Do tell me if it is so.
But the fact remains, I will miss him. Since I last saw him, a few years ago, I’d heard from him rarely. A Christmas card to our family was all, but then, just this past winter, he wrote me about the loss of his beloved daughter Jean. It was Christmas Eve. She had finished decorating their tree when she went upstairs to take a bath; while soaking in the water, she suffered a seizure and drowned. How he must have felt, Henry, I cannot say, but this past mid-January I received a letter from him, and among his words were these lines in particular, which moved me to tears:
“It was snowing the next morning, on Christmas Day, as I stood by my window watching the hearse take her off into the great silence. Life can be so painful that in those moments, I found myself envying the dead.”
It was clear to me that he would not be long for this world—and yet I had hoped it would not be so.
DROWSILY, IN THE WAY THAT PEOPLE sometimes scribble down a dream, Lady Stanley envisioned a happier alternative to the notion that the spirits and strong intellects of such formidable men should lie buried, extinguished, forever in the ground, existing only as memories. Drawing with pencil a quick sketch of some celestial place, patterned after the visions of heaven that she knew from the etchings of Gustave Doré, she saw Twain and Stanley meeting again at the foot of some great marble stairway from whose highest step one could see every pleasing element of the universe—every star, every planet and galaxy, a great swath of starry light, the radiance of life itself streaming down upon them. (She considered for this fantastic drawing a concept of the two of them, hand in hand, Stanley depicted as the warrior Mars and Twain the father-head and statesman, Zeus—with herself as Venus, representing wisdom and impulse and love—proceeding together into a place that transcended the conditions of this world.)
But after an hour, there it was: Twain in his white serge suit, and Stanley—dear Henry—in his frock coat, mounting those steps together. For what it is worth, at that moment, just as Lady Stanley had to choose between getting up and making her way to her bedroom or simply allowing herself to doze, at about 11:45 p.m., London time, on the evening of October 22, as a dray passed by on the street, Twain and Stanley entered Paradise.
AFTERWORD
by Lori Marie Carlson-Hijuelos
AS I WRITE THIS NOTE, I am surrounded by my husband’s beloved books, lead soldier collection, ancient artifacts, paintings, guitars, and mementos from our sojourns around the world. Oscar Hijuelos, the man and writer, was a human being of robust convictions and interests. He loved beauty in all its manifestations: the starlings in late autumn as they danced in the Roman sky; the brilliance of a Bach fugue played by Glenn Gould; a portrait by Velázquez; the Himalayas; sunsets on Long Island Sound; a child’s knowing eyes. He lived for the purity of art and its transformative power on the soul. And it was this love of art that allowed him to meander inward to the depths of his being and intuition to create so generously for others. He was also an outward traveler who sought adventure in Egypt, Nepal, and Bhutan, to name just a few destinations far away from his home.
Twain & Stanley Enter Paradise is a creation many years in the making—actually, more than twelve. The reading and gathering of documents that Oscar employed to discover truths and little-known details about the lengthy friendship of Twain and Stanley is, in fact, staggering in scope. And yet this novel is a fiction, through and through. And all of the writing is Oscar’s; which is to say that—in addition to the narrative—the letters, diary entries, and speeches in these pages are imagined and created by Hijuelos. It is a novel that had an unusual and mysterious journey from inception to completion and, finally, publication. It was written in two locales: New York City and Branford, Connecticut. And it was informed by several field trips. These trips I arranged in a way that allowed Oscar to better understand the backdrop to his story. New Orleans became a favorite spot. Oscar absolutely loved the city, with all its social curlicues, manners, secrets, and magic. He was charmed by every inch of the French Quarter and the river views along the promenade. He felt Twain’s and Stanley’s footprints everywhere.
We visited Mark Twain’s home in Hartford, Connecticut, a particularly rich experience for both of us. Oscar delighted in the ephemera of Twain’s home life and the fascinating details of the furnishings (the handcrafted matrimonial bed from Italy was notable), objets d’art, and the elegance of the grand estate. We went on European jaunts to better understand the life of Stanley—one to Wales and England and another to Belgium. We walked through Welsh forests, gardens, and beachfronts to get a sense of Stanley’s boyhood. We studied the facade of Stanley’s Richmond Terrace home in London, to the bemusement of some wary guards (the house is now occupied by the Ministry of Defence). While in Belgium we visited Ostend, a resort city, as well as a museum in Brussels that displays African artifacts, a reminder of Stanley’s exploits under the patronage of King Léopold II.
My husband was working on the novel’s pages up until the day before he died.
It feels somewhat presumptuous to tell you what I believe Oscar “was saying” as an artist in the making of this fiction. Only the author of a work can explain or even attempt to explain the inner workings of his creation with authority. No critic, no scholar, no friend or family member has the knowledge to do this. But I can offer a few insights as to why Oscar chose Mark Twain, Henry Morton Stanley, and Dorothy Tennant as the subjects of his tale—a tale about the vagaries of destiny that I believe was also an investigation into Oscar’s two sides: the quiet contemplative and the gregarious wanderer.
Oscar truly admired the work of Mark Twain, especially his Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. And this fact is not surprising, given that Twain was one of the greats. But Oscar’s fascination with the life, work, and spirit of Stanley is, perhaps, more of a curiosity. It began in his late teens, when Oscar read an extensive biography about the intrepid British explorer. Over the years, rather than diminish, his interest in Stanley grew, and he read voraciously about him. In fact, Oscar read every book he discovered about the Victorian giant. Along the way, my husband found a reference to Stanley’s friendship with Mark Twain. And there was something else that struck a chord of intrigue: a reference to the fact that Stanley had, at one time, gone to Cuba in search of his adoptive father, who had disappeared. Whether this escapade was historically accurate did not matter as much to Oscar as the idea that it could have been true. He began researching and writing the novel shortly thereafter.
Soon enough, Oscar encountered the beguiling figure of Dorothy Tennant, an accomplished portraitist who would eventually marry Stanley. Dolly, as she was known, was a mesmerizing vixen. And she was just the kind of female character who could get under Oscar’s skin: strong-willed, artistic, elegant, flirtatious. This was the woman who stole Stanley’s heart. Oscar had found an interesting triangle of seductive personalities, passions, and friendships.
As Oscar wrote the thousands of pages that he attempted to winnow down to publishable size, even as he continued to expand upon the story, we experienced several challenging and painful events in our lives. Oscar became more philosophical and spiritual, although he had always been an introspective, keenly sensitive man. His loving nature deepened in ways that were clearly obvious to those closest to him. The more difficulties we endured, the more generous he became to those around him, intimates and strangers alike. He was always giving of his time, advice, and material means. The hurts, injustices, and inexplicable tragedies that befell friends, family, and acquaintances affected him deeply. Often, he would begin our mornings, over coffee, with commentary about the cruelty in the world, which he could never understand.
He started to see his protagonists as he would his inner circle. He cared about them and experienced their joys and vicissitudes. He delighted in the fact that Stanley was able to become a father when he and Dolly adopted a boy from Wales; he suffered the tragedies Mark Twain endured, particularly the deaths of his infant son, two young daughters, and his wife.
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Oscar often wondered aloud: What are the elements that conspire to grant one human being privilege and another so much despair and agony? What is fame? Success? Throughout his life, my husband conscientiously wrestled with the difficulty of being human, and in his writing he sought to offer musings on the following subjects: the redemptive essence of love and artistic creation; death and its aftermath; man’s inhumanity toward man; moral fortitude; the consolation of family.
For some fans, this last novel of my husband’s might seem like an anomaly within his overall work. Many readers have come to associate an Hijuelos title with lively New York City neighborhoods, cubanía, amorous passion, a love of music, and the immigrant experience. While these attributes and many more characterize his oeuvre, Oscar was, first and foremost, an American intellectual. His interests ranged from archaeology to physics, from medicine to boxing, and Disney animation. He was a passionate reader of history and religious discourse. He was curious about all aspects of the world and human endeavor.
ON OCTOBER 12, 2013, Oscar died of a massive heart attack while playing tennis in New York City’s Riverside Park. That day my world came to a stop, as it did for all who loved him. He was not only a remarkably gifted man and a supremely talented novelist but the most soulful person I have ever known. And the sweetest. We were a double helix; my life is only “a half” now. And the world, as noted by journalists and writers around the globe, is a poorer place without his physical presence.
In the months following Oscar’s death, I was in too much pain to think about the rituals of daily life or professional obligations, but gradually I summoned the resolve to seek a publisher for Twain & Stanley Enter Paradise with the help of my agent, Jennifer Lyons. (The one and only extant copy of the manuscript was found on top of several boxes of related material in my husband’s study.) It has been edited with loving attention and acumen by Gretchen Young. To the entire team at Grand Central Publishing, I say, “Thank you from my heart for the care, intelligence, and passion you have put into its publication.” Oscar would be so very grateful to you.
—July 2014
Also by Oscar Hijuelos
Fiction
Our House in the Last World
The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love
The Fourteen Sisters of Emilio Montez O’Brien
Mr. Ives’ Christmas
Empress of the Splendid Season
A Simple Habana Melody
Dark Dude
Beautiful Maria of My Soul
Nonfiction
Thoughts Without Cigarettes
Reading Group Guide
Questions for Discussion
1.Stanley and Clemens came from very different backgrounds and held differing, and often contrasting, beliefs. What do you think bonded them together?
2. Why was Stanley so keen to have Henry Hope Stanley adopt him? What does this longing say about the notion of family? Why do you think Stanley was so secretive about the “truth”?
3. Throughout their lives Samuel Clemens and Henry Morton Stanley experienced some form of a rebirth. Do you think they felt completeness in their lives and careers as a result of this rebirth? What does their trajectory say about namesakes and identity?
4. Samuel, Henry, and Dorothy all wrote diligently, whether it was through private correspondence, through journals, or through fiction. How do you think the writing process changed them and their outlook? Do you find a similar catharsis in writing?
5. Discuss the parallels between the relationships of Dorothy and Stanley and Livy and Clemens. How did these similarities bring them together?
6. Both Samuel and Henry were very open and honest during Dorothy’s portrait sittings. How did her portrait process help or hinder her relationship with each of them? What do their revelations say about them?
7. How did Clemens and Stanley’s perspectives on slavery change throughout their friendship? Did they ever come to terms with their treatment of others? Do you think, as Samuel said, they were both just a product of the times? Why or why not?
8. Though both Stanley and Clemens achieved unbounded success, they often felt like outsiders within their circles. How did this need for belonging and acceptance influence their decision-making and outlook?
9. How do you think fame influenced Samuel Clemens and Henry Morton Stanley? Do you think their relationship prospered from it? Was there perhaps any jealousy? Why or why not?
10. In the end, what were Stanley’s religious beliefs? What does “The Cabinet Manuscript” and the truth behind it reveal about his beliefs? Why was Samuel so interested in other’s beliefs even though he himself wasn’t particularly religious?
11. Why do you think Dorothy was so attracted to spiritualism? What does Stanley and Samuel’s ambivalence toward spiritualism reveal about their relationship with her? How did their beliefs help each of them during times of grief?
12. During his last portrait sitting, Samuel debated what and how much to tell Dorothy about “The Cabinet Manuscript.” Do you think he was open and honest with her? Is it important for her to know the whole truth one way or the other?
13. Dorothy ultimately decided to leave out Henry and Samuel’s journey to Cuba in The Autobiography of Sir Henry Morton Stanley. Why do you believe she did this? Why did she diminish their friendship in his memoir altogether? Do you think she respected their wishes in the end? Why or why not?
A Conversation with Lori Marie Carlson-Hijuelos
Q. You watched as your husband, Oscar Hijuelos, worked on this novel for more than ten years. What inspired him to write TWAIN & STANLEY ENTER PARADISE?
One afternoon in Branford, Connecticut, where we have a small summer home, Oscar mentioned to me that he had come across an intriguing reference about Henry Morton Stanley in a book about the explorer’s life. The author of the biography surmised that Stanley had made a journey to Cuba to find his missing, adoptive father. (Since his teens, Oscar had been interested in the life of Stanley. So he had been reading about him for a long time.) He also happened upon a footnote that indicated that Stanley had been a comrade of Mark Twain’s. But Oscar could find absolutely no information about their friendship, other than a mention or two in histories that he picked up in old bookstores. I think he was very intrigued about this meeting of minds and hearts because while Twain and Stanley shared many values and convictions they were also opposites. He decided to explore the unknown canvas of their friendship because it seemed like an incredibly rich writing adventure.
Q. It’s obvious that Oscar had an affinity for Mark Twain and his writings. Were there any other books or authors that influenced his writing of TWAIN & STANLEY ENTER PARADISE?
He read the Bible as he wrote the novel. And he was constantly reading histories about both men, as well as Dorothy Tennant’s life. And he listened to classical music, always, as he wrote.
Q. TWAIN & STANLEY ENTER PARADISE interweaves correspondence, stories, and several locales of real figures from history. How did Oscar go about researching this book?
Oscar, no matter where he was—whether in a cab, a restaurant, the barbershop, or visiting a friend—always had a book in hand. He read voraciously. For this novel, he purchased hundreds of texts about Twain, Stanley, Lady Stanley, Wales, Cuba, New Orleans, etc. He bought materials from rare book dealers and old bookshops in Europe and the U.S., and he made purchases of documents online. He found pictures of the orphanage, for instance, where Stanley spent a part of his youth. He bought maps. He went to art exhibits. We went on research trips abroad. Basically, you could say that he created a context—from his intuition, intellectual leanings, and readings—into which he poured his imagination.
Q. The theme of self-identity was always prominent throughout Oscar’s works. How would you say his approach to the subject was different in TWAIN & STANELY ENTER PARADISE?
I really don’t think it was different. Oscar worked on this novel in the same manner that he approached all of his works. His was an investigative/creative process
that melded extensive research with travel, voluminous reading, his own dreams, and incredibly long hours of writing at his desk without breaks of any kind.
Q. You had an active role in editing and revising TWAIN & STANLEY ENTER PARADISE. What specifically did you want to bring out in Oscar’s writing and the plot? Did you notice anything different about Oscar’s writing when you took on this role?
I line edited this novel at a certain point. It required that I spend 13 hours each day for an extensive period of time. Because I knew Oscar so well—his voice, his way of thinking, his muscular disposition as well as his extraordinary ear for delicacy and tone—I let myself sink into each page of the work. It was a sacred and excruciating experience for me. I felt his presence. I felt his support. The story was very big. The writing was orchestral. I needed to respect that totally, but I also knew it needed to be cut. The manuscript went from nearly 900 pages to just under 500. We had discussed this, the two of us, as he was writing the novel…how in the end it would need to be reduced to a reader-friendly size. Basically, I listened to Oscar on the page. I can’t think of any other way to put it.
Q. When you compare Oscar’s life and career to that of these two historical figures, there are some poignant similarities between author and subject. How do you think Oscar related both as a person and as a writer to Twain and Stanley, their philosophies, and the fictional re-tellings that he created?
In this novel, Oscar is remarkably candid about his personal beliefs. At first, when I reread the novel, I was taken aback at just how much of himself he allowed to be revealed, even if ever so subtly. In general terms, if I may, Oscar can be seen in Stanley's understanding of fame and success; that in the end it doesn't mean much, except that it allows one a platform to do GOOD in the world and to try to add a measure of beauty to one's environment. Likewise, in Twain's persona and journey in TWAIN & STANLEY, there is Oscar's humor, his appreciation for irony and how it shapes the way we saunter through our days. Oscar definitely believed in God, as Stanley did, but he also had so many questions. Oscar abhorred injustice and the fact that so many people have suffered through the ages. He grappled with his faith in this regard. So, in that respect, you can see my husband in Twain. Definitely, Oscar found in both men a companionable appreciation for the power of literature and for excellence in "telling" the tale. For Oscar, writing was living, and that is what he was called to do.