So, one step back, two steps forward. That seems to be the way of the body as one gets older, or am I being too generous and optimistic? I’m glad your ticker is mending well.
I’m glad I talked to you about the censorship of letters in the Pacific during WWII. I finally have made a breakthrough, I think, in my USMC fiction, a short novel involving the narrator (a Stingo prototype), and Ollie North–type zealot of a company commander who is determined to prevent an enlisted man sending love letters to his sweetheart because the letters are explicitly erotic. But that’s only the main theme, or the dominant theme—the other theme, as is usual in much of my work, is the misuse of power.
I might be consulting you by phone again in the near future if you don’t mind. I’m off to St. Barts with the family—a wonderful French island with grand food and grander beaches. Hope to be in touch before long. Fond regards to Dorothy.
Semper fi,
Bill
Isn’t what’s happening in E. Europe astounding?*WWW
TO GAVIN COLOGNE-BROOKES
February 15, 1990 Roxbury, CT
Dear Gavin,
Herewith the Vanity Fair essay for your perusal. As I think I told you the piece caused a tremendous commotion here and as a result I’m turning it into a small book for Random House, enlarging and elaborating here and there. The piece has already been contracted for by journals in France, Italy, Germany and Spain. Typically, no one in England seems to have wanted to publish it, though probably Cape will do it as a book since Random House is doing it.
I appreciate your comments about the movie of Sophie. My reactions have been quite similar to yours. I think on a certain level the film works pretty well—in a linear sense, capturing the essence of Sophie’s story vis-à-vis her past and revelations about Auschwitz. But I deeply regret other parts. The sadomasochistic relationship which I established between Sophie and Nathan was softened to the point of absence. The double suicide at the end was totally unprepared for, not a hint of Nathan’s obsession which led up to that event. Also, one of the reasons that Peter MacNichol’s reading of “Ample Make This Bed” is so bad—aside from the horrible obviousness, which you pointed out—is MacNichol himself, entirely too callow for the role, especially with that glutinous accent from God knows where in Dixie, certainly not Tidewater Virginia. The moment I cringed most severely was when he was about to fuck, or something, Meryl Streep and exposed those pathetic little skinny legs of his. What a hoot.
I can only give you a provisional answer to your query about using my cottage to work in for a month or so in the spring. Certainly the invitation I gave you still holds, but there are one or two things it depends upon. Rose and I have a friend who has been renting the place for quite a few summers, and he probably will want it again; however, it may be that he won’t be able to come until mid-June or July, in which case you would be welcome to have it. I usually go up to Martha’s Vineyard on June first, so there may be an overlap if you come in mid-May but that would be O.K. so far as I’m concerned. Let me say that while I can’t give you any definite word at the moment, the prospects would seem good, so what I’d like to do is wait a few weeks before giving you a definite promise. I hope this won’t strain your schedule. I know that you would want a firm idea fairly soon so I’ll do my best to let you know before too long. I’m delighted your novel is progressing to your satisfaction, and I’d like to be able to give you shelter for a while.*XXX Stay in touch.
Faithfully,
Bill S.
TO WILLIE MORRIS
July 28, 1990 Vineyard Haven, MA
Dear Willie,
I’m enormously pleased, of course, that you are going to tie the nuptial knot. I’d heard rumors of this event as a possibility but your confirmation delighted me. I’m eager to meet JoAnne*YYY since, among other things, you have impeccable taste in girls/women/females/dogs and I know she fills the bill in every respect.
I’ve had trouble prying myself off this island and so it looks as though a late July visit to the Magnolia State will be at the very least delayed until a later date. The reason for all this is largely my upcoming book Darkness Visible, which is an expanded version of the essay I wrote on depression in Vanity Fair. The book, even before publication, seems to be attracting a lot of attention and as a result I’ve had to do a lot of annoying but (to Random House, at least) necessary publicity. I’m here right now doing a segment for Diane Sawyer for a forthcoming “Prime Time” ABC program, and the same network is doing an hour-long documentary on depression (Aug. 29) in which I’m featured somewhat against my will—inadvertently, really—I’ve found myself in the process of becoming a leading guru on melancholia, and God Knows where it will end. The book is officially slated to be published Sept. 27th but copies are due any day now and I’ll make sure you get a mint example, signed by your old pal and fellow sufferer. They are making a first edition of 75,000 copies, which is a lot, but Jason Epstein told me that he thought it would sell forever. Everybody seems to be a victim of the malady these days, and my message is fairly simple: tough it out, brothers and sisters, for one day you will get well.
But I’ve got to get back to the novel since I’m very uncomfortable in the guru role except in the short term.
Your beautiful piece in Esquire on Celia reaffirmed my belief in the beauty and constancy of English prose when written by a loving and gifted hand such as yours.*ZZZ I heard nothing but awed praise for your essay from every quarter.
Stay in touch and let’s lay plans for an early get-together. Dinah and Tashmoo send their love to you, as does my other girl Rose.
Your steadfast pal,
Stingo
TO MIKE MEWSHAW
October 21, 1990 Roxbury, CT
Dear Mike,
I greatly appreciate your letter about Darkness Visible—totally aside from the pleasure in hearing from you again. It must be a kind of reverse culture-shock to come back to God’s Country (!) after so long a stay in the real Arcadia. For me the USA loses quality incrementally from day to day—it’s in virtual decay on all levels, morally, spiritually and physically, best typified by a drive out of New York City (as I do with some frequency) where the potholed roadways and shocking slums juxtaposed against the skyscrapers make it all appear like a rich Bangladesh on the verge of collapse. I’ve got half a mind to pull my roots and live in France, where I’ve been often recently (thereby defying the foreboding I expressed in my little book) and where life still seems sweet instead of fear-ridden and mainly hideous.
I’m rather astonished at the way Darkness Visible has caught on. There are 140,000 copies in print at the moment, according to Random House, with no end in sight. Curious to think that a slender little volume about lunacy may provide a meal ticket for my superannuated years.
I’ll be fascinated to see Year of the Gun.†aaa John Frankenheimer can be an inspired director. He once had an option on Lie Down in Darkness; nothing came of it, though through no particular deficiency of his. My view on the movies is: take the loot and run with it, and I assume that happily you’ve been bestowed with loot. Run with it.
Good to hear of your residence in Ch’ville. I hope this means that our paths will cross more often now. Remember me to Slim please, and keep a stiff upper lip in these weird times.
Yours,
Bill
TO THOMAS GUINZBURG
February 1, 1991†bbb Roxbury, CT
Dear Tom,
Since the time when we agreed to become judges for the Turner Tomorrow Award, Carlos Fuentes, Peter Matthiessen and I have begun to have severe doubts concerning the worth of the enterprise and we want to take this occasion to set down our objections. Plainly the award was conceived in the spirit of idealism and with the best of intentions. But it now appears that what we had assumed might be a contest that would produce works of literary merit has really become a scramble by writers of questionable talent to cash in on a basically flawed concept.
None of us questions the fact that, in gifted hands,
a fine futuristic novel could be written about survival and prosperity on the planet and even that positive solutions to world problems might be credibly created by a novelist of genuine vision. But as the contest seems to be shaping up, it is highly doubtful that such a work will be produced or indeed that we would be presented with any book that could come close to meeting the literary standards that the three of us would feel obliged to impose.
Reports in the press, which we have no reason to doubt—especially since you have publicly verified some of these reports—have indicated that the bulk of the contributions are frivolous and certainly opportunistic. In any case, to produce a novel within the space of a year—on demand, so to speak—would seem an activity in which literary principles are almost bound to be compromised. We would not wish to give an award to any work which is so likely to be meretricious.
In short, none of us believes that the Turner Tomorrow Award will elicit entries of sufficient merit to warrant our giving a prize. We are therefore stating this view explicitly so that before the time of judging comes you and others connected with the award will be forewarned about our almost totally negative frame of mind We will quite understand if, because of our position, you will wish to substitute other judges in our place, and that might be the best solution. Copies of this letter are going to Nadine Gordimer and Wallace Stegner, and in the interest of fairness we hope you will make available copies to the other judges, to whom we have no access, so that they also may have an opportunity to agree or disagree with our position.†ccc
Sincerely,
Bill
TO LOUIS D. RUBIN, JR.
March 24, 1991 Roxbury, CT
Dear Louis,
Many thanks for the data on the Styron relatives on the Outer Banks. It turns out that there are more Styrons around than I had ever imagined. I was at an airline counter in San Diego not too long ago, trying to work out some sort of travel deal, when the agent pressed a button on his computer and found a William C. Styron of such-and-such an address in Raleigh, N.C. Precisely my name—obviously some unknown cousin. I will definitely subscribe to The Mailboat.†ddd
I thought you’d like to see the enclosed from the San Francisco Examiner, especially since you are alluded to as the benign cupid who put together the Styron-Burgunder connection. I’ll always be in your debt.
You did a great job with Algonquin and should be proud and rest contentedly on your well-deserved laurels.†eee
I’m sorry I can’t make Chattanooga but will look forward to other sessions with the good ole boys.†fff Hope you all have fun.
Yrs,
Bill
TO PHILIP ROTH
January 3, 1992 Roxbury, CT
Dear Philip:
For my sins, I’m off to India, where I fully expect to get stuck (sucked?) by a Sikh; however, even if I don’t get back I wanted to say I’m sorry your book, etc., prevented our getting together to talk about Operation Shylock. It’s a splendid book as you must know, energetic and challenging, perhaps your best yet and you should be relaxed and proud. I really would like to talk to you in detail—there’s so much richness in the book to deal with. I’ll be back on the 18th of Jan.—thank God only two weeks eating curry and ghee (and a fly or two) so I’ll contact you and we’ll talk. Rose is staying until the first week in February.
I mentioned you at some length in The Nation (your Halcion siege) and I hope they sent you a copy, as I requested.†ggg You also might want to look at my reflections on WWII in the current Newsweek.†hhh
Have a happy New Year. You eminently deserve it.
In Jesus’ name
—B
TO ARTHUR SCHLESINGER, JR.
March 1, 1992 Roxbury, CT
Dear Arthur:
This month the University of Georgia Press is publishing a book called The Return of Nat Turner by a white historian named Albert Stone.†iii I’ve not read it but from responsible sources I’ve heard that it’s basically an attack on my book—a novel that I’d thought after 25 years (this year is its silver anniversary) had enough integrity and had grown venerable enough to be free of such molestations. I gather that once again the attacker, like the blacks in 1968, seems unable to comprehend the prerogatives of the historical novelist and is attempting to lambaste me on the narrowest of historiographical principles.
Needless to say I’m sick of this kind of vulgar ignorance, which could be dismissed as the work of a yahoo were it not for the mischief it might cause in these wretched times of political correctness. Aside from being aware that you might simply be interested in this phenomenon per se, I was wondering if you might know someone in the historical field, sympathetic to ole Nat, who might want to head this guy off at the pass and deal with him in a review somewhere.†jjj Any suggestions you might have, at this moment of my renewed martyrdom, will be greatly appreciated.
Love to Alexandra
As ever
Bill
TO CARLOS FUENTES
June 28, 1992 Vineyard Haven, MA
Dear Carlos,
I’ve been engrossed in reading The Buried Mirror and wanted to tell you what a splendid work I think it is.†kkk It has told me so much and brought together so many historical strands that I’m fairly astonished at how you’ve managed to do it—creating this intricate tapestry with such consummate skill. I might add that your gifts as a novelist are eminently on display, for the book has tremendous narrative drive and has held me spellbound for the past few days.
I wish I could feel as sanguine and enthusiastic about this country of mine. The Supreme Court decision on kidnapping (especially Mexicans) is one of the most astoundingly arrogant judicial edicts ever to be handed down by any tribunal anywhere. It makes me want to hang my head in shame for our vaunted democratic process. I honestly do think that the U.S.A. is sliding down the tubes and there seems to be nothing in the future (certainly no presidential candidate) to arrest the process.
I have however been able to arrest the prostate process about which I was so distressed when we talked on the phone a week or so ago. I was so badly blocked that I’d almost resigned myself to the terrible Roto-rooter operation but since then I’ve been saved by a little pill called Hytrin. This is a medication known as a “smooth muscle relaxant” which works subtly on the bladder outlet to permit freer urine flow. I’ve been on Hytrin for some time now and most of my mealtime anguish (getting up several times to deal with blockage and a weak dribble) has been alleviated. If you haven’t already been put onto this pill, I urge you to do everything you can to try it. No side effects that I can detect, and my urologist (who’s head of the department at Harvard Medical School) says he feels that it’s only a matter of time when this pill (which has been approved by the F.D.A. to lower high blood pressure but not for prostrate trouble) will be the panacea for all but the most intractable problems.†lll (The F.D.A., he says, is typically dragging its heels for complicated and nasty reasons I won’t go into, though it has to do with money.) Anyway, do get your doc to put you on this pill if you still need treatment (the generic name is Terazosin).†mmm
Young Carlos came by here some time ago in his beautiful Pussymobile, and spent the night and then disappeared in quest of, I’m sure, those treasures the Pussymobile is made for. It was lovely as usual to see him.
Will be awaiting your arrival in September. Meanwhile, love to Sylvia and stay in touch.
Abrazos,
Bill
TO WILLIE MORRIS
June 13, 1993 Vineyard Haven, MA
Dear Willie,
I don’t think my conversation on the phone with you the other day could possibly convey the extent of my enthusiasm for New York Days.†nnn It’s simply a wonderful book, rich in anecdote, history, language and feeling. I think that when the final accounting is made, the book will rank not only as one of the finest renditions of the 1960s but, quite simply, as one of the great memoirs of the century. It is an overwhelmingly splendid achievement that has left me gasping for superlatives. It’s
so damned readable—I couldn’t set it aside for a minute—and I reveled in your continuously captivating prose. I hope you’re very proud of what you’ve done. I’ll be at the party in New York; I wouldn’t miss it, and would travel from Tibet to be there.
As ever,
Stingo
P.S. The MS is now in the hands of my summer neighbor, pushing 90, Virginia Foster Durr, who loves the book.
TO GAVIN COLOGNE-BROOKES
May 3, 1994†ooo Roxbury, CT
Dear Gavin,
Since we were last in touch I’ve had a few physical problems which, fortunately, I’ve managed to beat pretty well. In this era of high-tech medicine one manages to dance and skip one’s way along life’s perilous path just a few steps ahead of the undertaker. As a matter of fact, my problem was never life-threatening but not a barrel of laughs, either. Last summer and fall I began to notice that my right shoulder and arm were not functioning too well. So I went up to Boston to MGH (Massachusetts General Hospital, also known as Man’s Greatest Hospital) for tests and they discovered a great deal of arthritic buildup which was causing nerve compression in the neck vertebra and consequent loss of muscle strength. So early in December I had a 5-hour operation. For a week afterward I was in real pain but that went away and the good news, finally, is that the operation seemed to halt the deterioration and I’m improving. I’m quite relativistic about this whole matter; although I’ll probably never again have full strength I’m not really dysfunctional, not in a wheelchair, have fine appetite, can still get it up, etc. So what the hell, existence could be a lot worse.