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The Mailer Review/Volume 1, 2007/“A Series of Tragicomedies”: Mailer’s Letters on The Deer Park, 1954–55: Difference between revisions
The Mailer Review/Volume 1, 2007/“A Series of Tragicomedies”: Mailer’s Letters on The Deer Park, 1954–55 (view source)
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{{DISPLAYTITLE:“A Series of Tragicomedies”: Mailer’s Letters on ''The Deer Park'', 1954–55}} | {{DISPLAYTITLE:“A Series of Tragicomedies”: Mailer’s Letters on ''The Deer Park'', 1954–55}} | ||
{{MR01}} | {{MR01}} | ||
Edited | {{byline|type=Edited|last=Lennon|first=J. Michael}} | ||
{{hatnote|Editor’s Note: The following 16 letters chronicle Mailer’s extraordinary effort to complete and publish his third novel, ''The Deer Park''. As he says in one to William Styron, the process was “a series of tragicomedies.” The novel was finally accepted by Putnam’s and appeared on October 14, 1955. It became a bestseller, sold over 50,000 copies, and has remained more or less continuously in print. Random House will publish a selected edition of Mailer’s letters in 2008, edited by Lennon.}} | {{hatnote|Editor’s Note: The following 16 letters chronicle Mailer’s extraordinary effort to complete and publish his third novel, ''The Deer Park''. As he says in one to William Styron, the process was “a series of tragicomedies.” The novel was finally accepted by Putnam’s and appeared on October 14, 1955. It became a bestseller, sold over 50,000 copies, and has remained more or less continuously in print. Random House will publish a selected edition of Mailer’s letters in 2008, edited by Lennon.}} | ||
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Dear Editors, | Dear Editors, | ||
So, here finally, is the “famous” article<ref>“The Homosexual Villain” appeared in ''One: The Homosexual Magazine'' in January 1955; it was reprinted in ''AFM'' 220–227 and NM recounts his dealings with the editors of One in his “advertisement” for the essay preceding it. NM’s candor about how he had previously equated homosexuality with evil, and his recantation, came far in advance of the gay revolution in the 1970s.</ref> | So, here finally, is the “famous” article.<ref>“The Homosexual Villain” appeared in ''One: The Homosexual Magazine'' in January 1955; it was reprinted in ''AFM'' 220–227 and NM recounts his dealings with the editors of One in his “advertisement” for the essay preceding it. NM’s candor about how he had previously equated homosexuality with evil, and his recantation, came far in advance of the gay revolution in the 1970s.</ref> I think it’s far from being extraordinary, as indeed I apologize somewhere in the course of it, but I imagine the important thing is that it’s a signed article rather than what it says. I hope it isn’t too long for you. James Barr<ref>An editor at ''One''.</ref> mentioned something about the ideal length being between 500 and 1000 words, but since I’m irredeemably windy it’s gone quite a bit over that. If you want to trim just a little, I’m agreeable to cutting out lines seven to fifteen on page 2. I must request you, though, to clear any other cuts with me. | ||
Now, something which you may find somewhat irritating. And I hate like hell to request it, but I think it’s necessary. Perhaps you’ve read in the papers that ''[[The Naked and the Dead]]'' has been sold to Paul Gregory. It happens to be half-true. He’s in the act of buying it, but the deal has not yet been closed. For this reason I wonder if you could hold off publication for a couple of months? I don’t believe that the publication of this article would actually affect the sale, but it is a possibility, especially since Gregory — shall we put it this way — may conceivably be homosexual. For that matter, there are times when I wish some deus ex machina would louse up the sale, but since other people besides myself are involved in the negotiations, I feel it would be fairer to them to make this request of you. I see that the December issue is all-fiction. Could you hold this then until the January issue? I ask for no longer time because the negotiations may well go on forever, and I certainly don’t ask you to hold this forever. But on the other hand, it’s quite likely that by January the deal will be closed. And even if it isn’t, by that time it will be time enough. If you want to hold it longer, that of course is up to you. | Now, something which you may find somewhat irritating. And I hate like hell to request it, but I think it’s necessary. Perhaps you’ve read in the papers that ''[[The Naked and the Dead]]'' has been sold to Paul Gregory. It happens to be half-true. He’s in the act of buying it, but the deal has not yet been closed. For this reason I wonder if you could hold off publication for a couple of months? I don’t believe that the publication of this article would actually affect the sale, but it is a possibility, especially since Gregory — shall we put it this way — may conceivably be homosexual. For that matter, there are times when I wish some deus ex machina would louse up the sale, but since other people besides myself are involved in the negotiations, I feel it would be fairer to them to make this request of you. I see that the December issue is all-fiction. Could you hold this then until the January issue? I ask for no longer time because the negotiations may well go on forever, and I certainly don’t ask you to hold this forever. But on the other hand, it’s quite likely that by January the deal will be closed. And even if it isn’t, by that time it will be time enough. If you want to hold it longer, that of course is up to you. | ||
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Just a shortie to tell you what a good time we had, and to let you know that there’s no news on the big thing yet. I’ve submitted it [''The Deer Park''] simultaneously to Knopf and Random House<ref>After Rinehart rejected ''DP'', it was submitted to six publishing houses before it was accepted by the seventh, G. P. Putnam’s. NM liked the chief executive, Walter Minton, who reminded him of a general, and remained with Putnam’s | Just a shortie to tell you what a good time we had, and to let you know that there’s no news on the big thing yet. I’ve submitted it [''The Deer Park''] simultaneously to Knopf and Random House<ref>After Rinehart rejected ''DP'', it was submitted to six publishing houses before it was accepted by the seventh, G. P. Putnam’s. NM liked the chief executive, Walter Minton, who reminded him of a general, and remained with Putnam’s | ||
through 1967. NM recounts the saga of ''DP' in “The Mind of an Outlaw” (''Esquire'', November 1959), which was reprinted as “The Last Draft of ''The Deer Park''” in ''AFM'' 228–267.</ref> (please don’t mention Knopf, nor for that matter that I’m in the act of changing publishers) and in a funny way I’m hoping that both houses don’t want the book with equal enthusiasm–, mainly because I had to use such pressure to make them both agree to the simultaneous business that it’s going to leave me with an enemy when I turn one down. I’ll let you know as soon as there is news. Maybe by next Monday. | through 1967. NM recounts the saga of ''DP'' in “The Mind of an Outlaw” (''Esquire'', November 1959), which was reprinted as “The Last Draft of ''The Deer Park''” in ''AFM'' 228–267.</ref> (please don’t mention Knopf, nor for that matter that I’m in the act of changing publishers) and in a funny way I’m hoping that both houses don’t want the book with equal enthusiasm–, mainly because I had to use such pressure to make them both agree to the simultaneous business that it’s going to leave me with an enemy when I turn one down. I’ll let you know as soon as there is news. Maybe by next Monday. | ||
My inner life continues with much stimulation. I’ve gotten on to something in advertising which I believe is pretty big. It’s the old thing I discovered from Lipton’s<ref>Or tea, another name for marijuana, which NM smoked from the early 50s through the 60s before stopping in the 70s. During this period he compiled a 100,000-word journal, titled “Lipton’s,” which records his observations before, during, and after using the | My inner life continues with much stimulation. I’ve gotten on to something in advertising which I believe is pretty big. It’s the old thing I discovered from Lipton’s<ref>Or tea, another name for marijuana, which NM smoked from the early 50s through the 60s before stopping in the 70s. During this period he compiled a 100,000-word journal, titled “Lipton’s,” which records his observations before, during, and after using the | ||
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Dear Lubby,<ref>Adeline Lubell Naiman (b. 1925): A college friend of NM’s sister, Barbara, at Radcliffe, Lubell was a junior editor at Little, Brown in 1946 when she heard about NM’s novel from his sister. In January 1946, even before he was discharged, she wrote to him asking to see a | Dear Lubby,<ref>Adeline Lubell Naiman (b. 1925): A college friend of NM’s sister, Barbara, at Radcliffe, Lubell was a junior editor at Little, Brown in 1946 when she heard about NM’s novel from his sister. In January 1946, even before he was discharged, she wrote to him asking to see a | ||
rough draft. In September, NM sent her 184 pages and she told her superiors it would be “the greatest novel to come out of WWII” (''MLT'' 102).</ref> | rough draft. In September, NM sent her 184 pages and she told her superiors it would be “the greatest novel to come out of WWII” (''[[85.13|MLT]]'' 102).</ref> | ||
You’re wrong. I’m not angry at all, and I’m not hurt — mainly because there was neither malice nor venom in your reactions. Only love. That’s true, and what more can one ask from one’s friends. As a matter of fact while I would quarrel here and there with some of your specific reactions, I think you hit the book well — at least it expresses very well what I feel about the book when I’m down on it. There are times when I think it’s very good, there are times when I think I failed completely. And when I do, I think less articulately along the lines you criticized. | You’re wrong. I’m not angry at all, and I’m not hurt — mainly because there was neither malice nor venom in your reactions. Only love. That’s true, and what more can one ask from one’s friends. As a matter of fact while I would quarrel here and there with some of your specific reactions, I think you hit the book well — at least it expresses very well what I feel about the book when I’m down on it. There are times when I think it’s very good, there are times when I think I failed completely. And when I do, I think less articulately along the lines you criticized. | ||
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Love,<br />Norm | Love,<br />Norm | ||
==126. To Robert Lindner== | |||
320 E. 55th Street, New York, NY<br />Friday, December 31, 1954 | |||
Dear Bob, in fact, Dear Dear Bob, | |||
Happy New Year. And what a year this new one is going to be. | |||
I’ve decided to send you one-half of the journal, my carbon. Please keep it in some safe place. And as I add to it, I’ll send you more. The part you haven’t read starts on page 19. And I think it carries along much of what I had before, and expands it. | |||
Incidentally, try not to read it critically. That is, don’t pick out such and such items as good, others as bad, etc. I’m putting it all down because I want the record. As I read it over, there is hardly a note which could not be improved, or indeed expanded into an essay. So, the thing is very crude. But I don’t want to stop to polish now. And I want the wild with what is less wild because some of the wild ones become less wild as I expand them subsequently. Viz the saint-psychopath thing. Essentially I started it by saying, Saints and psychopaths are brothers.<ref>The idea, which derives from NM’s reading of Soren Kierkegaard’s discussion of the relationship between the criminal and religious temperaments in | |||
''Fear and Trembling: A Dialectical Lyric'' (1843), has been discussed by NM in several contexts. NM also remembers reading Kierkegaard’s ''Either/Or'' (1843). In the mid-1960s he planned but never completed a collection of previously published work titled ''The Saint and the Psychopath''. He did write a preface, however, which he includes in ''[[72.7|EE]]'' 209–211, that opens as follows: “Many years ago I wished to write a book called ''The Saint and the Psychopath'' and in time that book swelled to such proportions in my mind that I thought of a magnum | |||
opus to bear the monumental name: ''A Psychology of the Orgy''. Ah, my ''Psychology of the Orgy'' reduced itself to the dimensions of an essay. ‘The White Negro’ came out of these titles and ambitions and those years of immersion in marijuana.” NM’s dialogues with Lindner, his experiments with sex and marijuana, his exposure to jazz and the ''demimonde'' of Greenwich Village contributed to his idea of the hipster, and also to his theology of a limited God locked in struggle with the Devil with humankind as a third, co-equal force.</ref> But, by now, I feel I’m pushing it into a new view of personality. | |||
If you don’t have much time, and want to read the homo-erotic corollary, it is in Note 155. If you have time, I suggest coming to it naturally. | |||
Brother, one thing. You must suspend your caution or we’ll get nowhere. So much of your thought is now in mine. Truly I’m not competing with you. Don’t look at me that way in my relations with you — it’s beneath us. I send you these notes because deep in me I feel that you’re the only person who can understand me right now intellectually, just as Adele is the only woman who can understand me intuitively. Which is why the two of you are so drawn to each other and so jealous of each other. (Don’t forget you called her the Peruvian Yenta.) | |||
I’m mailing the blurb to Dudley Frasier.<ref>Lindner’s editor at Rinehart.</ref> I would have made it bigger, but truly, Bob, I couldn’t. You can go so very far that some day you’ll look back on ''Fifty Minute Hour'' as one of your last stands or retreats before the big kickoff. | |||
I’ll try to make the flight for the 13th. | |||
Answer this at your leisure. Unless something goes wrong, we’ll be skiing from the Second of Jan. to the Fifth or Sixth or Seventh. | |||
Much love,<br />Norm | |||
P.S. Don’t forget your depression at reaching forty. That was you telling yourself that you haven’t gone far enough. | |||
==127. To William Styron== | |||
320 E. 55th Street, New York, NY<br />February 4, 1955 | |||
Dear Bill, | |||
I made a resolve which I almost broke for you not to write any letters for a month in order to get some work done. What happened were a series of tragicomedies with ''The Deer Park'' which brought me in eight lightning weeks from radical realism to radical mysticism. And several bows to Kafka en route. What happened was that Stanley Rinehart who always hated it, finally erupted when the book was in page proof, and demanded that I take out six lines. I refused, and he fired me outright. So I went to other houses, six of them,<ref>There were seven, if Rinehart is included. The other six: Random House, Knopf, Simon and Schuster, Harpers, Scribner’s, and Harcourt Brace.</ref> the six best, and gave them all schizophrenia because half the people in the house loved it, the other half hated it. (Bill Raney who loves it told me he can’t even stand to talk to people who don’t like it.) The moral is: When you write a novel, don’t fuck around with love. Finally, Ted Purdy at G. P. Putnam took it, and it’s going to come out in August or September<ref>''DP'' was published October 14, 1955.</ref> and they’re going to do it big, and I don’t have to delete anything. So, for once, a victory. But you can’t imagine the madness of the trip. The lawyer at Knopf who wanted me to take everything else out of the book complimented me on the six lines Stan Rinehart fired me for — the lawyer said in more or less direct quote: “Now why don’t you get around the obscenity problem all the time the way you do here.” And of course to the hipnoscenti the book isn’t the least bit obscene. At any rate, due to the twentieth century speeding-up-of-communication-processes books now have the chance to have publishing histories before publication. | |||
I’m delighted that Moravia is coming here, and as you know I’ll be equally delighted to help him any way I can. As a matter of fact I caught myself going through my rather incomplete list of bars, pads, and general hangouts which he might find interesting. But what with friends and all, maybe I can think of a place or two he might not otherwise come across. So do give him my regards, and tell him that it’s a future pleasure for us. | |||
At the moment there are of course no copies of ''The Deer Park'', but in a couple of weeks I think I’ll be able to get one of the manuscript copies to send to you. If you’d care to keep it, it’s yours. For Moravia, perhaps I’d better just wait until there’s a hard cover book which is certainly pleasanter to read. By the way, the same applies for you. If you’d rather wait a few months, Bill, I’ll be delighted to send it to you in book form. So, either way on that. | |||
Vance’s address is Aida 49, San Angel Inn, Mexico D.F. Actually, he’s away now for a couple of months in Oaxaca, digging for Indian relics, but I’m certain any mail sent to him at the above address would be forwarded. I have the feeling (off the record) that both he and Tina are approaching some sort of focus-crisis in their lives. By which I don’t mean divorce or drink — as a matter of fact quite possibly the contrary — but as we’ve all noticed in ourselves and in our friends there’s something about turning thirty which acts as a catalyst. It’s as if you can’t keep on quite the same way you were before. The enthusiasms which carry you through the twenties just seem to peter out. Anyway, although Vance and Tina never spoke directly on these lines, I had the feeling that each in their subtle way were preparing to change, and one outer expression of that is that Vance has become just hipped completely on archaeology which I must say on my slight understanding of him I had never seen as one of his developments. Maybe that’s because I don’t understand the appeal of archaeology. Which I suppose is all a preface to saying that he and Tina are fed-up too, I believe, with New York and its life, and when last heard from planned to stay in Mexico indefinitely. So, if you feel like writing to him, there may be good ground again. | |||
Adele and I have burrowed in for the winter, go to parties seldom, see just a few good friends, and to my amazement spend hours listening to our hi-fi set. You know how I used to be about music. (Incidentally, our new address is 320 East 55th St. and the phone number is MU 8–0785. As always, it’s unlisted.) She, as well as me, is looking forward to your return. Is it definitely for this summer? | |||
And our condolences for yellow jaundice. I had it in the army so I know what it does in confusing psyche and soma. God, the depression. | |||
Our best to you, Bill,<br />Norm | |||
==128. To Mickey Knox== | |||
320 E. 55th Street, New York, NY<br />March 3, 1955 | |||
Dear Mick, | |||
It’s late at night, or more accurately near three in the morning, and I’m in one of those moods. Is there anything like them? Jesus. I made the mistake of finishing a Raymond Chandler<ref>Author of ''The Big Sleep'' (1939), ''Farewell, My Lovely'' (1940), and several other hard-boiled detective novels and stories, Chandler (1888–1959) was an influence on ''Tough Guys Don’t Dance'' (1984).</ref> novel about an hour ago, and since Chandler just gets more and more depressed as the years go on, it’s a poorer and poorer idea to read him at night. Good Christ how many men there must be in the world who get that sinking feeling as deep night comes on and they have to wonder how the hell they’re going to sleep without a pill or a drink. | |||
[Charles] Laughton was in town for a week, and I spent from last Thursday to yesterday talking to him about the book. It’s much too early to tell of course, but I did have or rather got to have an awful lot of respect for him, and by the time he left the thing happened which I’ve been afraid of — you know — the dream of a great movie being made of ''Naked''. And now I’m a little scared because that was the one dream I didn’t want to get back into, and it’s going to hurt doubly if it misses. | |||
Anyway, I naturally sounded him out about casting, and this is strictly between us but nothing at all is set yet on casting. Laughton has a certain preference for well-known actors which is reasonable I expect considering that he’s one himself. But from the way he talked about the various characters, I think you’d do well to try for Minetta.<ref>Malingering soldier in ''NAD'', played by Greg Roman in the film version. Knox did not appear in the film.</ref> (At present L plans to do the scene in the psycho tent where Minetta tries to pull a Section 8 so it’s a role with some size to it.) When the time comes, I’ll make a big push for you, but frankly Mick I think the selling is going to have to come mainly from you. Laughton is very smart, very very smart, and is not at all amenable to having casting thrown at him, one has to ease it up, so to speak, and since he was ahead of me most of the time, I mentioned your name a couple of times and temporarily let it go at that. But if I were you, I’d try to get to see [Paul] Gregory again for he has a lot to do with casting. He remembered you coming in to see him and seemed to have a pleasant memory of you. What I’m trying to say is that with both these guys they pride themselves on their knowledge of actors and actor’s capacities and so while they’re ready to listen to me I definitely got the feeling that they’re far more ready to follow my lead on story than on casting. | |||
The ski trip is off. We figured out that it would cost us well over a thousand bucks and since we’ve been spending money like water we thought we’d better call a halt. But again we miss not seeing you. Really, Mick, New York is dull without you to spark things up. However, I suggested to Laughton that if he wanted me to work on the script I wouldn’t mind coming out to the coast. And he seemed amenable to that. So maybe in May or June,<ref>NM and Adele spent the early summer of 1955 in Europe, mainly Barcelona and Rome.</ref> Adele and I will be flying out for a month — I sure as hell hope you’re there cause without you it’ll be a dull old deal. | |||
''The Deer Park'' is now slated for August or September, and I’m going to give it a whirl for a month to try to add a little to Sergius at the end because to my surprise a lot of people who read it seemed to feel that Sergius was interesting and they were disappointed when he sort of dropped out. I’m kind of dreading getting into the book again, but I feel that I ought to make one more attempt. As you know, this has nothing to do with bowdlerizing it, because it’s understood with Putnam that that is out of the question. Like you, I hope the fucking thing sells a million copies, if for no other reason than to give hemorrhages to a bunch of publishing houses. | |||
Adele is sleeping now, and writing this letter has improved my mood considerably. Let me know what’s doing with you. Your last couple of letters have been barren of inner news. | |||
One last bulletin: The Styrons have a six day old daughter named Susanna. | |||
Love, Mick,<br />Norm | |||
==129. To Beatrice Silverman== | |||
320 E. 55th Street, New York, NY<br />March 19, 1955 | |||
Dear Bea, | |||
I’m sitting here in what may just possibly be a mellow mood for me, and since the hi-fi is on, and I’m listening to it with just a little bit of pleasure, I started thinking after awhile about how when we were married, I deprived you of all your pleasure in music because I refused to come along, and I realized suddenly because you know what a pious ass I can be, that it was very cruel of me not to go along with you on the music, and not to learn about music from you, and so I suppose this is a way of saying I’m sorry about this. But I also don’t have to tell you what a coward I’ve been in a dozen ways about life — as well as being brave about it in other ways I suppose — and I guess I was a coward about music, and about being a father, and a dozen other things. So, with the little bit left between us that’s friends, perhaps take all the above as a sort of tentative apology. I know how proud you are, and you know how proud I am, and it’s hard for us to talk to each other most of the time. | |||
I suppose this is a sort of preamble to a few words about Susy. Deep in your letters I felt that just possibly — maybe I’m dead wrong — you were trying to tell me that you were just a little worried about Susie. I am, too. There are times when I think she’s extraordinary, and there are times when I’m close to dissolving in a lump of accusing self-pity when I think of all the damage I’ve done her, and perhaps you too, and for that matter all of us. Anyway, I don’t have any program for Sue. I don’t know what to do with her — the kid is frankly beyond me — I often have the suspicion she’s a lot smarter than me. I never did really tell you, but I thought you were very wise the day after she got there when you made her come with you to visit those people down the street. By which I don’t believe I mean that one should always use force with Sue — one should perhaps follow one’s instinct, make one’s mistakes, be right at times, be wrong at times, and just hope. A kid learns from parents’ mistakes as well as the wise things they do, and there are times when I feel very humble about Susy, and frankly just don’t know what the hell to do. | |||
Anyway, Beatty, since this is one of my “open” days, let me take the opportunity to wish you a fine baby,<ref>Bea and Steve “Chavo” Sanchez became the parents of a baby boy, Francisco, known also as Chavito.</ref> and tears in the eyes and hands across the sea and all that — but I hope the child brings a little happiness to you and Chavo and even to Sue. You know, part of her obstreperousness now may just possibly be due to the child you’re bearing. I remember that when Barbara was born I felt as if my world had been smashed — I was a very selfish little boy as indeed I ought to have been what with the adulation I got. | |||
Anyway, take this silly letter on its merits or lack of them, and give a little handshake to Chavo. Chavo and I have a little feeling about each other — once in awhile anyway. | |||
Love from the old bully-coward,<br />Norm | |||
==130. To Robert Lindner== | |||
320 E. 55th Street, New York, NY<br />April 25, 1955 | |||
Dear Bob, | |||
I came over to my studio today to do some work and found a letter from you which must have crossed mine. So since I’m not in a working mood, I think I’ll write you a long one — there was so much I wanted to tell you the other day when we met in Philadelphia, and of course I was in bad shape — the cigarette withdrawal<ref>NM had great difficulty quitting smoking and did not succeed until he was 40.</ref> deal was hitting me in full force and I was just churning with anxiety. But one of the things that I believe has happened to me is that to a certain extent by the aid of Lipton’s and other things I can pick a given direction for a week or more, assuming of course that I am not compulsive about the Lipton’s, about which I’m not altogether convinced — the problem of course is that the internal world of L is so much more exciting, charged, and fabulous than the everyday world. However I suspect that I have certain built-in mechanisms which regulate the whole thing for when I push L too hard, I begin to lose its advantages. My weight goes down, my confidence goes down, my anxiety state takes away the pleasures of my sensitivity and I find in myself the desire to build up again. So for instance these days after a particularly active exhausting and devilitating (let it stand) week, I’ve been concerned the last couple of days to take care of myself and I’m building up, eating carefully, off L and off seconal,<ref>NM was a heavy user of the barbiturate Seconal, a sleeping pill, in the mid-50s. See his 1956 poem,“A Wandering in Prose: For Hemingway” where he describes trying to kick the habit (''[[63.37|PP]]'' 309–310; reprinted in ''[[62.3|DFL]]'' and ''[[03.17|MG]]'').</ref> and feeling relatively strong, calm, and with a desire to build weight and physical strength. Part of the problem over the last month was that I was working very hard on ''The Deer Park'' and in order to cut it up and go through it with a scalpel revealing what I had come to see was the core of the book under the surface moralizing, I needed the particular heightened sensitivity of L plus seconal. But since it had to go on for too long a period of times, I wore myself down, and began to live too much on nerve and in anxiety. However, despite your skepticism I do believe in the self-analysis. What has happened to me is that I learned to get into my unconscious,<ref>NM conducted his own self-analysis during this period. He comments on Lindner and psychoanalysis in ''AFM'' 301–309, and comments on the unconscious in ''SA'' 138–144.</ref> to live there, to explore my conflicts, and what conflicts they are and when I come up for air, I find that over the long haul I do feel stronger, more confident, and more aware. One thing I think you have to realize about me is that I do contain a scientist in myself, a doctor if you will, and in a peculiar way the transference you speak of consists of a continuous internal dialogue between the doctor and the patient in me, and I’m far from sharing your idea that I’m merely entering my neurosis. In the act of entering it I discover all kinds of reasons and underpinnings to my neurotic habits of which I’ve been intellectually aware for years — but in seeing the restricting and compulsive character of them I realize the necessity to change. So I go out in the world in the following few days and as if I were a gambler I tackle little situations where I would have lost in the past and where I now feel I may be able to win. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose — the victories are important, because the essence of changing a habit is to have a life-victory rather than a life-defeat. Defeats as I know you know merely send one running back to the habit. But I can take defeats better these days because the longer I go on with this self-analysis, the less I see it as a problem of will or pride, and more a business of patience, of digesting losses and trying to understand victories and what happens much more often — draws and partial victories. The bad part of it is that when I get too deep in L I feel at times an incredible anguish — I am not able to communicate, I feel burning desires to reach across to people, my paranoid urge to fuse is almost unlivable, and I have to wonder at times if I’m going mad. That scares me, and I pull up, and begin to build up again. But the process is fascinating. | |||
One thing I’ve come to feel very strongly is that ''The Deer Park'' has to do well at least so far as I can affect its fortunes. I’ve learned about myself that I simply do not have the strength to do it all alone with the will and the pride of a Joyce.<ref>Near the end of the opening essay of ''[[66.11|CAC]]'', “Introducing Our Argument,” NM says, “The wish to go back to that long novel, announced six years ago, and changed in the mind by all of seven years, may be here again, and if that is so, I will have to submit to the prescription laid down by the great physician, Dr. James Joyce—‘silence, exile, and cunning,’ he said. Well, one hopes not; the patient is too gregarious for the prescription” (''CAC'' 5).</ref> If I’m going to be able to express the very far removed but nonetheless potential genius in myself, I have to have certain victories along the way for victories nourish one, they allow new habits if one is ready to make new habits, they create a climate for one’s thought — at least all this is true for me — when I feel most strong and confident, so I also feel most ready to tackle more, be more outrageous, bold, and creative in my thinking. Defeats shake my grasp on confidence. Some time I have to show you the reviews on ''Barbary Shore''. They were vicious, Bob, and I believe I was unconsciously petrified when I understood how much I was hated, and how little capacity I had to fight back. Now, I think I know how to fight, and I want ''The Deer Park'' to succeed, because if it does I think it’ll make a legend which will aid me greatly. You know — seven publishers turn it down and it turns out to be a small classic. The only thing I can see stopping it from success is a climate of unanimously bad reviews, and that I’m determined to prevent if I can. What I intend to do is to fuck all pride and stand-offishness and approach in the most canny way about twenty-five to fifty important writers<ref>“I sent off inscribed copies to Graham Greene, Cyril Connolly, Philip Rahv, and a dozen others whom I no longer remember, probably from shame” (''AFM'' 267).</ref> — it I can get quotes from about four or five of them before the book comes out, I believe that people will wish to read it even with bad reviews, and moreover I suspect that a lot of reviewers in New York will not quite dare to attack the book as viciously as they did ''Barbary''. So, Bobbo, I want to ask you for a favor in line with this. When you meet [Aldous] Huxley and [Christopher] Isherwood, I would like you to talk about the book a little, just enough to whet their curiosity, for they are two of the people I’m going to approach.<ref>It is unknown if Lindner fulfilled this request.</ref> Isherwood knows me slightly, and Huxley I met once, and I believe they’re both sympathetic to me as a writer. And anyway give them my regards. | |||
I think I ought to try to explain something to you about how I feel about mysticism. You see the irony is that I don’t like it, it’s uncongenial to me, and when I talk to other mystics I get a pain in the ass. Nonetheless I find myself drawn to it malgre moi [despite myself] — at some of the deepest states of sensitivity I’ve entered the psychological reality is so intense, so <u>self-evident</u> that it’s far easier to believe in a mystic entity or whole than to posit a totally imaginary and unreal construction. In other words what the realist calls imagination, I find myself believing is reality for I can hardly comprehend the experience as being one of artificial and baseless construction. One thing I have come to feel very definitely, and about this we would have to talk endlessly, is that there is such a thing as a death-instinct, that deep in our biology, perhaps in our cell-life itself, there is the knowledge that we do not die as such but instead enter the universe, and so when life becomes unendurable, or when our energy is worn out, death literally calls — we know it is not death but some new state of being.<ref>This passage presages NM’s belief in reincarnation, hinted at in “The Metaphysics of the Belly” and “The Political Economy of Time” in ''CAC'' (262–299, 312–375), and then confirmed in his 1975 interview with Laura Adams (''CNM'' 217–218).</ref> I know that I’ve found that this makes an enormous amount of sense in understanding things like suicides, murders, self-destructive activities, etc., provided of course that death itself is understood as a good or a partial good. To posit, as I believe Freud did, a death-instinct which leads merely to oblivion, makes far less sense in terms of human conduct. The life instinct as I see it depends of course upon a relatively powerful ego with its counterpart of relatively low sensitivity. For the state of high sensitivity with its almost telepathic awareness of other people’s unconsciousnesses is not easily endurable what with one’s awareness of danger, hostility, etc. etc. To me, mysticism is a call to death, and since I enjoy life much more these days, at least a good deal of the time, the liver in me, the novelist, the scientist, etc. is torn between leaving sensitivity and its quick concomitant of knowledge for the pleasure of just enjoying things. Anyway we have to talk about this. | |||
A word about the Journal. I haven’t written anything on it that you haven’t seen. Looking back on it now I believe that much of its composition was a first outpouring and dissolution of my old intellectual baggage as if before I could enter my unconscious, I had like most intellectuals in analysis to go through an enormous sympathetic discharge of intellectual concepts — the doors to my unconscious always having been guarded by my intellectual barriers. These days I don’t think as a Journaleer — instead of being confident and manic in my intellectual notions I have been testing some of the general assumptions I came up with in quiet ways and that has been secondary to work on ''The Deer Park'', general self-analysis, etc. | |||
Norman | |||
==Notes== | ==Notes== | ||
Abbreviations for titles of books by and about Mailer referred to in the notes are linked or may be found on “[[Norman Mailer's First Editions]].” | |||
{{Reflist}} | {{Reflist}} | ||