Part 34 (1/2)
Bellow's self-interview would appear that autumn in the inaugural issue of Ontario Review. Ontario Review.
To Anthony G.o.dwin [n.d.] [Chicago]
Dear Mr. G.o.dwin: Is cosseted cosseted the word? Two days of your proposed program would put me in the hospital, on tranquillizers for a month. When your invitation was conveyed to me by Catharine Carver I thought the visit was to be made British-style, with dignified reticence. But I see you have an American promotional scheme; or go, rather, beyond the wildest promotional fantasies of Madison Ave. I never do the promotion bit here. As Katie can tell you, I shun TV appearances and avoid the speaker's platform. I was willing enough to give a lecture or two, hold one press meeting, tape one BBC program and attend a party. But your lunch parties, trips to Suss.e.x and Edinburgh and ”serious” television programs are out of the question. The very thought of them paralyzes me. With half your schedule I could be elected to Congress, and never leave my district. What we need is a compromise. On my terms. I will come for several days and make several appearances, the number to be strictly limited. I don't want my time utilized to the fullest extent. What a terrifying thought! the word? Two days of your proposed program would put me in the hospital, on tranquillizers for a month. When your invitation was conveyed to me by Catharine Carver I thought the visit was to be made British-style, with dignified reticence. But I see you have an American promotional scheme; or go, rather, beyond the wildest promotional fantasies of Madison Ave. I never do the promotion bit here. As Katie can tell you, I shun TV appearances and avoid the speaker's platform. I was willing enough to give a lecture or two, hold one press meeting, tape one BBC program and attend a party. But your lunch parties, trips to Suss.e.x and Edinburgh and ”serious” television programs are out of the question. The very thought of them paralyzes me. With half your schedule I could be elected to Congress, and never leave my district. What we need is a compromise. On my terms. I will come for several days and make several appearances, the number to be strictly limited. I don't want my time utilized to the fullest extent. What a terrifying thought!
I am of course delighted to have you publish my books and I appreciate greatly your desire to launch them with flame and thunder. More than once, however, I've seen writers ride bicycles on the high-wire, eat fire, gash themselves open to call attention to their books. They end up with little more than a scorched nose, a broken bone.
Sincerely,
Anthony G.o.dwin was editorial director at Weidenfeld and Nicholson.
To Owen Barfield June 3, 1975 Chicago Dear Mr. Barfield: I've read several of your books-Saving the Appearances, the collection of essays on Romanticism, a long dialogue the name of which I can't remember just now and, quite recently, the collection of essays on Romanticism, a long dialogue the name of which I can't remember just now and, quite recently, Unancestral Voice, Unancestral Voice, a fascinating book. I am not philosopher enough to argue questions of rationality or irrationality, but there are things that seem to me self-evident, so markedly self-evident and felt that the problem of proving or disproving their reality becomes academic. Like you I am tired of all the talk about what matters and avoidance of what a fascinating book. I am not philosopher enough to argue questions of rationality or irrationality, but there are things that seem to me self-evident, so markedly self-evident and felt that the problem of proving or disproving their reality becomes academic. Like you I am tired of all the talk about what matters and avoidance of what really really matters. matters.
I'd be very grateful for the opportunity to talk to you about the Meggid and about Gabriel and Michael and their antagonists. I'm afraid I don't understand the account you give of the powers of darkness. I am, I a.s.sure you, very much in earnest.
Sincerely yours,
P.S. I got your address from Mr. Charles Monteith of Faber.
Owen Barfield (1898-1997), barrister, man of letters, disciple of Rudolf Steiner and expounder of Anthroposophy, Steiner's teaching, published many books including Poetic Diction: A Study in Meaning Poetic Diction: A Study in Meaning (1928) and (1928) and What Coleridge Thought What Coleridge Thought (1971). (1971).
To Harriet Wa.s.serman July 1, 1975 Casa Alison, Carb.o.n.e.ras, Almeria, Spain Dear Harriet: You'll think it odd that I never wrote to thank you for the magnificent party and the dinner, and it is odd, but I've been oddly tired. This is Sixties Fatigue, and I'm not talking about the last decade. It's only now, after a week in Carb.o.n.e.ras, that I'm able to face a piece of paper. Well, it was a significant party that you gave me, with champagne, Chinese food, big surprises and Roman splendor. I was touched. It's seldom that anyone takes so much trouble over me-say, once in sixty years. I'm not used to it (to say the least!). It gave me joy. It also troubled me somewhat because I thought, ”So something like this can can be done by some for others?” I had be done by some for others?” I had heard heard about that. And now it becomes a glorious memory. I feel like the small girl in about that. And now it becomes a glorious memory. I feel like the small girl in Little Dorrit Little Dorrit who couldn't forget the hospital-the ” who couldn't forget the hospital-the ”orspital,” I mean.
It appears I have to run to catch the postman with this, so I'll sign off. Write me a letter.
Love,
To David Peltz July 2, 1975 Casa Alison, Carb.o.n.e.ras, Almeria, Spain Dear Dave: The place is beautiful. I'm not, particularly. I arrived in an exhausted state and have been sleeping, swimming, eating, reading and little else. Let's see if I can get myself flushed out. Life lays a heavy material material weight on us in the States-things, cares, money. But I think that the reason why I feel it so much is that I let myself go, here, and let myself feel six decades of trying hard, and of fatigue. My character is like a taste in my mouth. I've tasted better tastes. But it'll pa.s.s, and one of these days I'll be able to see that the ocean is beautiful. And the mountains, and the plants, and the birds. Life isn't kind to people who took it on themselves to do something about life. Uh- weight on us in the States-things, cares, money. But I think that the reason why I feel it so much is that I let myself go, here, and let myself feel six decades of trying hard, and of fatigue. My character is like a taste in my mouth. I've tasted better tastes. But it'll pa.s.s, and one of these days I'll be able to see that the ocean is beautiful. And the mountains, and the plants, and the birds. Life isn't kind to people who took it on themselves to do something about life. Uh-unh!
Adam is here with us-a marvelous young man, surprisingly good-natured for a son of mine. He smiles at his peevish pa and goes on reading science fiction and thrillers. The queen [Bellow's new wife, Alexandra] is good-natured, too. She's in her parlor eating mathematical bread and honey. Even I have an occasional good moment, and when I've slept myself out I may stop being such a bear.
I want to wish you a happy birthday and to ask whether you found time to stop at the Corbins and pick up the trifles I bought for you. I often think about you and wonder how it is to have lost a father at sixty. Sixty alone is hard enough. But I shan't talk to you about death now. G.o.d knows there's plenty of that in the book. Oddly enough, I don't think much about Humboldt Humboldt . It's like the end of something. I'm like a fat Sonja Henie-no more fancy figures on the ice. Overweight. That's the end of that. I'm hanging up my skates, retiring. If I ever try it again, it'll be in my own back yard for G.o.d's amus.e.m.e.nt. . It's like the end of something. I'm like a fat Sonja Henie-no more fancy figures on the ice. Overweight. That's the end of that. I'm hanging up my skates, retiring. If I ever try it again, it'll be in my own back yard for G.o.d's amus.e.m.e.nt.
Best to Doris, and love,
Bellow had married Romanian-born mathematician Alexandra Ionescu Tulcea the previous autumn.
To Owen Barfield July 15, 1975 Carb.o.n.e.ras, Almeria, Spain Dear Mr. Barfield- That you should come down to London to answer the ignorant questions of a stranger greatly impressed me. I daresay I found the occasion far more interesting than you could. You were most patient with a beginner trying to learn his A-B-C's. I continue to study your Unancestral Voice Unancestral Voice. It's hard going-some forty years of thought and reading condensed-but I have a strong hunch that you are giving a true account of things. In these matters illumination counts for as much as the sort of ”hard proofs” we have been brought up to demand, and lately I have become aware, not of illumination itself, but of a kind of illuminated fringe-a peripheral glimpse of a different state of things. This makes little sense to you perhaps.
Thank you for coming to talk to me.
Sincerely,
To Owen Barfield July 24, 1975 Carb.o.n.e.ras, Almeria, Spain Dear Mr. Barfield: Your letter was very welcome. I'm glad you saw some merit in Herzog. Herzog. At the Athenaeum [Barfield's London club, where he and Bellow had lunched] I was a totally unknown quant.i.ty and felt that I had failed to show why I should be taken seriously. I continue to pore over At the Athenaeum [Barfield's London club, where he and Bellow had lunched] I was a totally unknown quant.i.ty and felt that I had failed to show why I should be taken seriously. I continue to pore over Unancestral Voice Unancestral Voice and it is most important that you should be willing to discuss it with me. I can readily see why you would take little interest in contemporary fiction. Those who read it and write it are easily satisfied with what your Meggid calls lifeless memory-thoughts. For some time now I have been asking what kind of knowledge a writer has and in what way he deserves to be taken seriously. He has imagination where others have science, etc. But it wasn't until I read your book on Romanticism that I began to understand something about the defeat of imaginative knowledge in modern times! I don't want to labor the point which you yourself have brought to my attention; I only want to communicate something in my own experience that will explain the importance of your books to me. My experience was that the interest of much of life as represented in the books I read (and perhaps some that I wrote) had been exhausted. But how could existence itself become uninteresting. I concluded that the ideas and modes by which it was represented were exhausted, that individuality had been overwhelmed by power or ”sociality,” by technology and politics. Images or representations and it is most important that you should be willing to discuss it with me. I can readily see why you would take little interest in contemporary fiction. Those who read it and write it are easily satisfied with what your Meggid calls lifeless memory-thoughts. For some time now I have been asking what kind of knowledge a writer has and in what way he deserves to be taken seriously. He has imagination where others have science, etc. But it wasn't until I read your book on Romanticism that I began to understand something about the defeat of imaginative knowledge in modern times! I don't want to labor the point which you yourself have brought to my attention; I only want to communicate something in my own experience that will explain the importance of your books to me. My experience was that the interest of much of life as represented in the books I read (and perhaps some that I wrote) had been exhausted. But how could existence itself become uninteresting. I concluded that the ideas and modes by which it was represented were exhausted, that individuality had been overwhelmed by power or ”sociality,” by technology and politics. Images or representations this this side of the mirror have indeed tired us out. All that science did was to make the phenomena technically (mathematically) inaccessible, leaving us with nothing but ignorance and despair. Yes, psychoa.n.a.lysis directed us to go into the Unconscious. From the dark forest-a sort of preserve of things unknown-painters and poets like good dogs were to bring back truffles . . . side of the mirror have indeed tired us out. All that science did was to make the phenomena technically (mathematically) inaccessible, leaving us with nothing but ignorance and despair. Yes, psychoa.n.a.lysis directed us to go into the Unconscious. From the dark forest-a sort of preserve of things unknown-painters and poets like good dogs were to bring back truffles . . .
Tomorrow my Spanish holiday ends. My wife and I are returning via London and will be there for about ten days. I hope you will be kind enough to give me a few hours more of your time.
It was very good of you to send me the Steiner book. Will you have lunch with me (as my guest this time) in London? You speak of yourself as the servant of your readers, but this reader, though eager to talk with you, hesitates to impose himself.
Sincerely yrs,
To Philip Roth August 8, 1975 [Chicago]
Dear Philip, As your Czechoslovak-writers-aid program was to have run for only one year and, as Mrs. [Esther] Corbin tells me, that year is coming to a close, I should like to know whether you propose to continue. For my part, I'd be glad to go on sending fifty bucks a month.
The party last June was the one and only party in memory that felt to me like a real party. I didn't know what I was saying or doing. It was bliss. I do remember trying to talk to you about The Jewish Writer but I was quite drunk and you were wasting your time. So let's try again.
My wife is going to Jerusalem to give mathematical lectures. I shall be carrying her lecture notes. We will stop in New York en route (about the 8th of November). Shall we try to have a sober conversation or let well enough alone?
Yours sincerely,