Selected Letters of William Styron (69 page)

When you get to be a well-known writer—which you are on your way to becoming—you must avoid at all costs any interviews, especially with little epicene pricks from
Esquire
such as the one you mentioned in your letter. There is nothing much to be said about that disaster except that from the very outset of the interview he felt himself clearly so superior and was so patronizing (I remember him once alluding to the fact that “the best of your work” was behind me) that I could hardly have expected it to be any better. But I let it be a lesson:
avoid all interviews
!…

Best to you both and keep in touch.

Bill

T
O
F
REDERICK
E
XLEY

September 29, 1972 Vineyard Haven, MA

Dear Fred:

I’m in receipt of your various interesting and informative communications and just wanted to say that I am looking forward to my sojourn to Iowa City very much. I am as yet uncertain about the exact date but I assume
that the idea of sometime during the first week in November still stands. I enjoyed your graphic description of the festivities
chez
Bourjaily and appreciate your warning about eschewing their hospitality since I was planning vigorously to eschew it anyway. Thank God for old Iowa House, where I hope you will make me a solid reservation. A trip to Chicago also sounds like a good deal of fun and I’ll leave in your hands whatever plans might be made in the carnal or “fun” sense. From your description of the city in your fictional memoir you seem to know your way around, and perhaps you will introduce me here and there as Dr. Penis, pronounced whichever way you chose.

I just got back from New Orleans where I delivered a kind of talk at a cornpone affair called the Deep South Writers Conference, but mainly occupied my time in eating those fantastic Gulf oysters and in other animal pursuits. I am now closing up my house here on the Vineyard and am heading soon for Roxbury, Connecticut, which is the address you can reach me at. My play—
In the Clap Shack
—opens in December at the Yale Repertory Theatre and I’ve got to get down near New Haven in order to deal with casting and other preliminaries. There are already ominous rumblings about the play, largely due to its subject matter—syphilis and gonorrhea—and I’m steeling myself for the inevitable attack, a mean little book of essays entitled “William Styron’s
In the Clap Shack
, 10 White Urologists Respond.”

Let me know of any further developments on the Iowa City scene. My telephone number in Connecticut, incidentally, is (203) 354-5939. Stay in touch.

All best,

Bill S.

T
O
B
OB
B
RUSTEIN

October 18, 1972 Roxbury, CT

Dearly Belovedfolk:

It was great to receive your letter and to know that things over there must be so much more pleasant in the long run than over here, where people are still knifing each other at random, “cutting up” (their wives and
boyfriends), and in general making a terrible mess of the contemporary scene. The
Yale Daily News
has just announced on its front page a mad rapist at loose on the campus and I would fear for Susanna’s “security,” except for the fact that she is really by now such a
femme moyenne sensuelle
.
^‖vv
It turns out that she turned her last few weeks in Spain into an extraordinary caper with Luis Miguel Dominguín and she brought back a sheaf of clippings from the Madrid equivalent of
Paris-Match
, showing her in photographs running away from photographers à la Brigitte Bardot and then later being trapped by reporters into such admissions as: “ ‘I will go anywhere on earth that Luis Miguel goes,’ said the lovely 17-year-old North American student of French and Spanish literature.” She pretends to indignation at such journalistic mendacity but of course loves every bit of it and carries the clippings around with her everywhere. Her roommate at Silliman is Bobby Shriver.
^‖ww

Speaking of Shriver, we gave a big bash up here for Connecticut fat cats for fund-raising, got Sarge to come, and raised $10,000 in a night, which seemed to me prodigious but was rather disappointing to the state political pros. Cleve and Francine Gray and Freddie and Florence March were among our co-hosts, and they told me to be sure to send their love to you.
^‖xx
Although probably a lost cause, the McG. Campaign is looking considerably more sprightly now than it did in the recent past. The revelations about the Republican party’s criminal dealing are really extraordinary and if truly brought out into the open
could
turn things around. But this is a wild hope.

Everybody—including us, of course—enormously admired your piece on the London scene in last Sunday’s
Times
.
^‖yy
It was so preposterously
intelligent
and articulate in the midst of that sheet (or shit) which usually is such a collection of tired inanities and press-agent pufferies. And I’m delighted
to see that you are going to do it on a regular basis. Also David Pearce (God bless him, in spite of all) has sent us some Xerox copies of your pieces in
The Observer
, to which he subscribes. They’re terribly good and make me believe that I could fall in love with the theatre if I lived in England, even in a non-Elizabethan time.
You
de
bes’
critic, yassuh!

Arthur Miller’s play opened in Boston and though as you know I am very friendly with Arthur maybe it is my budding rivalry as a fellow playwright which makes me interested in the early response.
^‖zz
Danny Bell (we are both on the board of the
American Scholar
) told me in New York the other night that it may be the worst play he has ever seen. Which would have saddened me several years ago, but now (as a playwright) gives me a small, secret
yuk-yuk
. Though I hope it’s not all
that
bad.

I’ve not gotten down to N.H. yet to see the Molière and the Ribman but hope to do so in the next week or so. As a matter of fact, of course, it will be essential. Rose didn’t see the Molière but loved
A Break in the Skin
. I’ve talked to Alvin several times.
^‖AA
He seems most happy about the way things are going this season and we are getting together within the next few days, to talk about preliminary matters, and I hope I can see both the Molière and the Ribman in his company. I heard a stunning recording of
There’s a Star-Spangled Banner Waving Somewhere
on the radio, so mawkish that it almost made me come and I learned where to send away for a copy, which should be arriving in a few days, and I want to supply it to Phylis so he can use the song as a curtain-raiser. I’ll consult you further later in regard to your thoughtful advice about a British production. Right now all I want is for the Yale caper to go off well.

You’ve probably heard that Bill Preston and Elsie are Splitsville. It saddens the hell out of me but I can understand why all Nonie (bless her, she’s in good shape) can do is laugh and laugh.

Diabolique
was wonderfully sweet during the September days.
^‖BB
We went to Naushon several times and again to Lambert’s Cove a couple of evenings. I’ve mastered the radio, incidentally, and have discovered that you can call anywhere on earth through the New Bedford marine operator,
so we actually rang up Roxbury, Conn., while anchored in Tarpaulin Cove. It beautifully weathered a near-hurricane around Labor Day, and Tom Hale has now pulled it up for the winter. I’ll be sending you our bill sometime, but there’s no hurry.

We miss you enormously, your cats and chicks, and will be looking forward to your December arrival with celebration. Kisses, love, stay in touch.

Bill

T
O
B
OB
B
RUSTEIN

October 30, 1972 Roxbury, CT

Dear Bob:

The enclosed truly gruesome account from the
Gazette
^‖CC
is not intended to depress you (as much as it did me) but to impress upon you (as it did me) the incredible value of a ship-to-shore radio-telephone such as we have on
Diabolique
. The poor wretch in the
Gazette
story should not, of course, have abandoned the boat because it remained afloat and had he stayed aboard probably the worst consequence would have been an extremely uncomfortable night for all concerned. But had he had a radio like the one we had installed (that kind of boat of his must have cost several thousand more than ours and therefore he should have been able to invest in one) he could have had all sorts of assistance on the spot within minutes. In any case, it’s the saddest story about the sea that I’ve heard of in a long time. Can you imagine what memories this guy has to live with for the rest of his life?

I’m enclosing the accumulated boat bills, some of which date back well into the summer. I’ve deducted from the grand total items which had to do with my personal use of the boat after you left, such as gas and certain things that had to be attended to when the boat filled with water during a wild storm on Labor Day. These total $45.33. If you’ll check on all this
and approve it and send me a check for
$541.65
I’ll pay off the robbers. God Knows it seems to be a rich man’s sport but, as John Hersey said to me, if you try to balance out the cost against the relatively few man-hours of pleasure you’ll go bonkers—J.P. Morgan’s dictum about yachts applying as well to our little beauty as to Onassis’s or Sam Spiegel’s. The greatest single item, you’ll notice, is the invaluable radio which I had mistakenly thought we’d already paid for. After Mr. Jaeger’s ordeal, I think you’ll agree that it is well worth the cost. And, exorbitant as Tom Hale’s outfit is, they do take care and pride in their work. During that bad storm they were right on top of that boat, cosseting it and pumping it and soothing and nursing it. Also, please fill out the enclosed contract (all it needs is your signature) and send it back to the shipyard as soon as convenient.

We’ve enormously enjoyed hearing from you and savoring vicariously the good London life. As you might know, I’ve had a moderately virulent case of Anglophobia for many years (your ancestors did not
fight
the motherfuckers as mine did, you immigrant), but you make things sound so pleasant and exhilarating that you could almost entice me into a few weeks in London Towne. Rose
was
going to come over with Ann Mudge to see the opening of Jay Allen’s musical about Victoria, but at the last minute Mudge got cold feet so Rose also decided not to go. Me, I’ve been working but have been interrupted by a couple of trips to talking engagements I foolishly agreed to—one in New Orleans at L.S.U. which was redeemed by the truly excellent provender that is offered in restaurants all over the city (if the Vineyard had just
one
of the hundreds of oyster bars that are all over New Orleans it would make living there perfect)—and the other this week at Iowa City, whither I was lured by the crazy Fred Exley (did you read
A Fan’s Notes
? A curiously brilliant and hilarious book with a lot of torment underneath), who got the University to pay me a lot of money and held out the ultimate enticement, or corruption: after the Iowa stint, a big bash in Chicago at a super suite in the Playboy Towers (Exley is making devious use of Hugh Hefner) with all sorts of rabbits named Flopsy, Mopsy, and Michele.

Alvin Epstein was up here not too long ago to talk about the play. It was fairly rewarding; he wanted me to make some minor dialogue changes, which seemed reasonable enough, so I did. I haven’t been in touch since but I hear they are auditioning for—among others—Magruder; and one
of Susanna’s friends, who apparently—at age 17 or 18—was one of the few good things in the film version of
A Separate Peace
, is trying out for the role … I shall be closer to matters at Yale after I return from Ioway and the bunnies.

Miller’s play as you doubtless know is apparently in even worse shape than when I last wrote you about it. Zoe Caldwell is now in the starring role, after two previous defections, and the same thing goes for the leading man. If anything remotely like this happens to
Clap Shack
I may be reached c/o General Delivery, Lima, Peru.

We miss you both enormously and send great love and can’t wait for your appearance (you’ve got to come up here) but will mourn Norma’s absence.

Much love from us,

Bill      

T
O
W
ILLIE
M
ORRIS

November 7, 1972 Roxbury, CT

Dear Brother Willie

I sent a letter on this stationery
^‖DD
to Gene Genovese, telling him that I thought that Nat Turner looked a little like the younger Dick Nixon. Gene wrote back to say that he really looked like Booker T. Washington. I just got back from reading and talking at the U. of Iowa, returning by way of Chicago where I was a free-loading guest at the Playboy Towers and where everything you can imagine goes on. Or carries on. Happy to have your letter awaiting me, especially since I have tried many many times to call you in the past few months but finally gave up, finding you about as obtainable as Adolf Eichmann must have been when he was hiding out in Argentina. It was great to hear about your book and its down-home heroine and I do hope you’ll let me take a look at it when a manuscript or galleys become available. I sure was sorry to hear about Ichabod Crane,
though, and I know how sad it must have made you feel, having lost Tugwell and Beauregard in the same way myself. We gave them a Jewish burial, though, on account of my wife Rose.

Try to get over here sometime very soon. My daddy (just turned 85) sent me a fantastic Wayco (Wayne County) ham from Goldsboro, N.C., and we’ll fry it up and have it with grits, red-eye gravy, and Jack Daniels. Also, I’ll have a ticket to
Clap Shack
for you if you come over—that’s December 15 …