Saul Bellow_ Letters Part 41

To John Auerbach March 9, 1983 Chicago Dear John, I am dictating this on the run, as usual. Last fall I started to write a short story of which there are now about eighty pages with no end in sight, and I find that I haven't the strength to sit down at the typewriter again in the afternoon. I have written only pressing business letters this winter and I plan to take a holiday after the d.a.m.n story has been finished, and if I haven't by then lost all my best friends I will write a dozen long letters. Adam brought the figurine of Astarte, and I took possession at once, but as is only right and proper since she is the G.o.ddess of fertility and s.e.xual love, I surrendered her to my Missus. When the moon is shining I look for her among the math papers (Astarte, I mean). Now John, I was slightly discouraged by your last letter in which you argued that you couldn't leave your dogs long enough to visit Vermont. I suppose it would be foolish for me to say that I would leave my dogs, if I had any, for your sake. I work from a different dog-ethic. If I led a settled life I'd acquire cats and dogs, but Alexandra and I knock about so much that I have to limit myself to houseplants. To which I am devoted. I'll probably be taking them to Brattleboro this summer and I have been trying to argue Alexandra into adopting a cat. The alternative is to buy an ultrasonic machine advertised in the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal as guaranteed to keep away field mice and biting insects. Only, it occurred to me that it would also drive away fertilizing insects from the flowers. I don't want to write you a rambling nonsensical letter. My fixed purpose is to persuade you to fly over in September. [ . . . ] The dogs are surely generous enough to release you for a few weeks. Let me send you the ticket. as guaranteed to keep away field mice and biting insects. Only, it occurred to me that it would also drive away fertilizing insects from the flowers. I don't want to write you a rambling nonsensical letter. My fixed purpose is to persuade you to fly over in September. [ . . . ] The dogs are surely generous enough to release you for a few weeks. Let me send you the ticket.

I see that Begin is entertaining Jimmy Carter, who called him psycho when they were quarrelling at Camp David. One would think that he would be far happier to entertain me. He has decided, evidently, not to give me an interview. I can't say that I'm unhappy about it. I would have accepted an invitation from him because it would have given me an excuse to see you.

Love,

To John Auerbach April 8, 1983 Chicago Dear John, Alexandra and I were absolutely delighted with your decision. I would have preferred a June visit, but Alexandra is not able to leave Chicago before the middle of the month. Her childlike conscientiousness-she must give exams, check the grading of papers by her a.s.sistants (she really has no use for a.s.sistants because she does it all by herself from scratch), record the marks, agonize over the flunks-keeps her in Chicago till the fifteenth, and then she flies to Germany on the twentieth and returns just before Independence Day. [ . . . ] September is the best month anyway, the trees are turning and the insects have perished. Bear hunters begin operations in mid-September, but two experienced old guys have been given an exclusive franchise and they do their shooting about half a mile away. I think you should come just after Labor Day. [ . . . ] They tell me that El Al is back in business, unless orthodox rabbis lie down on the runways of Ben Gurion to protect Shabbat Shabbat.

Invitations have been coming from Israel. Not a single one have I been able to accept. The most recent was from Teddy Kollek, who asked me to attend the Jerusalem Book Fair, and the awarding of a literary prize to Naipaul. Since Naipaul dislikes me I saw no reason to be present. I can't think how I offended him, but there doesn't have to be a reason, does there? Anyhow, I declined and told Teddy why it would be awkward. I thought it was idiotic the year before to give medals and money to Graham Greene, that anti-Semite. They criticize Jews in the Diaspora for clinging to their goyim goyim and they give prizes to one of the worst, proving that they have more esteem for anti-Semites than for Jews who won't capitulate. There was a charming exchange between Gershom Scholem and Allen Ginsberg some time back. When Scholem asked Ginsberg why he didn't move to Israel, Ginsberg said, "All my life I've been escaping from the Bronx. How can you ask me to live in Tel Aviv?" An answer which pleased Scholem as much as it does me. and they give prizes to one of the worst, proving that they have more esteem for anti-Semites than for Jews who won't capitulate. There was a charming exchange between Gershom Scholem and Allen Ginsberg some time back. When Scholem asked Ginsberg why he didn't move to Israel, Ginsberg said, "All my life I've been escaping from the Bronx. How can you ask me to live in Tel Aviv?" An answer which pleased Scholem as much as it does me.

I have finished my story-ninety-nine pages of it-and in June I can go to work on it in earnest. For the moment I am diverting myself with some reminiscences of Chicago in the Thirties-my recollections of Roosevelt's first term. I am not doing it of my own free will, but to raise money for furniture in Vermont. Just the other day Harriet [Wa.s.serman] told me that she had received two stories from you. I am fretfully waiting for Xerox copies. She said she hadn't yet had time to read them. She's in a state of fretfulness and distraction, depressed by her father's death and the slump in publishing and who knows what female miseries besides.

I am dictating this letter to Janis [Freedman] because I wear myself out over the typewriter and abuse myself as if I were my own Ayatollah.

Please answer promptly so that I can get the tickets off.

Much love from your friend,

"In the Days of Mr. Roosevelt" would appear in Esquire. Esquire. Janis Freedman, a student in the Committee on Social Thought, was at this time Bellow's graduate a.s.sistant. Janis Freedman, a student in the Committee on Social Thought, was at this time Bellow's graduate a.s.sistant.

To Alfred Kazin [Postmarked Brattleboro, Vt., 17 June 1983]

Dear Alfred: Once more, a happy birthday, no pangs, no groans. And other congratulations as well.

That I've become an unforthcoming correspondent is perfectly true; I take no pleasure in these silences of mine; rather, I'm trying to discover the reasons why I so seldom reply. It may be that I'm always out with a b.u.t.terfly net trying to capture my mature and perfected form, which is just about to settle (once and for all) on a flower. It never does settle, it hasn't yet found its flower. That may may be the full explanation. be the full explanation.

The other day I received in the mail the U. of Chicago Maroon Maroon containing an article on our late friend I. Rosenfeld by a bright undergraduate who fell in love with his essays and his reputation. I was touched by this and all went well until I reached the end. At the end it was Isaac who was true to the high imperative, whereas his corrupt and unworthy friend S.B., by appearing with d.i.c.k Cavett, had betrayed the good, the true, the beautiful, Judaism, Wilhelm Reich, Karl Marx, and the legion of sainted Russians from Gogol to Babel who were our spiritual uncles. containing an article on our late friend I. Rosenfeld by a bright undergraduate who fell in love with his essays and his reputation. I was touched by this and all went well until I reached the end. At the end it was Isaac who was true to the high imperative, whereas his corrupt and unworthy friend S.B., by appearing with d.i.c.k Cavett, had betrayed the good, the true, the beautiful, Judaism, Wilhelm Reich, Karl Marx, and the legion of sainted Russians from Gogol to Babel who were our spiritual uncles.

The Vermont address is good until mid-September. Will your new book be appearing soon? I am longing to read it.

Yrs. ever, S.B., Cla.s.s of '15

To David Shahar July 15, 1983 West Brattleboro, Vermont Dear David, I'm not at all cross. I'm what the French call ahuri ahuri (bewildered, flurried, confused, giddy-headed), and I had to choose between a letter-block and a writer's block. Naturally I made the right choice. In the fullness of your vigor you are most happily not able to experience a crisis of this sort. My energy diminishing, I have had to lock some of the doors to conserve heat. Nothing else. This year I have written some articles and two stories long enough to be described as novellas; and I have defended myself against the US government and several US (ex-)wives; and dealt with children, and colleagues at the University whose mental powers like my own are failing; to say nothing of an older sister, elder brothers, and the confusions of the age. Now if I had a cork-lined room and a Celeste to wait on me hand and foot, to serve me coffee at the right temperature, and to supply me with handkerchiefs and protect me from all intrusions, I could, as Proust did, keep up with my mail. But the world has been too much with me and I have written very few personal letters. Emergency cases only. (bewildered, flurried, confused, giddy-headed), and I had to choose between a letter-block and a writer's block. Naturally I made the right choice. In the fullness of your vigor you are most happily not able to experience a crisis of this sort. My energy diminishing, I have had to lock some of the doors to conserve heat. Nothing else. This year I have written some articles and two stories long enough to be described as novellas; and I have defended myself against the US government and several US (ex-)wives; and dealt with children, and colleagues at the University whose mental powers like my own are failing; to say nothing of an older sister, elder brothers, and the confusions of the age. Now if I had a cork-lined room and a Celeste to wait on me hand and foot, to serve me coffee at the right temperature, and to supply me with handkerchiefs and protect me from all intrusions, I could, as Proust did, keep up with my mail. But the world has been too much with me and I have written very few personal letters. Emergency cases only.

There have been negotiations conducted by the Atlantic Monthly Atlantic Monthly for the interviews with Begin and Moshe Arens, and I have been trying to decide whether to accept-whether to stir up the hornets of Jerusalem and the Diaspora with rash and ignorant statements. Israelis now hold a monopoly over all discussions of the Jewish question, which I am not too eager to challenge. I suspect it would be a lapse of judgment to write an article. Still, I may come to Jerusalem next November to do what I probably ought not to do, and one of my rewards will be a visit to the Shahars. for the interviews with Begin and Moshe Arens, and I have been trying to decide whether to accept-whether to stir up the hornets of Jerusalem and the Diaspora with rash and ignorant statements. Israelis now hold a monopoly over all discussions of the Jewish question, which I am not too eager to challenge. I suspect it would be a lapse of judgment to write an article. Still, I may come to Jerusalem next November to do what I probably ought not to do, and one of my rewards will be a visit to the Shahars.

With love and best wishes,

(It would be a mistake not to forgive me.)

To Anne Doubillon Walter July 16, 1983 West Brattleboro, Vermont Dear Anny, You are probably used to my long silences. They aren't a sign of absent-mindedness really or of old-fashioned procrastination ("the thief of time"). I am simply incapable of "keeping up." I have never understood how to manage my time and now I have less strength to invest in attempted management. The days flutter past and this would be entertaining if I could compare them to b.u.t.terflies, but there's nothing at all picturesque or cheerful about this condition. Rather it makes me heavy-hearted. Not a leaden state, just something permanently regrettable. Thus I hold your letter of March 3rd, which I intended to answer immediately because it contained a request. I wanted to tell you that a book about me vu par vu par yourself would please me greatly, and of course you have my permission without restriction. yourself would please me greatly, and of course you have my permission without restriction.

I thought of looking for you in Paris last September, but Flammarion and Co. left me no time for myself. I had nothing but the use of my eyes for looking past my interlocutors at the Seine. In my "spare" time I was presented to Monsieur Mitterand at the elysee. He is a pleasant man, but I had some rather sharp exchanges with Mssrs. [Regis] Debray and [Jack] Lang [minister of culture under Mitterand]. I have a friend in Chicago who says that a minister of culture is a fatal clinical symptom. It tells you "culture is more abundant here." And if the French insist on using such American techniques for getting into the papers and onto the television screen, I don't see how they can then have the toupet toupet [ [98] to criticize the Americans. All they can say against the Americans is that they have made more progress in corruption. With a little help M. Lang will outstrip us.

For heaven's sake, Anny, don't worry about returning the loan. You will give me a good dinner one of these days, or send me some French books.

Dear old friend, Regis Debray, famed veteran of the Che Guevara-led insurrection in Bolivia-sentenced to thirty years' imprisonment there but released after an international appeal led by Jean-Paul Sartre, Andre Malraux and others-had been appointed special adviser to Mitterand.

1984.

To Philip Roth January 7, 1984 Chicago Dear Philip: I thought to do some good by giving an interview to People People, which was exceedingly foolish of me. I asked Aaron [Asher] to tell you that the Good Intentions Paving Company had f.u.c.ked up again. The young interviewer turned my opinions inside out, cut out the praises and made it all sound like disavowal, denunciation and excommunication. Well, we're both used to this kind of thing, and beyond shock. In agreeing to take the call and make a statement I was simply muddle-headed. But if I had been interviewed by an angel for the Seraphim and Cherubim Weekly Seraphim and Cherubim Weekly I'd have said, as I actually did say to the crooked little s.l.u.t, that you were one of our very best and most interesting writers. I would have added that I was greatly stimulated and entertained by your last novel, and that of course after three decades I understood perfectly well what you were saying about the writer's trade-how could I I'd have said, as I actually did say to the crooked little s.l.u.t, that you were one of our very best and most interesting writers. I would have added that I was greatly stimulated and entertained by your last novel, and that of course after three decades I understood perfectly well what you were saying about the writer's trade-how could I not not understand, or miss suffering the same pains. Still our diagrams are different, and the briefest description of the differences would be that you seem to have accepted the Freudian explanation: A writer is motivated by his desire for fame, money and s.e.xual opportunities. Whereas I have never taken this trinity of motives seriously. But this is an explanatory note and I don't intend to make a rabbinic occasion of it. Please accept my regrets and apologies, also my best wishes. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about the journalists; we can only hope that they will die off as the deerflies do towards the end of August. understand, or miss suffering the same pains. Still our diagrams are different, and the briefest description of the differences would be that you seem to have accepted the Freudian explanation: A writer is motivated by his desire for fame, money and s.e.xual opportunities. Whereas I have never taken this trinity of motives seriously. But this is an explanatory note and I don't intend to make a rabbinic occasion of it. Please accept my regrets and apologies, also my best wishes. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about the journalists; we can only hope that they will die off as the deerflies do towards the end of August.

To Leon Botstein January 18, 1984 Chicago Dear Leon, I fiddled all summer like one of the three gra.s.shoppers in the song, but since I returned to Chicago I have been too busy paying rent. (You will recall that the fiddling gra.s.shoppers never paid rent.) My fingertips have lost their calluses. Alexandra's greatly relieved that I have been too furiously busy to fiddle. A shack in the woods is being built for me where I will be able to play the Devil's Trill Sonata to the foxes and the bears.

We've rather given up on visits, they're too great a strain. My social talents, never great, have dried up. I am unable to meet groups, and although I don't dislike gossip, my custom is to file it away for future use. Alexandra feels as I do, and besides she needs graduate students in ErG.o.dic Theory, and without ErG.o.dic Theory she is apt to grow gloomy. So we decline your kind offer, albeit with profuse thanks. [ . . . ]

Yours quite cheerfully,

To James Salter January 25, 1984 Chicago Dear Jim, That was an illuminating number of Esquire Esquire. Everybody was more or less as destiny had sketched him out, and people did what they are renowned for doing, e.g., Truman Capote stepping on Katharine Hepburn's feet. If he had bitten her he might have done some serious damage, but of all the harms he is capable of doing, this was certainly the least.

I thought you were perceptive about Eisenhower although you were interested in the military Eisenhower most of all, not in the President. How weird weird those people are in the White House showcase. Now there's a subject one of us should turn his mind to. those people are in the White House showcase. Now there's a subject one of us should turn his mind to.

I didn't come to the party because I had two or three kinds of Asian flu at the same time. I'm sure I would have liked the party, although I am rarely happy to be the center of attention. Much better to be hidden in a corner looking at everything through a jeweler's gla.s.s.

How is Karyl [Roosevelt], and did she get the job I recommended her for? The lady who telephoned from Long Island wanted to make sure that she would be discreet. A confidential secretary? A governess? A stand-in for the wife herself? Southampton has surely seen that kind of thing before. It seemed just the kind of luxury cruise Karyl would adore, on a yacht called the F. Scott Fitzgerald F. Scott Fitzgerald (updated, of course). (updated, of course).

I think you should stand pat with Mike Strang and John Wix, and if Wix is not a good fellow to be involved with let's not involve ourselves. I am firmly convinced that we will all be able to retire to the Riviera when our Colorado land is sold. (Having read Robin Maugham's memoir of his uncle's last years, I am not attracted by the Riviera. I shouldn't like to die so far from a kosher butcher shop.) Yours affectionately,

A special issue of Esquire Esquire, "Fifty Who Made a Difference," had included Salter's essay on Eisenhower. In the mid-1970s Bellow, Salter and Walter Pozen had purchased eighty-one acres near Carbondale, Colorado, which they would sell at a loss twenty years later.

To Karl Shapiro February 7, 1984 Chicago Dear Karl, It was was great, wasn't it? And you're absolutely right, we've always met heretofore in company (the Freifelds or others), and I was so delighted to have you and your friend all to myself at Les Nomades that I talked my head off. If I say that there is a particular sympathy between you and me I hope that doesn't put you off. I know what it is to go into recoil when affection rises. I should acknowledge also that I was (what the kids call) hyper that night, because I had been banging away day and night for five weeks at a troublesome story. I didn't know it but I was shortly to go down in flames. I am one of those nuts who will go to the zenith just prior to a collapse. But I am perfectly well now and have even sent you a copy of the story that caused the crash. You will see that it runs in the Valentine's Day issue and that I appear with Larry Flynt and other fun personalities. great, wasn't it? And you're absolutely right, we've always met heretofore in company (the Freifelds or others), and I was so delighted to have you and your friend all to myself at Les Nomades that I talked my head off. If I say that there is a particular sympathy between you and me I hope that doesn't put you off. I know what it is to go into recoil when affection rises. I should acknowledge also that I was (what the kids call) hyper that night, because I had been banging away day and night for five weeks at a troublesome story. I didn't know it but I was shortly to go down in flames. I am one of those nuts who will go to the zenith just prior to a collapse. But I am perfectly well now and have even sent you a copy of the story that caused the crash. You will see that it runs in the Valentine's Day issue and that I appear with Larry Flynt and other fun personalities.

I hope that you aren't neglecting your memoirs, the reading of which made me even more hyper. Give my best to your delightful lady friend.

Yours ever,

Neglected today, Karl Shapiro (1913-2000) was among the most highly regarded American poets of the Forties and Fifties. His major works include V-Letter and Other Poems V-Letter and Other Poems, which won the Pulizer Prize in 1945. In 1969 he shared the Bollingen Prize with John Berryman. Shapiro's "delightful lady friend," whom he would shortly marry, was the translator Sophie Wilkins. Her English version, with Eithne Wilkins and Ernest Kaiser, of Robert Musil's The Man Without Qualities The Man Without Qualities is among the great feats of modern translation. Bellow's long story "What Kind of Day Did You Have?" had just appeared in is among the great feats of modern translation. Bellow's long story "What Kind of Day Did You Have?" had just appeared in Vanity Fair. Vanity Fair.

To Midge Decter February 7, 1984 Chicago Dear Midge: Inquiries and complaints-mainly complaints-having been made about my partic.i.p.ation in or sponsorship of your Special Issue of Confrontations Confrontations ("Winners"), I read the offending number, which I had missed, and although the prize books you attacked seemed squalid enough, your own reviews were in such bad taste that it depressed me to be a.s.sociated with them. I have for some time been struggling with the growing realization that a problem exists: About Nicaragua we can agree well enough but as soon as you begin to speak of culture you give me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s. I was on the point of dropping from the Committee when Joseph Epstein last year read a paper in your symposium ascribing to me views I do not hold and pushing me in a direction I wouldn't dream of taking. It was uncomfortable to be misunderstood and misused in a meeting of which I was one of the sponsors and even more uncomfortable to see his speech reprinted in ("Winners"), I read the offending number, which I had missed, and although the prize books you attacked seemed squalid enough, your own reviews were in such bad taste that it depressed me to be a.s.sociated with them. I have for some time been struggling with the growing realization that a problem exists: About Nicaragua we can agree well enough but as soon as you begin to speak of culture you give me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s. I was on the point of dropping from the Committee when Joseph Epstein last year read a paper in your symposium ascribing to me views I do not hold and pushing me in a direction I wouldn't dream of taking. It was uncomfortable to be misunderstood and misused in a meeting of which I was one of the sponsors and even more uncomfortable to see his speech reprinted in Commentary Commentary. But where there are politics there are bedfellows, and where there are bedfellows there are likely to be fleas, so I scratched my bites in silence. Your Special Issue, however, is different. I can't allow the editors of Confrontations Confrontations to speak in my name, or with my tacit consent as board-member, about writers and literature. When there are enemies to be made I prefer to make them myself, on my own grounds and in my own language. to speak in my name, or with my tacit consent as board-member, about writers and literature. When there are enemies to be made I prefer to make them myself, on my own grounds and in my own language. Le mauvais gout mene aux crimes Le mauvais gout mene aux crimes [ [99], said Stendhal, who was right of course but who didn't realize how many criminals history was about to turn loose.

I am resigning from the board and request that you remove my name from your announcements. Sorry.

Yours sincerely, The Committee for the Free World's magazine was in fact Contentions Contentions, not Confrontations Confrontations, though Bellow may have deliberately gotten the name wrong. The essay "Winners" in their Special Issue had mocked a number of the recent recipients of various American book prizes.

To Mario Vargas Llosa February 20, 1984 Chicago, Ill.

Dear Mr. Vargas Llosa: I write to invite you to join us in a meeting I am organizing under the auspices of the Olin Center [of the University of Chicago], to be held in Vermont from August 20th to August 25th, 1984. The partic.i.p.ants, in addition to yourself, are to be Alexander Sinyavsky, Leszek Koakowski, Heinrich Boll, V. S. Naipaul, A. K. Ramanujan, Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, Federico Fellini, Werner Dannhauser, Allan Bloom and myself.

My intention is to bring together a small group of serious writers to discuss our peculiar situation in the world today and to share with one another whatever wisdom and inspiration on the subject we may have. The politics of our century tend to crush imagination-to present us with spectacles and conditions which appear to make art irrelevant. At the same time, in a variety of ways, it is clear that our fragile enterprise remains one of the best hopes of humanity-if we can keep it alive. It is not that I hope to change very much by such a rencontre rencontre as I propose. But we might hearten one another and have a rare opportunity to reflect together. as I propose. But we might hearten one another and have a rare opportunity to reflect together.

The meeting is not intended to beget yet another protest against censorship or a complaint about the unartistic character of "bourgeois" life. Nor is it to be an exercise in flattery of art and the artist. Rather, it is intended to be the broadest kind of consideration of the writer's physical and spiritual dependence on political life and of his responsibility to it-as well as his superiority to it-and of the claims of his art over against it. Lack of clarity about the perennial tension between art and politics may have something to do with the excessive hopes and the overly exposed position of writers in contemporary regimes. The nineteenth century's great expectations for culture made possible the culture ministries of fascist and communist governments of the twentieth century.

I propose a five-day program with one three-hour session per day, tentatively treating the following themes: Day 1: A philosophic discussion of the problematic relation of art to politics and morals, beginning from Rousseau's Lettre a d'Alembert sur les spectacles Lettre a d'Alembert sur les spectacles with its attack on Enlightenment views of the arts and its resuscitation of Plato's criticism of poetry. This would, in addition to its intrinsic merit, serve to take us out of the narrow confines of our time. The paper would be presented by Allan Bloom and commented upon by Leszek Koakowski. with its attack on Enlightenment views of the arts and its resuscitation of Plato's criticism of poetry. This would, in addition to its intrinsic merit, serve to take us out of the narrow confines of our time. The paper would be presented by Allan Bloom and commented upon by Leszek Koakowski.

Day 2: Hitler and Stalin: Writers in the world of totalitarianism. It would be best if this were to be a discussion not only of persecution and the resistance to persecution, but also of writers' involvement with such regimes and especially of the forms art adopts under them. Does art seek only to preserve itself, or does it try to make changes, and what are the effects upon art of either choice? I am asking Alexander Sinyavsky to present the paper at this session and would like you to comment.

Day 3: Weak-Sister Democracy: Is it possible for the writer to be serious-serious as compared to his East European fellows-in soft, easygoing commercial societies? Is he inevitably self-indulgent or does his freedom from killing pressures give him special opportunities for development. I shall give the paper at this session, and ask Federico Fellini to comment on it.

On days two and three some special attention would be given to the writer's audiences in the three worlds.

Day 4: Political Themes: To what extent are political themes necessary to literature? Has the disappearance of the great political figure as the central actor diminished the scope of literature? I hope V. S. Naipaul will give the paper and Ruth Prawer Jhabvala the commentary.

Day 5: The distinction between the Aesthetic and the Moral: Is such a distinction real? Is it, as Nietzsche claims, a sign of decadence? What is the relation of an artist's moral commitment to his art? Heinrich Boll will be asked to deliver the paper and Werner Dannhauser will comment on it.

I would expect that the papers should last from thirty to fifty minutes and the comments from fifteen to twenty. Presumably, these are questions with which all of us have some familiarity. I reiterate that the outline is tentative and open to revision. It is hoped that a small volume would emerge from the proceedings to form a basis for public discussion.

I can offer you the small honorarium of two thousand dollars, in addition to travel and accommodations. Southern Vermont, where I have my summer home, is particularly beautiful at that time of year and would provide an appropriate setting for the individual meetings which would be one of the primary benefits of our gathering. I can a.s.sure you that you will be comfortably lodged and well fed.

In addition to the persons mentioned, there will be one or two more writers and a group of about a dozen serious students who would partic.i.p.ate in our sessions.

I hope you can join us. It would be personally gratifying to me. Inasmuch as time is getting short, I would appreciate your response as quickly as possible.

Sincerely,

To Joan Ullman Schwartz April 9, 1984 Chicago Dear Joan, I am whirling about at such a rate of speed that to write letters is out of the question, but your last communication was so intelligent and gentle that I am impelled to send a brief note, which will be very much to the point. Not long ago, I remembered what Alexander Pope had written to a lady named Arabella Fermor about "The Rape of the Lock." I looked it up, and there it was. Pope said: "The character of Belinda . . . resembles you in nothing but Beauty." He adds that all the pa.s.sages in his poem are "fabulous," and that "the Human persons are as fict.i.tious as the Airy ones"-here he refers to the Airy Sylphs by whom Belinda is surrounded. I feel extremely lucky to have found in a great master the total clarification of a diabolically complex problem.

I hope that everything is going well (or better), and that you are more happy than not in New York. On your next visit to Chicago let's have a friendly drink together.

All best,

Joan Schwartz, for many years Harold Rosenberg's mistress, had recognized herself as the original of Katrina Goliger, mistress to the Rosenberg-like Victor Wulpy in "What Kind of Day Did You Have?"

To Sophie Wilkins April 18, 1984 Chicago Dear Sophie, I hope you won't mind my enclosing this note in the same envelope with the one I'm sending to Karl. Your letter did me a world of good, especially the utterance of these great words: "Yasher Koach!" [ [100] You might also have said, "Khazak!" [ [101]- G.o.d's first word to Joshua. I am afraid that the gossips have pounced upon Victor and Katrina [in "What Kind of Day Did You Have?"] and that I am besieged by the forces of recrimination and outrage. For this the appropriate Hebrew is " G.o.d's first word to Joshua. I am afraid that the gossips have pounced upon Victor and Katrina [in "What Kind of Day Did You Have?"] and that I am besieged by the forces of recrimination and outrage. For this the appropriate Hebrew is "Gam zeh ya'avor"-"this too shall pa.s.s." But this has to be qualified by a sad piece of incontrovertible French wisdom: "tout pa.s.se" and also "tout ca.s.se" [102]. Prudential writes no kind of insurance against any of this, and what the Hebrew fails to tell you is that the ultimate form of "ya'avor" is kicking the bucket.

Well, never mind the buckets. That you and Karl feel like twins separated at birth and reunited forty years later is an observable phenomenon, and too marvelous to be envied. Thank G.o.d that such things happen.

All the best,

To Karl Shapiro April 18, 1984 Chicago Dear Karl, How nice it was in the days of our youth when, if the fighting writer was decked, he naturally expected to be back on his feet in a matter of minutes, as well as ever, if not better. To age is to understand that the powers of total recovery are gone, are no longer antic.i.p.ated (except by those who, having lost their marbles, no longer know what to antic.i.p.ate). So, I am better, but I can't find it in me to a.s.sert that I am well and I have begun to think that exaltation is the only possible comeback. Your letter, and also Sophie's, heartened me more than I can say. In return-small compensation-I am asking Harper & Row to send you a copy of Him with His Foot in His Mouth. Him with His Foot in His Mouth. I think you may like the concluding story, "Cousins," written last summer under the trees in Vermont. [ . . . ] I think you may like the concluding story, "Cousins," written last summer under the trees in Vermont. [ . . . ]