Selected Letters of William Styron (82 page)

I really haven’t abandoned the USMC novel, in fact I’ve returned to a re-working of it along the line you and I have discussed (Saipan, the zealot officer bearing down on a suspected “radical” enlisted man, etc.) so it may be that what I’ve got now is two novels going simultaneously (like Balzac and Tolstoy, not bad people to emulate). At any rate, the long piece you read in
Esquire
is something that can stand alone as a “novella” or short novel whether or not I decide to extend it into something longer, which I’ll probably do.

The weather up here has been marvelous, despite trouble with the crops; the driest June & July since 1946. Lots of people in and out, as usual, lots of socializing but reasonably good fun.

The president of France has just awarded me the Legion of Honor. There’ll be a ceremony in N.Y. or Washington in the fall. That little red ribbon may be the only thing I’d rather wear than the Congressional Medal.

I imagine we’ll be here through most of September. I hope you all can drop by for a visit on your way to N.H., or while there. Stay in touch.

Your Well and Reasoned Friend

Bill                  

T
O
W
ILLIE
M
ORRIS

October 15, 1987 Roxbury, CT

Dear Willie,

I thought your piece on Faulkner’s Mississippi was just great.
^*xxx
You captured so much both of the beloved state and the man himself. I am eagerly looking forward to the
Geographic
with the pictures—I know it will be sumptuous.

Also, please tell Richard Ford how grateful I am for the book of stories.
^*yyy
I’d read several already in
Esquire
but both reacquaintance with the old and work I’d never read made for wonderful reading. Thank you for the present. I hope we can all get together someday before long.

Because of the long journey I’m not going to press you to come to my Legion of Honor ceremony but it would be splendid if you could make it. Afterwards I’ve hired a Frog restaurant in N.Y. where we will be having catfish coquilles, chitlins Lyonnaisse, grits Bercy and Brunswick County (Va) Scuppernong 1972.

À bientôt I hope

Stingo      

T
O
G
AVIN
C
OLOGNE
-B
ROOKES
^*zzz

October 20, 1987 Roxbury, CT

Dear Mr. Cologne-Brookes,

I would welcome the opportunity of meeting you and talking to you when you come here next spring and I hope we could have a fruitful and enjoyable get-together. At the moment I know only that I must be in California on March 29 through April 1
^st
or 2
^nd
but outside of that I expect to
be here in the early spring and would welcome you. I don’t know precisely what I can contribute to your thesis but I could try to do my best.

You must feel very odd, “the only Briton” writing about my work. I don’t feel quite like Edmund Wilson, who called your countrymen “the despicable English” and really had quite a vitriolic animus about Britain, but it is true that I’ve felt no warmth about England over the years and plainly the feeling is mutual. Nothing at all personal, as we say, nor do I mean to be condescending when I say that not some, but many, of my good friends are English. But it is remarkable how some countries will take certain writers to their hearts and virtually ignore others. The best example, in my own case, can be seen in a list of books that was sent to me some time ago—a list I imagine you’ve heard about: the 20 “best novels” by living Americans, drawn up by some British book association or other. It contained novels by every single U.S. writer I consider my peer (Roth, Updike, Bellow, Mailer, etc. etc.) and quite a few novels by writers I would completely disdain—but not one of my works was on the list. Strangely, when I beheld this list I was not in the slightest bit surprised. Totally aside from the absurdity of such lists (noblest dogs, best soaps, worst diseases) I had, through long experience with the British reaction to my work, always expected to be ignored and this list was a simple validation.

But I would certainly be happy to have you have a drink or two with me (I’ve gone off the hard stuff but still go for a bit of beer or wine) and also break bread and take walks in the woods with me and my dog Tashmoo—although the glory of spring comes late to the Connecticut countryside. So plan to come ahead, keeping in mind the problem of the dates I mentioned. I’ll also be happy to receive the preliminary writing you’ve done and give you my commentary for what it’s worth—I’m a very poor judge of the contents of my own box or bottle. But I’ll be honest, at least, and carefully try to assess your argument.

Sincerely,

William Styron

P.S. Jim West wrote very warmly and admiringly about you.

T
O
L
OUIS
D. R
UBIN
, J
R
.

November 16, 1987 Roxbury, CT

Dear Louis,

I’d be pleased and honored to be a founding member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers and I thank you for inviting me.
^*AAA
I had a few qualms at first, since I have a sneaking suspicion (perhaps unfounded in truth) that such of your editorial and critical founders as Messrs. Sullivan and Simpson
^*BBB
have a rather tepid view of my work, and I thought that I might not feel terribly comfortable being associated with them (or vice versa). But since you say “all of us” want me in the group I take this as an assurance and will put my qualms at rest. The group sounds as if it might have fruitful activities in the future and that would be fine with me. You are certainly correct in your assumption that I would not like to get connected with some self-conscious new Agrarian movement, a kind of Southern Mafia whose aims would certainly not be in accord with what I would feel to be a strong and meaningful literature. But you make it clear that the fellowship has more intelligent goals, so count me in. As for suggestions regarding membership, there instantly come to my mind Reynolds Price and Willie Morris but I’m sure you all have considered these worthy gents already.
^*CCC

I have followed the progress of Algonquin Books with great pleasure, and have seen the name crop up in all sorts of nice places. You are to be congratulated for bringing such inventiveness and vitality to this good venture. I’ve read more than a few of your productions, and had a special response to Hopkins’
One Bugle No Drums
because of my brief but intense connection with the Korean War.
^*DDD
It was an exceptionally fine memoir. All of your books, incidentally, are beautifully turned out.

The enclosed clippings explain themselves. I thought you might like to see them. There is one (probably intentional) inaccuracy in the article from Mississippi, viz., Henry Kissinger was definitely
not
present.
^*EEE

Faithfully,

Bill S.

T
O
W
ILLIE
M
ORRIS

November 24, 1987 Roxbury, CT

Dear Willie,

Following is the passage I believe you wanted from my speech about Jim:

“I never knew an artist whose style was so inimitably and faithfully a reflection of himself. Let me give you an example which is surely going to disturb the liberals who hear these words. You were not a bigot, but take the word ‘nigger,’ which I often heard you use in conversation with a certain casual and disarming precision that was almost breathtaking. You were the only man I ever knew upon whose lips that word had no connotation of ugliness or animosity but instead was uttered with a kind of large, innocent, open sense of fraternity, and I often wondered at this, at how it would be, until I realized that in that word, or at least in the way you spoke it, there were profound echoes of your great predecessors Sherwood Anderson and Dreiser and, above all, Mark Twain—whose peculiarly border sensitivity, part Southern, part Midwestern, but achingly American, you inherited in full measure.”
^*FFF

I hope this will be of help. I can get you the whole speech if you need it but this is, I believe, the pertinent passage.

Willie, your visitation was wonderful and Mayor Leslie’s speech was superb. Everyone felt that your presentation was the highlight of the evening
and I am so grateful to you for turning up in Sodom and making the event a splendid one. Several people have requested copies of the “letter” and I have had quite a few Xeroxes from that issue of the Oxford newspaper. I am enjoying wearing my pretty little rosette in my lapel, just as Pop Bill enjoyed his. It really is, somehow, the supreme honor. I saw Norman Mailer at a party and he asked me if I thought it would help me get laid in Paris. I told him that you couldn’t get laid in Paris if you were an American until they named an avenue after you. He was plainly just jealous.

I’m sending this off to you rapidly, as per your instructions. Hang loose and give my best to all.

Ever,

Stingo

T
O
L
OUIS
D. R
UBIN
, J
R
.

November 25, 1987 Roxbury, CT

Dear Louis,

I very much appreciate the Woodson book.
^*GGG
It is beautiful and much of his work does, of course, bring back the atmosphere of the Virginia where I grew up.

I hope I didn’t sound too querulous about the critics who are on board. You’re absolutely right about a general lack of unanimity in any group regarding a person’s work, and that’s the way it should be, really. I guess I just can’t shake my prickly feeling about most critics, especially professional Southern ones and their often insistent chauvinism. But I’m happy to be in the group.

I neglected to tell you, incidentally, how much I approved of your own critical demolition of Stephen Oates’ bio. of Faulkner.
^*HHH
My reasons are threefold. First and most importantly, the book is the mawkish and appalling disgrace you said it was. Secondly, Oates wrote a biography of Nat
Turner after my book appeared; all well and good except that Oates has taken every opportunity he can to denounce me (usually in interviews) and in fact took a nasty swipe at me in the introduction to his own book.
^*III
Thirdly, he is a plagiarist. On the last page of his Faulkner book, he quoted a whole passage of my description of Faulkner’s funeral without attribution (he left out direct quotes for most of the passage)—something I was going to call to the attention of his publisher but somehow forgot. Thanks for doing such a well-deserved chop-up of this pious fraud.
^*JJJ

Yrs,

Bill

T
O
P
RINCE
S
ADRUDDIN
A
GA
K
HAN

December 12, 1987 Roxbury, CT

Dear Sadri & Katy,

Like the bad penny, Kosinski always turns up—as you can see, at the moment of my divine apotheosis. I really thought that Kosinski should have gotten the Légion d’Honneur, not I—maybe he will, maybe I’ll use my influence with Mitterrand to get him one, and at least a “Chevalier” for Kiki.

Anyway, the enclosed clippings will describe the goings-on last November when I finally entered heaven.

I hope to be able to come and pay you dear people a visit before too long. Rose and I both miss you very much.

The Right Wing is in panicky despair over the Summit and its aftermath. No Evil Empire to hate! I was invited to the Soviet Embassy to meet Gorbachev and sat listening to him at a table where my companions were—get this—Joyce Carol Oates, Norman Mailer, Billy Graham, Paul
Newman and Henry Kissinger. Could you conceive of an odder group of table-fellows?

Stay in touch.

Much love,

Bill  

T
O
L
EWIS
S
TEEL
^*KKK

December 31, 1987 Roxbury, CT

Dear Lew, I appreciate your kind comments about
Sophie’s Choice
. You know, in the end (if we are honest with ourselves) we writers write at least in part to create some ultimate effect upon a reader—especially readers whose minds and sensibilities we respect—and so it is enormously gratifying to receive a response like yours. It makes so much of the sweat and effort worthwhile. I’ll never forget our courtroom days—it’s a vivid part of my memory—and it was good hearing from you and to feel that same valuable continuity remains unbroken.

Faithfully, Bill S.

P.S. Did you know that Ida Schenkman, that bailbondswoman, tried to cheat me out of $10,000? After three years I got it back.

T
O
W
ILLIE
M
ORRIS

January 6, 1988 Roxbury, CT

Dear Willie, It looks as if Uncle Shelby has joined forces with Mike Thelwell and Herbert Aptheker.
^*LLL
The enclosed is from a review from the exceedingly dull George Garrett about an exceedingly dull 20-pound historical novel by someone named Thomas Flanagan. It’s bad enough that the darkies jumped me but a white Mississippi boy? I thought he knew better.

It was great hearing your Yuletide voice. I’ve heard fine things about your book and am eager to get a look.

I’m off to Nicaragua with Carlos Fuentes. If I don’t come back, remember that I loved America and the ideals for which she stands, also the United States Marine Corps, Duke University, and my dog Tashmoo, more than I could even express.

Your friend,

Stingo

T
O
P
HILIP
R
OTH

March 4, 1988 Roxbury, CT

Dear Philip: You have your dwarf, I have Jerry Marcus. His weekly letter is enclosed.

He has been writing me a letter like this, at least once a week, for nearly 10 years. I almost never read them and always throw them away, because they are such a mess. I am his intellectual garbage pail. He writes me about anything that comes to his mind, books, movies, random thoughts, anything. He is an orthodox Jew, and teacher (substitute high school) in
Long Island City. He is about 45, I think, and has terrible sex problems with his wife whom he hates. He is quite intelligent, really, but insane. He holds the N.Y. City Arm Wrestling championship. He has sent me his picture. He has the physique of a horse. I can’t get him off my back. He calls me on the phone a lot but I almost never let myself talk to him. He calls me Bill.