Letters

by Saul Bellow

  Good luck with the Army.

  Arno Karlen is the author of, among other works, Napoleon’s Glands (1984), Man and Microbes (1996) and Biography of a Germ (2000). Wagner College is in Staten Island, New York.

  To Ralph Ross

  August 20, 1961 Tivoli

  Dear Ralph—

  Congratulations to you both. I remember Groucho in some picture, astonished to learn from Margaret Dumont how many children they had, saying, “Let’s keep one of each kind and give the rest away.” You seem to have achieved the optimum instinctively, without wasted motion.

  End of joke. I’m really very happy for you and Alicia.

  All best wishes,

  To Harvey Swados

  September 28, 1961 Tivoli

  Dear Harvey:

  [ . . . ] You and I belong to a very tiny group from whom something may be expected. I know what you mean. Malamud’s book [A New Life] was dead. When he enlarges his scope, or tries to, he comes up with all the middle-class platitudes of love and liberalism. Then you see that the poor guy has been living on some dream of a beautiful and cultured life in Oregon—Lewisohn Stadium floating across the continent with the orchestra playing Tchaikowsky’s Romeo and Juliet. The thing was mean and humorless. I think you and I have something to be grateful for in the Marxism of our twenties. It made us cantankerous, certainly, but it injected a kind of hardness. I often feel it now as I write Herzog. I am no socialist at all, but I have a certain feeling for reality which probably owes a debt to radicalism. I hope Herzog will amount to something. As for the magazine, well, I had the fire going and it seemed a shame not to put in another iron. If it doesn’t turn out to be another sword we can beat it into a pancake turner.

  In January I have to go to Chicago for the winter quarter. I’ll be back again in April. Let me know what your plans are. I want to see you. It’s been years. We can meet in New York, or at Valley Cottage or at Tivoli, or even Yaddo. We’ve finally cornered Elizabeth [Ames] and there’ll be a swimming pool at Yaddo this coming year.

  All best,

  To Richard Stern

  [n.d.] [Tivoli]

  Cher compagnon:

  I take Herzog out of this machine in order to write legibly [ . . . ] I stayed away altogether from the Malamudfest. I liked his book so little I couldn’t face the music. So I ate pastrami alone, in grief, while they were drinking champagne cocktails at F[arrar] and S[traus]. Luckily I have been spared the agony of telling anyone so far what I found in the autopsy of that book.

  Comrade, on a separate page I am sending a short bibliography for that course. Could you ask the [English] Dept. to make it an afternoon seminar? Herzog needs me in the morning. I can argue, like Chaliapin: “Sing? I cannot even spit till lunchtime.” And I have no apt. And will Shils be there? The apt. is necessary because of Adam, whom I expect to have on weekends.

  Europe, I’m sorry about. It’s an amusing book, and that’s against it now. The mild comedy in these apocalyptic times is considered middle-class. Blutwurst und Senf [68] is what the book-cruds want. Iron punches to the heart and cathodes to make the genitals twitch. Look, it’s obvious. Henry Miller and Henry James can’t both be winning. Somebody’s lying. Henry James is in the frontroom by the lace curtains, but in the backrooms—ha! And [your] Europe is situated nearer to the old Henry. Well, you will triumph yet. You’re doing well against the smaller dragons. Soon you’ll be ready for the St. George model. I saw your review of Catch-22, and that was what I thought of it too. Candida [Donadio] sent it to me with a stirring cry.

  Soon I will be in Chicago, melancholy euphoria following paranoid hypochondria. Alert the clinicians and stand by.

  See you soon,

  Stayadinovitch

  Stern’s dissenting review of Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 had appeared in The New York Times Book Review.

  1962

  To Susan Glassman Bellow

  [Postmarked Chicago, 9 January 1962]

  Dolly:

  The rounds go on. I’m hardly ever alone, and in a way that rattles me, too. It’s too unlike my life. Sunday my sister and my brother M[aurice] and Adam—Adam is simply wonderful. He phoned me this morning and said he had to talk to me. Sondra got on the telephone and said he was afraid of my disappearing like Uncle Lester. It’s marvelous to be such a psychologist. Anyway, I’m taking Adam to Lesha’s little girl’s birthday party on Thursday. That made him happier. He sounded slightly tearful. Oy, we with our tears oiling the wheels of the universe. If we had no tears we wouldn’t be ourselves, but the mind still finds them an oddity. Anyway . . . M[aurice] gave me a handsome Irish tweed coat, the houndstooth check, which seems to fit. But apparently I insulted him bitterly when he said he couldn’t read any of my books, except a few chapters of Augie; the rest was nonsense to him and he failed to understand how they could be published profitably. I said after all he was not a trained reader, but devoted himself to business and love. He was offended and said I didn’t respect him, and that I was a terrible snob. I thought I was being angelically mild, and put my arms about him and said I was his loving brother, wasn’t that better than heaping up grievances? Finally I melted him from his touchiness. He freezes when he’s offended, and if you think I’m vulnerable, I recommend you study him. Shils gave me a long lecture on the touchiness of Jews.

  Well, there’s a little news. I’m working, I’m well, I’m paid up, I miss you—I miss you in the sack. I’m waiting for the 23rd, and I love you,

  Bellow and Susan Glassman had married in November.

  To Susan Glassman Bellow

  [Postmarked Chicago, 11 January 1962]

  Dolly—

  I think Herzog is about to enter the final stages—two last sections, neither too long, and we’re finished.

  Not much else gets done, between teaching and writing and check-signing. When you come, perhaps I can catch up on reading as well as fucking. I begin to have erotic dreams about you. And maybe my poor health is nothing but misapplied eroticism (according to St. Norman O. Brown and others of the Freudian church). Had dinner last night (Wed.) at The Coast with Morrie, my brother, and his lady friend and his neighbor Lionel the Knight of the Corridor (Karpel). And now I’m off to fetch Adam, take him to Lesha’s party, take him home, come south, lie down and wait for more dreams.

  Love,

  To Susan Glassman Bellow

  January 16, 1962 [Chicago]

  Dolly—

  Another blizzard, a mere eight inches this time. I was in a snowdrift—night, starless. And chainless. So I had to jack the car again and put on the chains. No fun this time. It was cold, and filthy, and in the dark it took an hour. All the buttons came off the coat my brother gave me, and it’s not fit to wear now. Also, I came home exhausted and took to bed (9 P.M.). So I’ve sworn to lose weight. I feel a million years old. But I got up this A.M. and wrote the nightclub thing in two hours and got it off (the chains were more troublesome). Next, I’m going to move up my Jewish introduction [for the anthology Great Jewish Short Stories]. Faute de mieux on couche avec les manuscrits [69]. Your letter delighted me this morning. I treated myself like a tired warrior: lunch at the club, a haircut, a slow walk. Now it’s about class time, I’m going below. Your ma has invited me to the Epicurean Restaurant Friday. Great relief after the Camelia Room. (The camelias were wax.)

  I so miss you, Dolly.

  Yours,

  To Susan Glassman Bellow

  January 17, 1962 [Chicago]

  Dolly—

  Towers of snow, and we peek out like prairie dogs at Grand Canyon. The air is stale in here, but the windows are stuck with frost. I keep driving (I’ve lost one chain) in and somehow out of snowdrifts. Could use a little Tivoli, and you on the sofa in my arms breathing peace and love into my arms.

  The bureaucratic machine begins to tie me up—official occasions next Mon. and Tues. You’re lucky not to be here.

  But Herzog meanwhile is thriving (p. 194 of the final version).

  Shils leaves tomorrow morning.
I’m taking him to a Chinese dinner tonight, in my opulence. Astonishingly, I wrote that Show Biz piece in two hours and earned two hundred fifty bucks.

  There is something that grows for you here under this blue electric blanket.

  Kisses and love,

  To Susan Glassman Bellow

  January 19, 1962 [Chicago]

  O Susabella! What a rapid rat-race. These predators of Chicago (U) will leave me no shreds of flesh on my poor bones. I suppose there’s a quick way to handle it all: Yoga, or something. Money takes time. I must abandon The Noble Savage. Can’t handle the mail. And I must ever console Keith and assure him (more superfluous letter writing) that he’s a good little Botsford.

  I miss you, meantime, Susabella. Thank heavens we can observe next Erev Shabbos together.

  The heavens are like a flour-sifter. Six inches more of snow today. Great statuary on campus. Streets impassable. [ . . . ]

  Love from yr. mate,

  Herzog has rosy cheeks.

  To Susan Glassman Bellow

  January 23, 1962 [Chicago]

  Dearest Susabreza,

  O.K. You’re right—I’m wrong. I suppose it’s one of my unadmirable spiels, and you catch me up very responsibly, and like a good wife.

  I’ve made no dates for the weekend. Maybe I’ll pick up Adam on Sunday, but the rest is bed, blanket and you.

  A little discouraging last night. Dave Peltz and I took Trilling out slumming. A cold coming we had of it.

  Anyway, we’ll rub the whole thing off with erasers of love.

  To Anne Sexton

  [n.d.] [Minneapolis]

  Dear Anne Sexton,

  [ . . . ]

  I have both your letters now, the good one, and the contrite one next day. One’s best things are always followed by an apologetic seizure. “Monster of Despair” could be Henderson’s subtitle. I think you coined this expression. I don’t remember it. At this particular point we seem to have entered into each other’s minds. A marriage of true minds, or meeting arranged by Agapé. (Where has Eros gotten me?) [ . . . ]

  Your poem [“Old Dwarf Heart”] is genuinely Hendersonian—“breathing in loops like a green hen” is absolutely IT!

  Yours in true-minded friendship,

  To Susan Glassman Bellow

  February 26, 1962 [Chicago]

  Dearest Susabousa:

  I am seated in my office growling at Life the Tiger. Winter has now turned into a cold fluid—gray. All the old ice looks like Death’s protégé. Even the sparrows are sick of this. And the elms. Phooey! [ . . . ]

  And I miss you. Your loving Husband.

  To John Berryman

  April 2, 1962 Tivoli

  Dear John—

  Chicago was colder than the Gold Rush, cliffs of snow and people like Alaskan sourdoughs. I was tempted to fly up to Mpls. but it was even colder there, so I stayed put. [ . . . ] I am writing on a piece of board over my knees. I await spring. You can hear the bushes marking time.

  As ever,

  To William Phillips

  April 5, 1962 Tivoli

  Dear William,

  It’s true I’ve written something pretty funny and I see no reason why Partisan shouldn’t have a look. There’s been some professional interest in the play and while I no longer expect to become an American millionaire, still something may come of this interest. I think maybe the thing to do (for me to do) is to have a talk with my agent and see whether there could conceivably be an objection to publishing a few scenes. I would think not. One of these days I will come into the city for a week of civilized happiness and I’d enjoy having a drink with you.

  Best,

  To Richard Stern

  April 26, 1962 Tivoli

  Dear Dick—

  I am working like a Polish swine, making bratwurst of myself. [ . . . ] The farce (comedy?) is now entitled The Upper Depths and may (n.b. may) be produced by Herbert Berghof and Uta Hagen. Or perhaps even by Zero Mostel. We live in hope’s eternal purple shade.

  Susie and Tivoli are blooming. One wife is becoming enough for me (O Bellowius senex!) [70].

  Bestow friendly and loving greetings on all.

  To John U. Nef

  August 10, 1962 Tivoli, N.Y.

  Dear Professor Nef,

  To be invited to join the faculty of the Committee on Social Thought is a great honor. I gladly accept your offer. I am acquainted with the work of the Committee, and I am happy to know that you think I will be able to contribute something to it.

  In my conversations with Edward Shils it was understood that I could not arrange to come for the fall quarter. After some discussion, my wife and I have come to think that we could wind up our affairs in the East by mid-October, and that we could be in Chicago by the end of that month.

  I assume it is too late for me to offer a course in the fall quarter. However, I understand that tutoring is also a part of my duties, and I would be happy to make myself available for the balance of the quarter.

  I hope you will have no objection to my honoring some previous commitments. They will take me away from the University very seldom, and for brief periods.

  I look forward to hearing from you soon, and to seeing you this autumn.

  Cordially yours,

  To Richard Stern

  [Postmarked 22 August 1962; postcard of Menemsha Basin,

  Martha’s Vineyard, at evening]

  [ . . . ] Play scheduled for Fall ’63 but we’re yukking it up already. Hope you have as much trouble reading this as we had reading yours. [ . . . ] The Vineyard is beautiful—we love it. Herzog in final stages—TNS put to bed. Freud should have had such a beach—he wouldn’t have had so many theories.

  Love,

  To Sondra Tschacbasov Bellow

  September 30, 1962 [Tivoli]

  Sondra:

  The purpose of your letter is evidently to interfere with my right to see Adam. The provisions for visitation in our divorce agreement were not more clearly specified because I assumed you would deal with me in good faith. But on Labor Day you used the child to bargain for some supposed advantage and refused to let him come with me as we had arranged. Adam was greatly disappointed. The violence of that occasion was provoked by you, perhaps deliberately. You tore my clothing, bruised me, and had to be restrained by Ann Berryman from continuing your attack.

  I have no desire whatever to see you. I have no plans to interfere with your privacy. But if you persist in your present course, capriciously changing plans, giving me no opportunity to communicate with someone in a position of responsibility about the child, you will leave me no alternative but to go to court to establish my visitation rights. I have in the past been reluctant to seek legal remedies, but you have created an ugly situation. I have no intention of repeating the mistakes I made in Minneapolis when you forbade me to come to the house, my own house, and threatened me with arrest if I came to see the boy. To keep the peace I stayed in a hotel and the child was brought to me by an intermediary. There will be no repetitions of that situation.

  Your pugnacity is a matter of record. Even before the divorce you struck me with your fists. You tried to run me down with the car. On the day when you claim to have been assaulted, I came home with bruises. You have been known to do things you could not remember later. My “violence” is probably another one of your hallucinations.

  Since you are working, there ought to be someone looking after the child whom I can call. I tried to find out from you who did take care of him after school, but could get nothing but evasions. You have refused to tell me what provisions, if any, have been made for his daily care. On Saturday September 22, 1962 when I phoned to arrange to see Adam, you told me to phone next day to give you time to make arrangements. On Sunday night when I called again you refused me a visit, alleging for the first time that he had an appointment with the dentist. You also cried out, “You can’t see him!” Knowing that I would be leaving soon for Chicago and would be gone for some months, you were simply giving me the runaround. For
reasons of your own, you don’t want me to see the boy.

  I would like Adam to visit with me this coming weekend and I want you to tell me where I can pick him up on Friday October 5th. I am, as I have always been, prepared to agree to anything sensible but I will not accept your arbitrary conditions. A fixed pattern will be set up for these visits. I shall be coming in periodically during my temporary residence in Chicago. You will have ample notice of my visits. I want to have Adam with me on all holidays—Christmas, Easter and part of every summer. If you do not agree to reasonable arrangements I shall have to go to law to try to obtain my rights.

  Quarrels and litigation will do him no good. For his sake I have avoided all conflict with you and I suggest that you try to behave reasonably, as I for my part intend to do. I plan to come to Tarrytown next Friday to pick him up, and I expect to hear from you that he will be delivered to me by someone other than yourself. I will not ask anyone to go in my place while I wait in a restaurant like a wrongdoer. I won’t send anyone for him. I will insist on my rights, and the thing will be done decently and in good order. I expect a reply from you before Friday. I hope you will not compel me to take legal steps.

  To Sondra Tschacbasov Bellow

  October 11, 1962 [Tivoli]

  Sondra:

  The fact that you yourself phoned me last week to make the arrangements for seeing Adam amounts to an acknowledgement of the impossibility of doing these things through the complicated system of intermediaries you wanted to force upon me. I myself want as much as possible to avoid direct contact with you, but I don’t want my rights to see Adam questioned, and I won’t tolerate any nonsense. I have asked you questions about the boy which are still unanswered. I want to know who takes care of him while you are at work. Please send me the full name and address of the woman you spoke of. I think I should have also a calendar from Adam’s school so that I can plan to have the child during holidays. In addition, I think you should send me, or have the doctor send me, an occasional medical report. Adam didn’t seem at all well last weekend. He has lost weight and he is not at all cheerful.