Although this book presents a problem as regards a rather outspoken realism, there are many here who feel its publication in England would be defensible and warranted by the merits of the book. I am aware, however, that this is a great problem here but do hope you can give The Ginger Man serious consideration.
Yours sincerely,
J. P. Donleavy
Clearly I had improved my choice of words with those of “outspoken realism” to refer to The Ginger Man’s difficulty for a publisher, and Neville Armstrong responded January 10, 1956, with a cautionary letter concerning the obsession authority currently had with obscenity and therefore he did not want to raise false hopes, but he knew he would enjoy reading the book. On January 20, he briefly wrote to say he thought The Ginger Man a fine book and would enjoy to meet me.
And so it was that on January 23, I was making my way to 10 Fitzroy Street and finding myself right back again in these familiar climes of Soho. Only this time a little farther north in the vicinity west of Bloomsbury and not far from the famed pub the Fitzroy Tavern, long a haunt of the poetic and painting Bohemians of this area and one or two times visited by myself and Michael Heron when on our undergraduate traveling jaunts from Trinity College. Nor indeed was it that far from the pub where took place the famed kangaroo battle that was described in the pages of The Ginger Man.
I entered up steps of a less than pristinely preserved Georgian building now commercialized in which on the ground floor was the office of the publisher Neville Spearman, Ltd. A small sign directed one to the first doorway on the left. I knocked and, after being told to come in, I found rising from behind his desk inside this long narrow room a disarmingly good-looking and nattily bow-tied, smiling gentleman, dressed as befitted someone who lived at an address Rose Cottage in the rural splendor of Sussex.
“Ah, I’m Neville Armstrong and I presume you are Mr. Donleavy.”
“Yes. How do you do.”
All was extremely polite. I was now, having met a few, at least able to compare publishers. And Neville Armstrong had a lively, breezy and brisk enthusiasm about him, and bid me take a seat in his unpretentious office.
“Well, Mr. Donleavy, I’ll come straight to the point. I liked The Ginger Man very much and would like to publish it. I’m sure it will be prominently reviewed and well received by the perspicacious and more than probably attacked by the more conservative of the establishment. But I would expect it to make a stir upon its publication in England and to receive lead reviews in the better journals. However, I think one must warn that as the book stands, it could also land the author and publisher in legal difficulties if not prison and involve the printer in the same plight. It’s being an offense, as I am sure you know, to publish indecent books and to deprave and corrupt those into whose hands such publications may fall. If I am allowed to make some judicious cuts in the Paris edition and perhaps have an introduction written drawing attention to the work’s literary merit, this will help allay a printer’s misgivings and avoid the book’s being prosecuted as an obscene publication. If you agree to this, I will assume fully all risks of publication and would defend publishing The Ginger Man. But not only would I like to publish The Ginger Man but would like to have an option on your next novel.”
Despite his caveats, Armstrong seemed to be optimistic, not to say cheerful, about bucking the status quo and said he would draw up a contract. But this was certainly something new in publishers’ reactions, in encountering someone who thought I had a future as a writer and whose next book might be worth publishing. I then said I had already been to Paris and seen the Olympia Press who were agreed to a cut English publication and that it would advertise and sell more of their unexpurgated edition. Armstrong throughout our talk clearly knew considerable of the Olympia Press’s existence and its business but gave no hint of any previous troubles he had had with Girodias. Nevertheless he did seem to gently suggest that the less the Olympia Press came into matters the better.
In order to make use of my artistic accomplishments, Neville Armstrong suggested I do a cover for THE GINGER MAN. Alas he felt it not to his liking.
In the ensuing year of 1956, from January to December, the logistics of The Ginger Man’s English edition preparation and publication took place. Signed contracts with Neville Spearman Ltd. were exchanged by March 19. Arland Ussher, the aristocratically Anglo-Irish philosopher and a friend of Gainor’s, had agreed to write an introduction. I published “You Murdered My Cat” in the Manchester Guardian, and the blurb and my biography were ready to go to Spearman Ltd. And Armstrong, it transpired, was also a man of the theater and having seen John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger on the London stage, and known that Helen was to be broadcast on the BBC, thought that I should dramatize The Ginger Man.
On July 4, I commenced to undertake to write the first draft of the play based on the novel The Ginger Man. Neville Armstrong, who exhibited an ease of informal communication, was sending further encouraging words and even apologizing once in a letter, that to pardon his typewriter as the machine was jumping. We were now referring to each other as Neville and Mike. But as galley proofs were now coming and a copy of a proposed cover, it immediately provoked my response that I might be heading down the same road as paved by Girodias and the Olympia Press. And I invoked the name of Robert Pitman, who, as a journalist in the world of newspapers, was now becoming considerably conspicuous and more right wing than left in his leanings.
40A Broughton Road,
Fulham, London SW6
July 20th 1956
Dear Neville,
Re: Dust jacket. I don’t think that one the way it stands. Any suggestion of sex on cover is fatal. It clashes with introduction since cover draws attention to what intro is trying to avoid. I’m sure you must feel this yourself. Didn’t want to say anything yesterday till I got some opinions and slept on matter. Pitman for one thinks it’s absolute suicide and I feel it instinctively. And it’s robbed me of all hope for book.
I think take out woman entirely and substitute a sinking red sun on horizon with black outline of road. This will center red and balance picture as enclosed. Do let me know as soon as possible.
Sincerely,
Mike
To my utter relief Armstrong took my advice concerning the cover and by August 14, his representatives were subscribing the book and making efforts, as do authors, to tie in matters where an association might be of benefit. In this regard Ilkley, Yorkshire, and the bookshop Broadbent’s was mentioned by Armstrong to his rep as a possible place to subscribe book “as the author and his wife have big connections there.’’ And his London rep had stayed up till four A.M. and, reading the book in one sitting, reported next morning that it was “terrific.” To which Armstrong replied that it must be a “man’s book.” This was all heady stuff and was like being like an author is supposed to be, with the world, in response to his scribbling, making sounds back to him. Ah, but small but significant enough further flies were getting in the ointment. Following the salacious jacket being scrapped as a result of my objection, Neville in the nicest possible way suggested I should pay for half of this cost. My response was swift and sure. Not on your nelly, I said.
By September 21 and in response to a set of galley proofs being sent, the very first genuine interest was being shown by Barney Rosset of Grove Press to publish The Ginger Man in America and he was actually offering a contract to do so. Which agreement as it turned out was the very first and last which was not designed to screw the author down unconscionably, and was in fact an agreement drawn up by an agent or league in favor of authors. Providing one to believe there at least existed an example of a publisher prepared at the outset to be fair to a writer.
But faint war drums were beating. Matters in July were about to hot up. Neville Armstrong may have had second thoughts about my representations concerning the Olympia Press or in the fact that he now could be responsible for obtaining an American edition of The Ginger Man and knew that I was sharing this fifty-fifty with t
he Olympia Press, and he had sent without my knowledge a gentleman P. A. Dinnage to Paris to see Maurice Girodias. I had not met Dinnage, whose name was only later to appear listed as a director of Neville Spearman Ltd. But I now had myself made plans to visit Paris to deal with the matter that might arise over an American edition. Not having heard from Girodias in over nine months, I wrote to Muffle Wainhouse. A reply was not long in coming, which was undated from Girodias and was received by me on August 20.
THE OLYMPIA PRESS
Dear Mr. Donleavy,
Muffle Wainhouse passes on your letter — of course I’ll be in Paris on the 28th, and I’d be delighted to see you then.
I expect you must be very disappointed in me, and feel that I should apologise for my protracted silence. Things have been a bit tough of late, and I’ve really had very little time. I saw some vague bastard sent by Spearman, some time ago, who came to enquire about the English rights to The Ginger Man. I told him I controlled them as long as my edition of the book would be in print. Anyhow, if you contemplate doing anything with Spearman, be very careful, they are very dishonest people according to my experience with them.
Well, toodle oo.
Yours,
Girodias
The first shot across one’s bows had now whistled by and not yet having to duck, it was difficult to sense whether and how soon larger guns were going to come into play. So far one had found Spearman Ltd. quite straightforward, but there was no doubt about Neville Armstrong’s attitude, which was in a nutshell simply expressed as, “To hell with Girodias.”
I too began to sense that this might have to be the case and a very measured response was made to this gentleman signing off with “toodle oo,” which would elicit lawyer amusement if not laughter many years into the future. However, the expression would indeed grow fainter and fainter very soon on this singular gentleman’s lips and pen and entirely disappear as a lighthearted form of eloquence.
August 23rd 1956
Dear Mr. Girodias,
Thank you for your letter and catalogue received August 20th.
I wrote sometime ago about a matter serious to me, you did not answer and that’s that. On October 25th 1955 you gave me the English rights. I hold you to this.
I wanted to come to Paris to discuss future of book. Your letter makes me wonder if there is much point.
Yours sincerely,
J. P. Donleavy
And now a more serious-minded Girodias began to rear his extremely astute head. With very carefully couched words all designed to elicit from the author, who was thought prone to suffer from outbursts of self-pity, as many admissions as possible which might be prejudicial to his rights. But the second paragraph of such letter made extreme sense and seemed written with words heartfelt and true but one could only surmise they were so stated to establish this gentleman’s publishing bonafides should push come to shove and legal guns start to blaze.
THE OLYMPIA PRESS
August 24th 1956
Dear Donleavy,
What is it all about? I fail to understand your mysterious letter, and its subterranean implications. You say that you wrote some time ago about a matter serious to you, but I don’t even know what you are talking about! You say that on October 25th 1955 I gave you the English rights. What do you mean by that? Don’t you think you should be more clear — unless the whole thing is another private joke.
In any case, as your letter leaves me rather perplexed as to your projects, I wish to remind you, 1) That I have published your book not because of some sordid motive, but only because I liked it, and was the only publisher so far to like it enough to publish it; and 2) That, having published it, I consider that I own the English rights at least as long as my edition is in print, and will protect my rights quite definitely.
I will be looking forward to a word of explanation from you. Don’t hesitate to tell me all that’s on your mind, it is the only way to deal with problems caused by moodiness and London fogs.
Yours, as always truly,
M. Girodias
In referring to “a matter serious to me,” although I did not fully realize it then, I was in fact raising a question which would many the years hence provide the legal bedrock upon which the entirety of Girodias’s action in the London law courts would come to grief and founder. As I sat down now to make my reply to Girodias, I already realized that the barbed legal arrows I was attempting to fashion would have to sink deep and permanently into the enemy. And which now in my bow were aimed to be lofted leisurely but would from their high arc descend lethally to finally hit their bull’s-eye, Girodias. For here clearly was a man who from his thought to be in a superior position, regarded another man a naive fool. And I realized as I wrote such a letter that whatever words it said would have to say them as writ in stone. I was not without remembering of what the Society of Authors had advised me. That I had no redress over the work being published by the Olympia Press with their warning to me, which in my failure to question was tantamount to my entering into their business as purveyors of pornography. However, I had now looked more deeply into the laws of contract and copyright and also the terms exact of our agreement. It was now, at least for the appreciable time being, firmly “toodle oo.”
September 3rd 1956
Dear Mr. Girodias,
Your letter August 24th. A matter I consider serious, recovery of MS copy of The Ginger Man. This is valuable to me.
I went to Paris last October 1955 to see you since I considered our agreement, constituted by our exchange of letters, in abeyance, for reasons I will give below. On October 25th 1955 I told you a publisher here was interested in The Ginger Man and the publication of a cut edition in England. I asked you if you were agreed to my having entire rights to the publication of a cut edition in England and you said yes, that it would help sell your edition and advertise book. I accepted this as an agreement and on this basis I was in turn agreed that you should share with me in an equal division of monies secured of American rights resulting from such publication.
You mention your motive for publishing book. The fact is that you published it as pornography in a pseudonymous and pornographic series, it is distributed and sold as such. You will understand that I do not have to remain party to an agreement where the subject matter has been used for an unlawful purpose and which has resulted to my prejudice. Had I known your intentions I would have withdrawn my book. My rights are protected by common law where there has been a breach of trust or confidence. I accepted your letter of February 11th 1955 as a genuine concern for my work which was offered to you in good faith and accepted our correspondence as evidence of yours.
According to our agreement you were to pay me outright royalties in advance. This in fact has not been the case, it was upon this basis of payment of an outright royalty in advance that I accepted your agreement and the sharing of rights in English speaking countries. As it now stands my royalty is approximately 3%, a supplementary payment of £150 brings it to approximately 5%. My acceptance of your agreement stood on the basis of an outright royalty payment in advance of approximately 6½%.
Yours sincerely,
J. P. Donleavy
Down my narrow Fulham working-class street, and popped into my letter slot came the Girodias response, adamant and uncompromising, as one might have expected it to be. But unlike being confronted by the surprise of Girodias’s publication of The Ginger Man, this time I was on guard and ready. And saw instantly that the arrows had struck home, with my letter having mapped out a defense in a future legal action, but not knowing then that the law proceeds in unpredictable and strange ways.
THE OLYMPIA PRESS
September 8th 1956
My dear Donleavy,
I consider your letter of September 3rd as a piece of schizophrenic nonsense. Do not think for a minute that I find your infantile attempt at blackmail impressive, or even interesting.
As to the moral aspect of the quarrel, please refer to your own first letter, dated Sept
ember 7th 1954, in which you offered us your MS., and explained the circumstances with none of your present blue-eyed righteousness.
As to the legal aspect: I have with you a contract which is perfectly good and sound in any court, be it British or French. It consists in an exchange of letters ours of January 7th and 13th, April 15th and 22nd 1955 and yours of January 11th and 17th and April 19th 1955. I will add that I have never agreed to letting you sell the rights for a cut edition in England; you have dreamt that.
Sincerely yours,
M. Girodias
I was to know early that anyone making a distinction between what was moral and legal was likely to be a dangerously unpleasant customer indeed. And that one should hasten to make these words mean the same as soon as possible, and squeeze the less than palatable result down their unwilling throats. But meanwhile, this Girodias reply had to mean that a serious situation could be accruing, for all was geared now toward The Ginger Man being published in England. A publication date set and the book subscribed to booksellers. October 15, Grove Press and Barney Rosset had agreed terms for an American edition. The first press news announcing the publication was beginning to appear. After a struggle of six years, what one had first thought possible for The Ginger Man might at last be realized. Ah, but fatefully just as it would always be in the history of this work, there came an ominous warning from what one had to surmise was to be a first salvo from a heavy Girodias gun. No “toodle oos” now. And loading was in progress for further and heavier warning salvos.
The History of the Ginger Man: An Autobiography Page 56