Part 18 (1/2)

To Richard Stern November 3, 1959 Minneapolis Dear d.i.c.k- Delighted with your review, which at last-at first-establishes that it was my aim to make ideas and actions interchangeable. As to whether Henderson Henderson works, your view is as good as mine. Last night reading Blake, the lost children and especially ”A Little Girl Lost,” I began to suspect he must have sunk deeply into my unconscious. Add innocence (the second innocence) per experience, pa.s.sing by way of lions. But really only one book is worth writing now. If we have only to say ”humanity stinks in our nostrils” then silence is better, because we have heard works, your view is as good as mine. Last night reading Blake, the lost children and especially ”A Little Girl Lost,” I began to suspect he must have sunk deeply into my unconscious. Add innocence (the second innocence) per experience, pa.s.sing by way of lions. But really only one book is worth writing now. If we have only to say ”humanity stinks in our nostrils” then silence is better, because we have heard that that news. Our own bones have broadcast it. If we have more than this to say, we may try but never require ourselves to news. Our own bones have broadcast it. If we have more than this to say, we may try but never require ourselves to prove prove ”-oh, no, that is not s.h.i.+t but the musk of the civet; it smells bad because it's so concentrated. Diluted, it's the base of beautiful perfumes.” No amount of a.s.sertion will make an ounce of art. So I took a chance with ”-oh, no, that is not s.h.i.+t but the musk of the civet; it smells bad because it's so concentrated. Diluted, it's the base of beautiful perfumes.” No amount of a.s.sertion will make an ounce of art. So I took a chance with Henderson Henderson. I can tell you what I wished it to be, but I can't say what it is is. Every ability was brought to it except one-the talent for self-candor which so far I have been able to invest only in the language language of what I've written. I should be able to do better than that. People are waiting. My own soul is waiting. of what I've written. I should be able to do better than that. People are waiting. My own soul is waiting.

Anyway, I love your review. It comes very, very near the real issues, and it's written in the style I approve of (Biedermeier of ideas).

Now a personal note: I'm having an ugly time-suffering no end. Sondra and I are both in despair over the course things have taken and I don't don't expect a happy ending. This is private. For your eyes only. There are no frigidities, impotencies, adulteries, only miseries. Poor little Adam doesn't know he's about to be sentenced. I can't help him because it has nothing at all to do with me. I love Sash and respect her. But she has drawn the sword, and is just expect a happy ending. This is private. For your eyes only. There are no frigidities, impotencies, adulteries, only miseries. Poor little Adam doesn't know he's about to be sentenced. I can't help him because it has nothing at all to do with me. I love Sash and respect her. But she has drawn the sword, and is just meshuggah meshuggah enough to swing it. And perish by it, maybe. I trust you to say nothing of this anywhere. It would be terrible to have the families drawn into it. [ . . . ] enough to swing it. And perish by it, maybe. I trust you to say nothing of this anywhere. It would be terrible to have the families drawn into it. [ . . . ]

I take off for Poland in mid Nov. May stop in Chicago.

Eternellement,

Born in 1928, Richard Stern is the author of many novels including Golk Golk (1960), (1960), Europe or Up and Down with Baggish and Schreiber Europe or Up and Down with Baggish and Schreiber (1961), (1961), St.i.tch St.i.tch (1965), (1965), Natural Shocks Natural Shocks (1978), (1978), A Father's Words A Father's Words (1986) (1986) and Pacific Tremors and Pacific Tremors (2001). His review of (2001). His review of Henderson the Rain King Henderson the Rain King had appered in had appered in The Kenyon Review The Kenyon Review.

To Keith Botsford November 5, 1959 Minneapolis Dear Keith- No, there's really nothing I can do-no remedy that pride prevents me from applying. Nothing can change Sasha's mind. It's she who's doing this, cutting me off, taking away Adam. I can't say for what failures of mine. Not the ordinary ones like money, s.e.x, rivals or any of that. But maybe because because there have been no such failures. If I were miserably weak, she would pity and protect me. It's what I am that's unbearable to her. The essence of me. So there's no hope. For if my wife doesn't want there have been no such failures. If I were miserably weak, she would pity and protect me. It's what I am that's unbearable to her. The essence of me. So there's no hope. For if my wife doesn't want that that, what am I to do? Sasha is an absolutist. I think I've loved even that that, in her. I believe I learned with her to love a woman, and I can't see where or how my heartsickness will end.

Perhaps I could name other subtler failures-I failed to master my own freedom or to interpret the world to the satisfaction of her mind. But for such inadequacies a husband might reasonably expect compa.s.sion from his wife. If she loved him. But she doesn't love me.

Your letter made me feel, not for the first time, the bond between us. If I need you, I'll come without hesitation. If you should ever need me (never in this way, I hope) you'll find me reliable.

Much love,

And to Ann. She's silent but I'm aware of her feelings.

To Pascal Covici November 10, 1959 Minneapolis Dear Pat- I wanted to phone, and perhaps I will yet. You know what a thorough sufferer I can be. I not only hit bottom, I walk for miles and miles on it. Instead of growing less my capacity for staying below increases as I grow older. I try very hard to hate Sondra, and I have good grounds, many, many wounds to hate her for. But I'm not very good at it, and I succeed best when I think of her as her father's daughter. For she is Tschacbasov. She has a Tschacbasov heart-an insect heart. But really I love her too much and understand her too well to feel the murderous hatred that would help me (therapeutically). And there's the child. There's no therapy for that. To recover a little happiness will never help me. I need a big victory. It's not inconceivable that I will win-all the small bridges behind me have been burnt.

I'm leaving here Sat. the 14th, and I have to spend a few days in Pittsburgh with Ted Hoffman-to speed through the rest of the play. Must get that over with. I have a book to write, and I must clear the decks. [ . . . ]

Please hold whatever mail you get for me. I've given your address. And send the new Act I to h.e.l.lman. Did you receive it?

Thank G.o.d, I'll be out of this by Sat., teeth filled, pockets empty.

Much love,

To Richard Stern December 15, 1959 [Bonn, W. Germany]

Dear d.i.c.k- I've blown into Bonn with wind and snow. It's colder than Poland, more comfortable than Chicago, richer than Croesus and prouder than Sondra. In fact, my travels in totalitarian lands have taught me more about marriage and ”love” than Franz Alexander could. I go to round out my studies in Yugoslavia and Italy. Then I'm going to have a two-week holiday in Israel.

Is life treating you? Bitte vergessen Sie mich nicht Bitte vergessen Sie mich nicht [ [60].

Yours,

Franz Alexander (1891-1964) was a prominent psychoa.n.a.lyst at the University of Chicago.

To John Berryman December 17, 1959 [Postcard from Bristol Hotel Kempinski Berlin W15-Kurfurstendamm 57]

Dear John- [ . . . ] Greet my friends and check on mine enemies. Lecturing is for the birds. St. Francis understood.

Love,

PART THREE.

1960-1969.

Because, you see, intelligence is free now (he said), and it can start anywhere or go anywhere. And it is possible that he lost his head, and that he was carried away by his ideas. This is because he was no mere dreamer but one of those dreamer-doers, a guy with a program. And when I say that he lost his head, what I mean is not that his judgment abandoned him but that his enthusiasms and visions swept him far out.

-Henderson the Rain King

1960.

To Pascal Covici January 18, 1960 Belgrade Dear Pat- Yesterday when I arrived in Yugoslavia, there was no mail at all. Can it be that Sondra hasn't forwarded it, or that you've got my schedule mixed up? I'll be in Yugoslavia until about Feb 1st. And I have a feeling there's something very wrong in Minneapolis. I've written separately to four people, one of them the psychiatrist, asking for news but haven't had a single answer. From Jack Ludwig I received a letter in Warsaw one-sentence-long saying only that Adam was well-as of Dec 28th or so. Can you find out for me what the situation is? Air mail to Belgrade takes only four days. This universal silence makes me afraid. The news must be awful. Jack would tell you, if you phone him, whether I ought to come back.

Yours,

To Ralph Ellison January 20, 1960 Belgrade Dear Ralph, I'm much better. I'm beginning to sit up and take solid nourishment, and I'd enjoy my convalescence greatly if I didn't have to do this cultural functionary bulls.h.i.+t. But even that has its compensations. I wouldn't have minded Poland-particularly Poland-for all the meetings and lectures and teas and whisky I had to wade through. Eastern Europe has told me a lot about my family-myself, even. It's made a Slavophile of me.