Steinbeck (98 page)

Dear Jack:

It must have been rather nice for you to be without me helping. As someone said of Tallulah Bankhead—“An hour away from her is like a month in the country.”

I don't know how you get it over, but the Boss confuses the words ingenuous and ingenious, and has a number of times in speeches. Ingenuous means open and straightforward, with a connotation of almost child-like sincerity while ingenious means clever, talented, but has the connotation of wiliness, and round-aboutness. You see they are almost opposites. If it will help any—Shakespeare made the same error.

The Vietnam war is troublesome. Groups have been after me to denounce the bombing but I don't sign anything I don't write. I wish the bombing weren't necessary, but I suspect that our people on the ground know more about that than I do. I certainly hope so.

But I do have a couple of ideas. People can get used to anything if it is regular. Change of pace throws them.

But there is another thing I miss in this war. And that is North Vietnam dissent. The papers say there have been desertions from the Viet Cong. But apparently the rule is powerful and unrelenting in the north. There should be a government or junta of North Vietnamese in South Vietnam. This should be set up even if we have to invent it. Its point of dissatisfaction should be fear of the Chinese. We are not making the thousand years of China phobia pay off. It must be there. If such a group of respected men from the North could be set up in Saigon, they might draw intelligence we do not have and it might do something to overturn the idea that the north is without division of opinion. Also, if there should be dissensions there would be some honorable place to desert to.

Everyone wants to make his small contribution and that must be very hard on the Boss. It was nice to be invited to the White House. If in some improbable future there should be a quiet time for contemplation at the ranch we should love that. It would be good to see this man against live oaks and Herefords and ground squirrels with maybe the quail calling in the evening.

The best to you.

Yours,
John

New York
April 26, 1965

Dear Dook:

You can see what a rogue and peasant slave am I. We went to Sag Harbor for a while and I finished the first draft of my book. I hope to get the thing off by June I, and then—

Well finally I am ready for the Arthur. It was to have been Sir Mary's book and she had to die to get me to start it. I have to before she fades. And by that I mean before I fade. Sir Mary is permanent now. But I'm not, and so I must get it to her.

I hope that doesn't sound mystical because I don't mean it that way. But, do you know, I couldn't find an approach to get into it until she died. And it's so very simple. I wonder why it escaped me for so long. It's almost childishly simple. And now I'm aching to get to it.

 

I'm itching to get out again. Gardens to start and fishing. Last time I painted my boat's bottom but haven't put it in the water yet. It's silly for me to be staying in town. I can't work as well in town as in the country.

You've got to admit that I don't talk about anyone but myself.

Tonight Terrence McNally, the boy who tutored my boys, is opening his first play
[Things That Go Bump in the Night].
I'm going and I hate to. It makes me too nervous. It's a dreadful play—not in the writing but in what it says. And I am afraid it is going to get clobbered by the critics. I hope not because it is much too good for that.

So long for now.

Love
John

Sag Harbor
June 20, 1965

Dear Doug:

I propose to make a request of you which I hope you can find it in your heart to grant.

Perhaps you will remember that for at least thirty-five years and maybe longer, I have been submerged in research for a shot at the timeless Morte d'Arthur. Now Intimations of Mortality warn me that if I am ever going to do it, I had better start right away, like next week.

In my research I have been sponsored by the greatest living scholar in the field, Professor Eugène Vinaver, Sorbonne, Vienna, Heidelberg, Cambridge.

Please to remember that not too long ago at your house, I had as dinner partner the Duchess of Buccleuch, and the following passage occurred as nearly as I can remember.

Me: Madame, there must be a number of fascinating libraries hidden away in your various holdings.

She: Yes, I suppose there are.

Me: How many libraries would you say you have?

She: Oh, I don't know. No one in our family has read anything for several hundred years.

Me: Is permission ever given to inspect these libraries?

She: I don't know. What is your interest in the matter?

Me: It is partially selfish, ma‘am. I know something about how such libraries came into being. In the fifteenth century, it became fashionable for eminent families to accumulate books and manuscripts. In 1944 at Winchester College, for example, the only known ms. of the Morte d'Arthur was discovered. It had been there for a long time but because its title was Prince Arthur, no one had ever inspected it. I should love to look through the collections of your family to see whether any other manuscripts on these subjects may not be hiding there.

She (with intense boredom): Yes, yes, quite.

At that moment, if you will remember, one of your footmen spilled a tureen of hot soup over Elaine which naturally changed the conversation and we never got back to it.

At a later date I spoke to Professor Vinaver about this exchange. He agreed that there might well be treasures in our field of research to be found in just such places. There are not many families still existing from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, but certainly Buccleuch is one of them.

Now finally I am ready to get to my request. Do you feel it is possible to represent to the Duchess that my interest was far from fleeting? Might I ask the privilege of inspecting some of these libraries by Professor Vinaver? If he did come on anything I would instantly fly over to join him.

Will you let me know what you think of this at your earliest? I shall be at the above address all summer. Christmas we go to Galway to be with J. Huston for the holidays. Of course, being so close, we always will go to London.

I hope this finds you prospering.

That's all for right now. I look forward to your reaction.

yours
John

Sag Harbor
July 14, 1965
Bastille Day

Dear Elizabeth:

It is so beautiful a season. Elaine's flowers are beautiful. And I can't find the time to do everything I want to do in the garden. I am protecting and encouraging the grapes you love and there is a sizable crop of them. And by removing some of the shading leaves and bringing the bunches into the open, I think I will be able to make them mature earlier than is usual. Also I am planting a goodly bed of horseradish.

Now, I have something I want to discuss with you.

When I was writing East of Eden, before each day's work as a kind of warm-up I kept a work diary but addressed to Pat. It is perhaps as complete a record of a book as has ever been done. But I had never seen it since I sent it off in handwriting. Pat and I often discussed publishing it either in conjunction with a complete and uncut E. of E. or by itself. Then Pat died and I wondered what would happen to it. Recently I wrote to Pascal Jr. and told him I would like to see it. He sent me a copy and I have just been reading it. And it is much better than I remembered, a little repetitious and perhaps in some places too personal, but I think very interesting
and
book length.

Now it occurs to me that someone is going to publish it some time. It is one hell of a lot better than Henry Miller's letters. I wonder if we should not think of doing it now so that we could take advantage of it if there is any and I do think it would have some currency. Elaine has read it and she agrees. It is a fascinating account of the making of a book. So I am going to give it to Shirley this weekend both to read herself and to take to you to read. And I think it only right that Pascal should edit it. He would do a good and a loving job. Maybe some of the personal things should come out and maybe not. They do give it a bite. [This work-diary was published after Steinbeck's death as
Journal of a Novel.
]

The Matter of Arthur moves along slowly as I want it to. I still don't know that I am on the right track. But increasingly I believe that the Matter of Arthur is a personal matter and that its appeal is just that.

I haven't been fishing but when I do get to it I will make you some Pâté Souffleur that you used to like and I can promise you some lovely grapes when they ripen.

I feel fine and part of that I attribute to the fact that you feel good. It comes through in your voice over the telephone.

Love,
John

Sag Harbor
July 16, 1965

Dear Jack and Mary Margaret:

These are sad days. Adlai Stevenson was a great man and he was my friend. My first reaction to his death was one of rage that Americans had been too stupid to avail themselves of his complete ability. Strange how one thinks of such things.

Adlai always said he needed a gadfly. It is quite different with the President. In one way he has been very unfortunate in that he came in high. Those people who sang so tenderly over his successes, will be the first to get out their stingers at the first hint of a failure. He did not need me during the election although he was kind enough to suggest that I had contributed something. But no man can go through this office without setbacks and the smallest setbacks will draw fire. Also, the ambitious who hoped they could use him for their own purposes, when they find they cannot will poison the air with their rage. It would be perhaps well to say now what is true. Elaine and I do not give our allegiance readily, but once given, we do not withdraw it. I think he should know this. He should also know the power a writer has if he has not over-used or mis-used it.

I hope you do not find me egotistic in giving unsolicited advice. But I do share the worry which must be a matter of terror to any head of state. He must have information, and he must often wonder how accurate the information he gets is. It does seem to me that the weakness of our fact-gathering services does not lie in the gatherings but in their evaluation. Every man is bound to temper his facts to his unchanging personality, background, prejudices and desires. And it is up to a president to evaluate both the man and the facts. It must be almost a matter of nightmare.

Why am I talking at this length, Jack? Well, I'm afraid bad days are coming. There is no way to make the Vietnamese war decent. There is no way of justifying sending troops to another man's country. And there is no way to do anything but praise the man who defends his own land. The real reasons for the war will never come to the surface and if they did most people would not see them. This is primarily a power struggle. The ideal solution for us would be so to shift the war that the Soviet Union would be forced to take a position against China whether openly or secretly and this they would have to do, because I can tell you of my own knowledge that Russia is far more afraid of China than she is of us. Unless the President makes some overt move toward peace, more and more Americans as well as Europeans are going to blame him for the mess, particularly since the government we are supporting with our men and treasure is about as smelly as you can get.

I have a thousand things I would like to talk to you about but if you want me to stop being a gadfly, just let me know and I will stop. We do think kindly on you and Mary Margaret very often. And now I will stop boring the hell out of you and get back to my own work which if successful will succeed in boring people yet unborn or unbored.

Elaine sends love

yours
John

Sag Harbor
August 5, 1965

Dear Dook:

I can't tell you how good it is to have you back to talk to. Of late years I have had little impulse to explain things to anyone.

First, I think you know that during the two runs for the Presidency of Governor Stevenson, he became my close and valued friend. He was a lovely man. You would have liked him. The fine sharp informed and humorous quality of his mind was unique in public men whom I have met. He was just the kind of man who could sit in the gutter with a glass of wine and discuss things and he often did. During the campaigns he used to say that I was in charge of keeping him off balance, and he insisted that all public servants should be kept off balance all the time. Over the years, he used to drop in at odd times, wherever we might be living. As ambassador to the UN he used to invite us to dinner at the embassy which was a great suite in the Waldorf Towers but on Thursday night. That was servants' night out. Then Elaine and Marietta Tree would cook dinner and there was nobody to overhear. He was a very great man but he was also our friend.

And then suddenly he was dead, and we had that sort of hollow grey feeling in the pit of the stomach. I knew very well that the people who treated him the worst would climb on the bandwagon of mourners. And besides, you may remember that when I am hurt, I do not want to foregather. I want to be alone to lick the wounds. So I was not going to attend any of the baked meats affairs. And then a curious thought came to me. If the thing were reversed, if it had been I for whom the memorial were being held, Guv would be there no matter what trouble or inconvenience it might have been. He would have done me that honor. And so I thought I had to go to the UN memorial service.