The Luck of Friendship

by James Laughlin

  The other play [Summer and Smoke], which I worked on all last summer, intended for Miss Cornell, was a disappointment and a pretty bad one. In fact, I was so depressed over it that I am surprised that I was able to go on working. Margo doesn’t feel that way about it and she is planning to try it out this summer in Dallas. Eventually something might work out of it. The basic conception was very pure and different from anything else I have tried. It was built around an argument over the existence of a “human soul” but that got pretty thoroughly lost in a narrative that somehow slipped to the level of magazine fiction. Or worse.

  Donnie [Windham] sent me a group of his short stories and I am happy to report that they are excellent, especially a long one called “The Starless Air” which I want you to read. I think it is the finest portrait I have seen of middle-class southern society. It makes KAP seem “cute.” I am to write a foreword before Donnie submits them to publishers. It is a difficult job as the qualities I like in the stories are so difficult to define. Except in such vague and cliche terms as “organic” “pure” “honest” Etc. But then I could never write criticism anyhow.

  I am becoming infected with your passion for Kafka, since reading “The Burrow.” It is so like our State Department, or any neurotic personality. Except that of course the little animal in the burrow devoured the “smaller fry” for much more sympathetic motives, and his apprehension was more sensible.

  [ . . . ]

  Ever,

  Tennessee

  « • »

  Irene Selznick: Irene Mayer Selznick (1907–1990) was the Broadway producer who optioned A Streetcar Named Desire. The daughter of MGM mogul Louis B. Mayer and the wife of film director David O. Selznick, she was considered a tyro when it came to the theater.

  49. TL—2

  April 23rd ’47 [San Francisco, California]

  DEAR TENNESSEE—

  It was swell to get your long letter and learn that your writing was moving along well. I wish I could say the same. Several months devoted almost entirely to putting on ski races for handsome but dumb young men, followed by intensive weeks in seclusion down here catching up on correspondence has not done much to get me in the way of composing. Have had to abandon the idea of having a preface in Spearhead because it all sounds like a pedantic joke.

  But there is a sort of satisfaction, of a kind that is much less perilous than “risking” a story, in sitting here in this pleasant city, with a fine view out over the slums and shipyards, not to mention the bridge, from which a veteran just leaped and survived, not to mention the man in the gas chamber who wishes to contribute his body to science for the revivification experiments . . . well I was saying: to turn out a lot of letters to a lot of people at least keeps you pleasantly stultified. This is still a good city. Hills are a fine thing—look at Rome—and it gets even better when to these you can add water and fogs. Also Chinese food. And Rexroth, one of the unique minds alive today, a constant reservoir of information on every subject, and very funny stories, which grow with the years, and each year you hear it more has been added till it takes on the quality of myth.

  I enclose a copy of my letters to Audrey about the stories. I want to get started on them soon. We still lack scripts of a couple of them that you list in your list, and I hope she can find these. Of the bunch that she sent me that you didn’t list I find that I like one called “Sand”—about an old couple—and one called “The Vine”—about an ageing actor out of work—rather better than I like “Silently, Invisibly”—about the wife, pregnant, whose actor husband is leaving her. What do you think? Let me know.

  Yes, I agree with you that the world is going to hell in a hack, but fast, and we’ll probably be at the Russians’ throats any day now, or at least protecting Iguanas from the Red Menace. I have gotten to the point of not thinking about it, because what can you do about it? Ten years ago I used to believe Social Credit would save the situation, and I still think it would help a lot, but I never was able to convert anyone then, and they’re more skeptical now, so . . . let’s go to Tibet!

  I’m very anxious to see your new play—Streetcar. Can you loan me a copy of the script? I’ll get it right back. I’d also like to see Donnie’s stories. I’ll send him a card to that effect, but I’m vague about his address, unless Lincoln will forward to him, so maybe you might mention it if you write him.

  I haven’t turned up anything new that seems much good. I guess most all of the young writers are just hell bent for success, copying books that have “succeeded” rather than trying to get down what their souls whisper to them in the black of their despair. Mostly I’ve been re-reading old books that we are reprinting—Celine, who is better than Miller, and Faulkner’s Light in August, which moved me very much in spite of one or two little patches that are rather pompous in their attempt to be “poetic” or “meaningful”—still and all he can write, and he makes you believe that what he tells is so. I liked Paul Bowles’s stories that were published in magazines this winter, and I like J. F. Powers’ stories.

  I’ll probably be here in San Francisco for several more weeks. It’s a good atmosphere for me, perhaps as New Orleans is for you. I get away from interference here, and from that hypocritical home atmosphere which pretends to respect my ND work but actually hates it and is always trying to undermine it and get my attention to other things.

  In October I’m moving back to Europe for a good long time. It becomes essential—because of the fantastic inflation of printing costs here—to do two things: find sources of cheap printing in Italy, and build up English and continental sales. I’ll keep on the main sales office in New York—and they are running pretty efficiently now—but try to print over there, shipping the books here and to England and Paris for sale. A complicated maneuver, but it will be nice, as you say, to be away from this country during its period of moral goiter.

  You better come over sometime. I think you would like Rapallo a great deal. Dylan Thomas is there now, no doubt a waterfront character all right. But Pound got the inhabitants used to poets and they probably won’t toss him in the buggyhouse, but just leave him lay in the street for the sun to waken.

  Best wishes,

  [James Laughlin]

  « • »

  Rexroth: Kenneth Rexroth (1905–1982), American poet and translator. ND first published Rexroth’s poems in 1940 and continues to publish his works.

  Social Credit: A philosophy of economic distribution developed by British engineer C. H. Douglas (1879–1952) and championed by Ezra Pound.

  Celine: Louis Ferdinand Céline (1894–1961), French novelist and physician. Céline’s novel Journey to the End of Night has been published by ND since 1949.

  Paul Bowles: (1910–1999), American novelist, husband of American novelist Jane Bowles (1917–1973). Bowles’s first novel, The Sheltering Sky, was published by ND in 1949. The Bowleses became expatriates, settling in Morocco and Tangier where they regularly hosted American writers.

  J. F. Powers: (1917–1999), American novelist.

  complicated maneuver: With the exception of several limited editions published in Italy, JL’s scheme was never realized.

  50. TLS—1

  [late May 1947] [New York]

  DEAR JAY:

  I’m writing half a dozen letters this evening so I got to be brief. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning for Provincetown where I hope I can spend a relatively peaceful summer. I shall have to go to Dallas in July to see Margo’s production of Summer and Smoke and there will be excursions in and out of New York and possibly even to California in reference to casting the other long play. It’s almost more trouble than it’s worth, having a show put on. I hope after this one I can retire from the whole bloody business, buy a hacienda in Cuba or Mexico and let the “inner man” rule the roost for the remainder of my time on earth.

  I am hoping that I can give a good deal of time to short prose writing this summer, so wouldn’t it be a good idea to hold off the volume until early Fall, so that it can include
whatever I may turn out that is good this summer? There are only two or three in the present bunch that have much distinction, I am afraid. Maybe none. I have had so little time for the stories.

 

  —Tenn.

  « • »

  Margo’s production of Summer and Smoke: Margo Jones directed the premiere of Summer and Smoke with Theatre ’47 at the Gulf Oil Playhouse, Dallas, Texas, on July 8, 1947.

  51. TPS—1

  [Postmarked July 3, 1947] [Albuquerque, New Mexico]

 

  Westward bound for casting! Very anxious to have “Desire and the Black Masseur” in annual but Audrey claims she has no copy of it. Creekmore had it typed for me. Didn’t he keep a copy? Mine is in New Orleans. In trunk in store-room. See if you can’t dig up copy at N.D. Let me know. What other stories are missing? Streetcar is a big gamble: needs brilliant actress. Ou est Laurette d’antan!

  Love—10

  « • »

  Westward bound for casting!: Director Elia Kazan, producer Irene Mayer Selznick, and TW went to Los Angeles to see an actress for the role of Blanche. Actor Hume Cronyn had produced TW’s one-act Portrait of a Madonna, with his wife, Jessica Tandy, in the leading role for their consideration.

  52. TLS—1

  August 10th [1947] [Norfolk]

  DEAR TENN—

  The reports that have been coming up from Dallas have been extremely encouraging. I am terribly glad for Margo’s sake that she got off to a good start, and very happy for yours too that Summer and Smoke seems to be both a good play and appreciated. I still haven’t seen a copy but it sounds to be in your best vein and to be very touching and moving. I hope I can see it soon.

  Probably you got my letter in which I told you that I was very anxious to do the book of the play. I hope this can be worked out and that we can start on it soon. When will you have a definitive text?

  I really feel the need of a lift like that. Look at the new list (enclosed) it is much too European and reprint. But I just haven’t found young US writers that I thought were good enough. So I do terribly much want to do this new play of yours, for this, as well as for many other reasons.

  Do try hard to swing it for me with Audrey. She sounded pretty favorable in her last letter to me.

  It still takes time to get a book out so I’d like to start soon, to have the books ready when the play opens in NYC.

  Margaret and I are just off for a week in Nantucket. We will be at Charles & Henry Boathouse on Old North Wharf and hope to get to all the different beaches and get really soaked in the ocean.

  Best wishes,

  J

  « • »

  Dear Tenn: TW sent his copy of JL’s letter to Audrey Wood with this handwritten note:

  53. ALS—2

  [November 1947] [New Haven, Connecticut]

  DEAR JAY—

  There have been some important changes in the play [A Streetcar Named Desire] which I think you would probably want to put in the book. If you will contact Joanna Albus (who holds the book) she will bring you up to date. I have the proofs and will go over them at earliest chance. The heroine’s last name has been changed from “Boisseau” to “DuBois.” That may not require change in book. I will also tell Joanna to contact you and maintain communications while we are on the road. The show looks good.

  Love,

  Tennessee

  Why don’t you come to New Haven? Opens Thursday.

  54. TN—1

  December 4, 1947 [New York]

  [TO JL:]

  Streetcar opened last night to tumultuous approval. Never witnessed such an exciting evening. So much better than New Haven you wdn’t believe it; N.H. was just a reading of the play. Much more warmth, range, intelligence, interpretation, etc.—a lot of it because of better details in direction, timing. Packed house, of the usual first-night decorations,—Cecil B’ton, Valentina, D. Parker, the Selznicks, the others and so on,—and with a slow warm-up for first act, and comments like “Well, of course, it isn’t a play,” the second act (it’s in 3 now) sent the audience zowing to mad heights, and the final one left them—and me—wilted, gasping, weak, befoozled, drained (see reviews for more words) and then an uproar of applause which went on and on. Almost no one rose from a seat till many curtains went up on whole cast, the 4 principals, then Tandy, who was greeted by a great howl of “Bravo!” from truly all over the house. Then repeat of the whole curtain schedule to Tandy again and finally. . . . . . . . . . 10 Wms crept on stage, after calls of Author! and took bows with Tandy. All was great, great, GREAT! As you can see by the reviews enclosed. Will send from evening papers tomorrow. 20th-Century Fox has already called for a copy. I want to go to [the] play again! Beilenson is printing it this minute and shd be bound and ready next week. E says that [there] are many many orders already, and with the success, we think we shd bind all 5000. What do you think? Pauper will hold type for re-print if necessary, but cdn’t possibly know now. [ . . . ]

  « • »

  This memo was written to James Laughlin, who was away in Europe at the time, about the opening night of Streetcar on Broadway, December 3, 1947, by someone who worked in the New Directions office, most likely Hubert Creekmore. It has often been misattributed to Tennessee Williams, who would not have known of the details about orders, printing, and binding, etc. in the letter, and who rarely referred to himself in the third person, outside of his journals.

  55. TLS—1

  December 29, 1947 [New York]

  DEAR JAY:

  I sail tomorrow afternoon on the America, and I will go directly to Paris where I am stopping at the hotel GEORGE V. I don’t know anybody there, I just have a bunch of letters to people, so I do hope you will [be] in Paris now and then. I will probably travel around a bit, to Italy wherever it is warm and there is some swimming.

  My first reaction to the book cover was adverse. I think it was the color more than the design. It’s a sort of shocking pink which reminds me of a violet scented lozenge. However, everything else about the book is very fine and I have only myself to blame for not paying more attention when it was being planned. I don’t need to tell you what a deep satisfaction it is to have you bring it out, so forget about the cover. The design was original and striking. I hope you will like Summer and Smoke, when it is ready to be seen well enough to bring it out too.

  I’m glad you liked the article. You bet I meant every word of it, and you of all people should know that. Get in touch with me when I arrive. I will be lonesome as hell I expect. Poor Carson McCullers is over here half paralyzed due to nervous shock over a lousy dramatization of her book, but she is slowly recovering. I will arrive about January 7th. Warmest regards.

  As ever,

  Ten

  P.S. I am nervous over the advertising on One Arm. I don’t think the book should be publicized and sold through the usual channels. We agreed to have it sold on a subscription basis. This is mostly because of consideration for my family, and because only a few of us will understand and like it, and it is bound to be violently attacked by the rest.

  « • »

  the book cover: The color of the dust jacket for the first printing of A Streetcar Named Desire was a dusty lavender with a matte finish. JL was not only inclined to work with an author and a designer to come to an amicable solution under such circumstances, but he was colorblind as well and relied on his designers for precise color identification.

  the article: “The Catastrophe of Success,” published in the New York Times, November 30, 1947.

  dramatization of her book: Possibly The Member of the Wedding.

  SECTION VI

  PF: I think it was 1948 that the volume of stories One Arm came out. What kind of critical reaction did they have?
I can check this, of course, but “One Arm” is a very strong, hard-hitting story, very graphic about . . .

  JL: About the prisoner.

  PF: About the prisoner and about the fact that he was forced by his injury into male prostitution, and I would think that in the late forties this would have been rather shocking.

  JL: Well, you see the problem was, you may run across this in these letters, Tennessee was afraid of his mother, and he didn’t want those books—he wanted them done in expensive limited editions and not many review copies sent out.

  « • »

  volume of stories One Arm: The volume One Arm and Other Stories, published by ND in 1948, included “Desire and the Black Masseur,” “One Arm,” and “The Angel in the Alcove,” among other stories that were sexually graphic to such an extent that TW did not want his family to see them.

  56. TLS—3

  January 7, 1948 [Paris]

  DEAR JAY:

  Your letter came up with my breakfast and was distinctly the better of the two items. No, this hotel is not for me and I am wondering if Paris will suit me either. It has changed terribly since I was here at sixteen. Of course everything has changed since then, remarkably. The lights are so dim and murky at night. I remember the streets as having a marvelous galactic whiteness but that is all gone, and it rains, rains continually. I am not satisfied with the French producer or Agent who met me here. He claims that I only have about eighty thousand francs from the Menagerie which ran here for a pretty long time. He is Adolf Rothschild. Have you ever heard of him? I want to make other arrangements for Streetcar, with the best producer around and perhaps you can advise me. Last night, my first night here, I explored the town by myself and was nearly murdered, not by Frenchmen but by a bunch of drunken GI’s who “did not like my looks.” I got in the wrong place, apparently, and there was some real excitement, but I escaped unscathed, although it did little to make me feel at home here.