a gla.s.s of schnapps and a dish of cuc.u.mbers and cream. So where is grandeur? Not in Guggenheims, he is perfectly right. Nevertheless, there is grandeur. Little does he really really know. When I say slightee, I do not mean slighted in the gift of life, which is never negligible; I merely mean slighted in the award of badges and distinctions. And even that is no longer true. Lucky the Guggenheim came along when it did. I was about to accept an offer at Bard College, Annandale on Hudson (with two hyphens). If I do what Isaac has done with the Fellows.h.i.+p, namely, rest, I may have to go there the year after. I can very well understand why Isaac has done that; I'm tempted to do likewise. One works so hard to become eligible that one really needs an opportunity to cancel the grind. Besides, it is a very desirable thing to go fallow and wait for a second growth. It's a kind of return to the natural self before the tilling of discipline and the nervousness of the first tries which bring about a disfigurement of the original bent or a cast in the pure eye of the original endowment-don't mind my abuse of metaphors. It's a hara.s.sing life, in short, for writers as for professors of sociology; they have a way of slighting the real end. I must say, here, that sociologists are the greater offenders. I listen to them around here with every effort to be fair and understanding but I can't make out their Man. Surely that's not know. When I say slightee, I do not mean slighted in the gift of life, which is never negligible; I merely mean slighted in the award of badges and distinctions. And even that is no longer true. Lucky the Guggenheim came along when it did. I was about to accept an offer at Bard College, Annandale on Hudson (with two hyphens). If I do what Isaac has done with the Fellows.h.i.+p, namely, rest, I may have to go there the year after. I can very well understand why Isaac has done that; I'm tempted to do likewise. One works so hard to become eligible that one really needs an opportunity to cancel the grind. Besides, it is a very desirable thing to go fallow and wait for a second growth. It's a kind of return to the natural self before the tilling of discipline and the nervousness of the first tries which bring about a disfigurement of the original bent or a cast in the pure eye of the original endowment-don't mind my abuse of metaphors. It's a hara.s.sing life, in short, for writers as for professors of sociology; they have a way of slighting the real end. I must say, here, that sociologists are the greater offenders. I listen to them around here with every effort to be fair and understanding but I can't make out their Man. Surely that's not h.o.m.o sapiens, mon semblable h.o.m.o sapiens, mon semblable! The creature the theologians write about is far closer to me.

I got a like complaint about Kappy from [Herbert] McCloskey and from Isaac. Isaac and I are, of course, in a slightly different category: Chicagoans and writers. Whereas you're from Newark and knew the Ur-Kaplan. That's very important, for Kappy has made himself after his own image, has chosen to be the Parisian Kaplan and has put behind him the part of his history that doesn't fit the image. This self-incubation is a fascinating thing. Having re-explored the boundaries of freedom under G.o.d's law (Faust) the next move logically tempts man to free himself from the definition other men give him. That's the Nietzschean ”Grand Style.” A man's birth and all the primitive facts about him are accidental and not free. Why should he be the Kaplan his mother bore and Newark stamped when he has the power to be the Kaplan of his choice? You have felt that, I have, Pa.s.sin has. Only some of us have had the sense to realize that the man we bring forth has no richness compared with the man who really exists, thickened, fed and fattened by all all the facts about him, all of his history. Besides, the image can never be the facts about him, all of his history. Besides, the image can never be reyn reyn [ [20] and it is especially impure when money and power are part of its outfit. Kappy is an official. In justice to him, however, it must be said that it would be hard to resist exploiting such great gifts, it would be hard for anyone. It's the best, the strongest, the most talented whose lives miscarry in this way. I deeply hope, for Kappy, that he recovers before the damage to his power to feel goes any further. I thought when I heard him last summer discoursing on concentration-camps that only tragedies of that magnitude had the power to touch him, the catastrophe in gross. So many of the lovers of humanity in bulk have no feeling for persons. They only obey a compulsory healthy-mindedness for mankind in general, for sufferers in numbers. [ . . . ]

I got a rather disagreeable letter from Kurt [Wolff] about The Victim The Victim. I didn't mind his criticisms of specific things but I disliked extremely his telling me ”you aren't there yet yet” and all his didactics, his tacking me down with neat clips. He meant less well than he thought he did. You yourself have always objected to the opinion I give of myself. But even if it were not just it would still be necessary, as you would understand if you were subjected to as much scaling down and leveling by dozens of means, from historical comparison to personal attack. The Victim The Victim has its share of faults but so do many other universally and deservedly admired books. This equalitarianism of men who do not care for themselves and therefore cannot allow others to give great value to human personality is extremely dangerous to writers who are after all devoted to a belief in the importance of human actions. The G.o.ds, the saints, the heroes, these are human pictures of human qualities; the citizen, the man in the street, the man of the ma.s.s have become their ant.i.thesis. I am against the triumph of this ant.i.thesis and Kurt in his letter put himself on the side of the enemy, the envious Casca. has its share of faults but so do many other universally and deservedly admired books. This equalitarianism of men who do not care for themselves and therefore cannot allow others to give great value to human personality is extremely dangerous to writers who are after all devoted to a belief in the importance of human actions. The G.o.ds, the saints, the heroes, these are human pictures of human qualities; the citizen, the man in the street, the man of the ma.s.s have become their ant.i.thesis. I am against the triumph of this ant.i.thesis and Kurt in his letter put himself on the side of the enemy, the envious Casca. The Victim The Victim where it is successful is a powerful book. I take my own due for it. There aren't many recent books that come close to it and I can't take seriously any opinion that doesn't begin by acknowledging that. There you have it. I'm not modest. Whether I'm truly aware of my shortcomings will be apparent in my next books. It will be apparent for I'm very thoroughly aware of a large number. where it is successful is a powerful book. I take my own due for it. There aren't many recent books that come close to it and I can't take seriously any opinion that doesn't begin by acknowledging that. There you have it. I'm not modest. Whether I'm truly aware of my shortcomings will be apparent in my next books. It will be apparent for I'm very thoroughly aware of a large number.

Genug [ [21].

We haven't decided where to go next year. Have you any ideas? I'm waiting to hear from you. I feel a very great warmth toward you, Moishe, and I don't want it to lapse again. You and Isaac are the only friends to whom I write at such length.

Love,

Political scientist Herbert McCloskey and his wife, Mitzie, had become close friends of Bellow's at the University of Minnesota.

To Henry Volkening [n.d.] [Minneapolis]

Dear Henry: [ . . . ] I'm teaching, not too conscientiously, three courses and though I have a.s.sistants (two of them) to grade papers I cannot rule from afar. My presence is indispensable. I took a day off last week to go to Chicago and hear [Arthur] Koestler and I'm paying for it now in heavier toil.

I haven't written to Henle yet. I've just received his congratulations on the Guggenheim, so how can I? But I got a jog today from some friends in Philadelphia who couldn't obtain The Victim The Victim. They wrote to friends in Pa.s.saic, and they couldn't get it. The results in Rochester were no better. Finally they wrote New York. But that's discouraging. I haven't even been banned in Philadelphia. It seems I have a D rating among booksellers. G.o.d stiffen them!

I didn't know [J. F.] Powers was on your list. I'd like to meet him. Why don't you suggest to him that he call me next time he's in Minneapolis?

And maybe you know of a good place for me to go next year. Anywhere, within reason, in the western hemisphere.

I'll send the novelette (it'll be ready soon) to [Philip] Rahv and tell him that I do business through you. [ . . . ]

Best,

To Henry Volkening April [?], 1948 Minneapolis Dear Henry: Last time I wrote to Henle I said that I thought I had a right to devote all my time to writing. He replied that I had indeed. No more. Other publishers have offered me the opportunity. One wanted to give me enough money for a year. I know you favor my staying with Vanguard. At least you don't want to be the instrument of divorce. But I can't see why I should stay. I think I'd be better off with another house.

Do you think Henle would release me if I asked him to?

As ever,

To Melvin Tumin [n.d.] [Minneapolis]

Anita is fast winning her campaign to go to Europe. I have been opposing her. I don't like to hazard a year of writing, and France or Italy may be too exciting and disturbing. I came back last fall exhausted and sick and for two or three months was good for nothing. Instead of going to Europe I have been proposing that we settle in the East, settle for good in the country outside New York. I'm sure I can have the Bard job in '49 and I've thought of buying a house in that part of the state. I'm weary of milling around, living in a different house each year, getting accustomed to strange beds, new rooms, curious furniture and the peculiarities and grievances of landladies. Formerly Anita agreed with me. In fact I didn't get her out of Chicago initially without a great deal of veytig. veytig. But she's got the migratory habit now, apparently. She promises to settle down when we return from abroad. And she's winning, as I've said. If everything were to go well in Europe . . . well, there are attractions. I continue to hesitate because Anita did so badly in Mexico with the language; she was terrified and clung with all her weight to me; I couldn't tolerate that. The results, though I haven't said so before-perhaps didn't really understand-were disastrous. Nearly fatal. But she promises to behave differently in France. Kappy and Celia are very actively agitating and I am, this week, for the first time really tempted. When we leave Minneapolis in July we'll be homeless again. Rich DPs, that's what it comes to. So it seems we won't be living in the same vicinity, you and I, for another year at least. But she's got the migratory habit now, apparently. She promises to settle down when we return from abroad. And she's winning, as I've said. If everything were to go well in Europe . . . well, there are attractions. I continue to hesitate because Anita did so badly in Mexico with the language; she was terrified and clung with all her weight to me; I couldn't tolerate that. The results, though I haven't said so before-perhaps didn't really understand-were disastrous. Nearly fatal. But she promises to behave differently in France. Kappy and Celia are very actively agitating and I am, this week, for the first time really tempted. When we leave Minneapolis in July we'll be homeless again. Rich DPs, that's what it comes to. So it seems we won't be living in the same vicinity, you and I, for another year at least.

I'm never, as you know, without some kind of kopdreyenish kopdreyenish [ [22]. And recently the chief dreynish dreynish has been publis.h.i.+ng. We were hard hit by the failure of has been publis.h.i.+ng. We were hard hit by the failure of The Victim The Victim. For it was, financially, a failure. Vanguard sold less than twenty-five hundred copies. It was hard not to blame Henle for that. The flop he made of it has been the scandal of publishers' row for months. [ . . . ]

Just at present I'm working on a novelette called The Crab and the b.u.t.terfly The Crab and the b.u.t.terfly which maybe which maybe Partisan Partisan will publish. Rahv has an idea that something should be done for the novella and has written to say that he plans to run one a year-in imitation of will publish. Rahv has an idea that something should be done for the novella and has written to say that he plans to run one a year-in imitation of Horizon Horizon, let it be added. The crab is human tenacious-ness to life, the b.u.t.terfly is the gift of existence which the crab stalks. The crab cannot leap or chase but stands with open claws while the creature flaps over him. This is, for a while, I hope, the last of the ”heavies.” I should like to write a purely comic book next in a spirit of le gai savoir le gai savoir, Nietzsche's gaya scienza gaya scienza, ringing comedy, not the centerless irony of the New Yorker New Yorker which takes the name nowadays. I'm much attracted by a subject to which you would have no objections, I'm sure-I wouldn't write or publish any such thing-: the high fun of the weeks after you returned from Guatemala. The comic side of it, of which I'm sure you're aware, appeals to me tremendously. Naturally, I wouldn't undertake it without a which takes the name nowadays. I'm much attracted by a subject to which you would have no objections, I'm sure-I wouldn't write or publish any such thing-: the high fun of the weeks after you returned from Guatemala. The comic side of it, of which I'm sure you're aware, appeals to me tremendously. Naturally, I wouldn't undertake it without a nil obstat nil obstat from you though what I have in mind is not a copy of the original. Someone altogether different drawn from a very few elements that are yours and totally transformed. from you though what I have in mind is not a copy of the original. Someone altogether different drawn from a very few elements that are yours and totally transformed.

Write me, Love,

To Henry Volkening [n.d.] [Minneapolis]

Dear Henry: Henle has released me. Not without anger and reproach, but he has let me off. I'm tingling with distress over the whole thing and I'm also relieved; the relief definitely outweighs the other. Clearly there was no pleasant way to do it, though I tried very hard to be moderate. [ . . . ]

The word's been going around New York for weeks now that I was going to break away; I'm sure he must have heard it and expected me to ask to be let off.