The Luck of Friendship

by James Laughlin

  DEAR TENN,

  Thanks ever so much for sending along the poems. My favorite is the “Old Men With Sticks” and I believe that is the right one to send first to Partisan Review. I shall pass these on to Audrey with the request that she make copies of them, in case you didn’t keep copies, and then put them out to the magazines. She has tactfully hinted in the past that it confuses her records if I send things out independently from this office. But I will advise her as to where to send the things, as I don’t think she knows too much about poetry channels.

  Mulling over these poems, it occurs to me that you are achieving a consistent vein, which might well be labeled a sort of “new romanticism.” Possibly if I ever get ambitious to be a critic again I’ll write an essay about you under that title. To my way of thinking it is a very good force to have around. The academic poets of the neo-metaphysical school have gotten far too dry. They are afraid to let their gussets out, as it were. I hope you will keep on with your poetry because I really think you can accomplish a lot with it. Your approach to any given subject is so different from the average that there is never any danger of your falling into the commonplace, no matter how far you let yourself go with explicit feeling. And don’t forget that I would like to get out a little book of your poems when you think you have enough gathered together that you like.

  The big news up here these days is that we are having a bit of luck again after a rather dry late summer and fall. The Bowles [The Sheltering Sky] is going along great guns. It has had the most flamboyant kind of reviews in all the provincial papers, as well as good ones here in New York, except for rather contrary ones in The New Yorker and The Saturday Review. We have gotten what I call a “green light” on it in the way of large orders from the jobbers which supply little neighborhood shops in the suburbs and lending library chains, and so I am throwing a lot of money into advertising to try to make a big thing out of it.

  The Firbank [Five Novels] and the Vittorini [In Sicily, introduction by Ernest Hemingway] are also doing well, and the latter has been taken by the Book Find Club for March.

  Carson has invited me to the opening of her play [The Member of the Wedding] and I am looking forward to that very much. Reflections in a Golden Eye has been printed and ought to get through the bindery next month. I’ll send you down some copies for you to give around to friends.

  Well, I guess that’s all for the moment, so will close with a Merry Christmas and all that.

  As ever,

  James Laughlin

  [ . . . ]

  « • »

  Firbank: Ronald Firbank (1886–1926), English novelist. ND published six titles by Firbank.

  SECTION IX

  PF: In 1950 Tennessee was writing to you about completing The Rose Tattoo, and you wrote him a long letter about Serafina, her character and how vibrant she was and it just seems to me that you were, in a way, much more important to him than you probably realized because he needed this kind of validation coming from “above.”

  JL: Yes, I was a sounding board for him. That was the Anna Magnani play.

  PF: Right.

  JL: He wanted to talk to somebody. I think he knew he couldn’t trust those sycophants who were around him and didn’t know anything about anything, just vagabonds. He needed somebody to talk to and in the early days he talked to, what’s the agent’s name?

  PF: Audrey Wood.

  JL: Audrey Wood. And then they began to tense up and work themselves into quarrels for some reason, I never knew why. I never understood why because she certainly devoted herself to pushing Tennessee’s plays, pushing them around, but some—I wish I could remember things better—he got some grudge against her.

  PF: This is one reason I said maybe it was good that you had professional distance from him, because over time he got very paranoid about the people he was with constantly and saw on a daily basis. He got paranoid about Audrey and thought she was trying to do him in.

  « • »

  77. TL—2

  January 26, 1950 [New York]

  DEAR TENNESSEE:

  Last night I went to see the opening of the T. S. Eliot play, The Cocktail Party, and found it absolutely delicious. In parts the dialogue seemed to me almost as good as Oscar Wilde. Of course, the religious message is a bit murky, but Eliot has pulled himself together and attained a degree of professional showmanship which I had never thought him capable of. There are all kinds of very clever stage tricks which build up suspense and create animation in the acting. I daresay the critics will all hop on the play for being long winded and too wordy, but I certainly enjoyed it very much, and I hope you will get a chance to see it before it closes, which probably won’t be very long. Obviously, Eliot isn’t any more of a dramatist really than Carson is, though they are quite different, but it certainly is a fine evening.

  Audrey kindly sent the revised version of the novella [Roman Spring] and I wanted you to know right away how pleased I was with the changes you have made. I think it is enormously improved. Adding that additional bit of background makes all the difference in giving the main character the necessary three-dimensionalism. I don’t believe that you need to have any further hesitations about publishing it now. It is integrated, creates a successful atmosphere, and has a lot of impact.

  So I have told Audrey that we would like very much to go ahead and publish if that suits your plans. Paul Bigelow, with whom I talked at length about the script, feels that it would be a mistake to add another novella or additional stories to it. He would prefer to see it printed in such a way that it would make a little book by itself. This is entirely possible from the technical point of view. After all, this is just as long as Reflections in a Golden Eye. So think about this a little, and let me know what you’d like to do. If you want to put it in one of the magazines first, that would be quite all right with me. It would be nice if we could publish the book next fall, as naturally it would be a strong addition to our list and give us something to base on.

  Frieda Lawrence sent in her preface for the little play [I Rise in Flame, Cried the Phoenix], and if it is typed out by the time I sign this letter, I’ll enclose a copy for you. Her preface doesn’t seem to me quite as strong as what she put in her first letter, but it serves the purpose, and I’m sure you will agree that it helps to have it in the book. Mr. Colton has volunteered to draw up releases for Frieda and Brett to sign. That is just a routine precaution. Then we will be able to swing into action and probably the boys will be able to get it printed in their beautiful way in the next year.

  Paul’s book [The Sheltering Sky] continues to do very well. It is hovering around 10th place on the Times Bestseller List. We are keeping up the advertising on it, and hope to keep it at that level, or drive it a little bit higher.

  He has now arrived in Ceylon and seems to like it very much. The accounts in his letters are fascinating. If you want to write to him over there, his address is care of The Chartered Bank of India in Colombo, Ceylon. He says he has started thinking about a new novel, and that is encouraging. Of course, we will do his short stories next fall.

  With best wishes,

  James Laughlin

  P.S. Your brother came in the other day and we had a nice talk. He wanted some advice about the manuscript which he has written on his war experiences and his Catholicism. I tried to help him on it, but I don’t know whether I succeeded too well. It isn’t exactly my dish, if you know what I mean. I suggested to him that he try to get Audrey to [do] some work on it.

  « • »

  the little play: ND published TW’s play, I Rise in Flame, Cried the Phoenix, hand-printed at the Cummington Press, in 1951.

  Mr. Colton: ND lawyer at the time.

  78. TLS—1

  1/30/50 [Key West]

  DEAR JAY:

  I am delighted that you want to publish the novella separately in the fall and that you think I’ve improved it. I am still making little revisions, from time to time; it might be helpful if you would go through it, sometime, very c
arefully and make a note of all those points at which the writing falls down. I may be doing this myself but of course I can’t altogether rely on my own perception. Since it is such a short thing it should be possible to get it completely polished. Audrey and Bigelow were displeased with my original title, Moon of Pause, but I like it much better than the one they prefer, The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone, which I think is comparatively banal and much less pertinent but I have thought of another, Debris of Giant Palms, which derives from a passage of Perse’s “Anabasis.” I think I would prefer either that or the one I had first. Which do you like?

  I have completed the long play The Rose Tattoo and had it typed up by Audrey. She has been rather cagey about it and my own feelings about it are tentative and mixed, I am afraid to read it over. Yesterday I wired her that I must have some comment, however brief and devastating that might be, and she wired back that [she] was “very optimistic and thought it had the making of a great commercial vehicle.” I am not sure that I feel very pleased about this reaction. So far I have never aimed at a commercial vehicle and I hope that I will never be willing to settle for that. I now have $113,000 in govt. bonds which is enough to live on in Sicily or Africa for the rest of my life without bothering about making money in the theatre. What I want, of course, is to continue to write honest works with poetic feeling but am haunted by the fear that I am repeating myself, now, have totally exploited my area of sensibility and ought to retire, at least publicly, from the field. The work on this play, begun last January in Rome, has exhausted me physically and nervously. I have suffocating spells in my sleep. Sometimes they wake me up but sometimes they are woven into my dreams, such as last night when I dreamed that I was trying desperately to crawl down a long corridor of a house in the vacuum of a tornado.

  Vidal arrived here about two weeks ago and since coming has written a really excellent short story, the best thing he has ever done in my opinion. I want you to see it, and so does he. Of course I also liked his story about “the street” (“Some Desperate Adventure”) which you didn’t care for. I thought it was not well written but that it was the most honest expression of Vidal that he has yet offered. I am encouraging him to do it as a play. It could be terrifying as a study of the modern jungle. Vidal is not likable, at least not in any familiar way, but he and Bowles are the two most honest savages I have met. Of course Bowles is still the superior artist, but I wonder if any other living writer is going to keep at it as ferociously, unremittingly as Vidal! If only he will learn that people are not going to give a hoot for his manufactured pieces like Search for a King, Etc.! He has a mania for bringing out one book a year! They are now stacked up like planes over an airport, waiting for the runway.

  Audrey suggests that I come to New York but I am waiting for news that at least one swimming pool has reopened. Since coming here I took off fifteen pounds by diet and swimming and I don’t want to put it back on in one week of Manhattan high life.

  Ever—

  10.

  « • »

  79. TL—2

  February 7, 1950 [New York]

  DEAR TENNESSEE,

  Thanks a lot for your letter of the 30th, but I was very sorry to hear that you hadn’t been sleeping well down there. My opinion, of course, is worth absolutely nothing, but I would like to make the suggestion that there might be some simple physical cause for all this, and that it shouldn’t be attributed to your feelings about your work. Up until two years ago I used to have the most terrible nightmares myself. I also used to have about six colds every winter. Then all of a sudden I put on twenty pounds, and the nightmares and the colds almost disappeared. Something or other had happened to the metabolism, or whatever you want to call it, in my body, and with the change the nocturnal anxiety disappeared. I’m not suggesting that you should try to get fat, but maybe a change of diet or something of that kind would be helpful.

  I think that is a lot of bunk about your having exploited your area of sensibility. I think the new novella disproves that, and certainly the poems and stories do. I have heard people criticize the similarities in some of the plays, but they haven’t read the poems and the stories. Of course, everything that you write has something personal out of yourself in it. But there’s nothing wrong with that. Some writers externalize and others don’t. For me, the personal quality in your work is part of the poetic impulse. However, I didn’t start out to deliver a lecture on literature, but here’s a thought: don’t think of yourself as a literary figure, and try to see what others see in you. Just go on living your life by your own standards, which are the right ones for you, and write what comes.

  I’m glad that we can go ahead with the novella by itself for next fall. I talked to Audrey on the telephone and she says fine, and will send along the contracts. Do you want to see it again or can we go ahead and start composition next month? Whoever typed it up at Audrey’s the last time misspelled a lot of the Italian words, but I fixed those. I like the new title—Debris of Giant Palms—the best. Audrey still likes The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone best. Well, I guess we can fight that out with her.

  I am off for a bit of skiing in the West, so write to me at the Hotel Jerome in Aspen, Colorado, if you have the time. I’m eager to have a look at the new play. When will it be visible? I don’t like to nag Audrey to see it, but I’m very curious.

  As ever,

  James Laughlin

  « • »

  80. TL—3

  March 7, 1950 [New York]

  DEAR TENNESSEE,

  I was sorry to miss you when you were up in New York, but I was out in Colorado and Utah. The skiing was absolutely marvelous, and the weather was terrific. Lots of snow on the ground, but sun all day long and almost as warm as spring.

  I have been back in New York now for a few days, working madly, and tomorrow—Sunday—I take off for Switzerland. I hadn’t thought I would be able to get over there this year, but all of a sudden the Swiss government came through with a very nice invitation to make the trip, in return for a couple of ski articles, and so I am off. It will probably take me about three weeks to do the ski writing work, and then I hope to drop down to Rome and Sicily for a week each. But I’ll be back in New York on April 11th, and hope to see you again soon.

  I had a very pleasant session with Audrey today in her office, and we worked out details for the contract on the little novel [Roman Spring]. She suggested that we put in as part of the contract a provision about the amount of money to be spent on advertising, and that is quite acceptable to me. I think a lot can be done with the book, and am quite willing to give it the “big treatment.” I believe we can do even better with this than we did with Paul’s book [Sheltering Sky], which is now hovering around the 20,000 mark. We have spent about $7,000 advertising him so far.

  [ . . . ]

  I am sending my copy of the novel out to Lustig in California now, so that he can start working up a jacket, which will include, I am urging him, some good visual symbol which we can use in all the advertising to tie the promotion together.

  Will it be all right for us to start setting the book very soon? I mean, have you finished working on it? The sooner we can get it into print, the more we can do in the way of long range advance publicity. Audrey feels, and I think it is a good idea, that we ought to try to get the book out in the last part of September. Then it would avoid the big mad rush of all the big novels that are always brought out in the fall season. However, I am not much worried about the competition. I think this piece is strong enough to hold its own and make its way in the world.

  A new printing of Streetcar is now on press. For this, we are following the suggestions made by your friend [Paul Bigelow], in adopting the text to the actual playing script of the New York version. I trust that this meets with your approval. I think I asked you about it before, and you said to go ahead and do that.

  [ . . . ]

  Some time when you happen to feel like it would you jot down for me some phrases that I might use in the promotion for t
he little novel. I would rather gear my blurbs to your own idea about the book than risk getting off the bean on my own interpretation. By the way, Audrey now thinks that the best title would simply be Roman Spring. Is that all right with you? I like it myself. I think it is a good title from a sales point of view, and while it isn’t awfully poetic, it is apt and does the job smoothly.

  Well, I must sign off now if I am going to get some work done and get off.

  As ever,

  James Laughlin

  « • »

  A new printing of Streetcar: In 1950 TW pursued a suggestion made by his friend Paul Bigelow and asked JL to publish an updated and accurate text of Streetcar, primarily taking out characters, stage directions, stage business, and lines that were dropped or that TW cut from the initial Broadway run. That revised edition of the play, which TW chose to have published as his definitive version, came out in 1950 and continues to be in print with ND.

  81. TLS—1

  3/16/50 [Key West]

  DEAR JAY:

  I don’t suppose you’ll get this till you return from Zurich in April. I will be in New York about May 1st and until May 20th when Frank and I sail back to Europe on the Ile de France. By that time all my revisions on Mrs. Stone will be completed and I can leave you the final draft of it. I don’t like the title Roman Spring but would settle for The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone if that makes everyone happy. I think “spring” is too hackneyed a word to be redeemed even by “Roman.” Of the various titles I still prefer Moon of Pause but that seems to give really serious offense to Audrey and perhaps to other women it would have the same antipathy. I am now busy working on the last American version of The Rose Tattoo (my new play) and on the Streetcar film script which Kazan is going to shoot in July. I will give you a copy of the play before I sail. So far I have shown it only (prematurely) to Audrey and Kazan who seem interested but worried. I am less worried than I was, for my interest in it continues and I feel I will be able to work it out finally.