'... sounds very salingerian ... you wouldn't want
to emulate *him*!....'
I agree. In trying to airbrush history, I sound just as
pompously self-important as the old Cornishman himself.
I can't help it, though. I'm just too embarrassed by the limp,
derivative mediocrity of those early books, made all the more
intense by the knowledge of what I can do - & have done -
since.
When I write about the futility of 99% of all literary effort
it's my own stuff I have in mind. The unbelievable reviews
I got then from all the best people mean as little now as
their equivalents still appearing each Sunday in the Literary
pages - the books themselves a mere waste of shelf space
& doomed to be forgotten by the end of the year.
I'd find it just as hard to get stuff published now as any other
tyro. All my 'discoverers' & cheer-leaders are now dead.
And you know with what eagerness the circuit looks forward
to selling a tongue-tied old-age pensioner with a tendency to gout.
But that's OK. That doesn't matter. All that does matter is when
you come back after a month or two to read what you've written
- & find your heart turning over at what you'd momentarily forgotten
you could do. That's the stuff will come out in the end all right.
That's the stuff will still be going when the Times Lit Sup is yellowing
on its own shelves.
Like the Church of Rome - but to which, thank the Lord, I have
never belonged - I operate sub specie aetertinatis.
It's the only way.
Scottie B.
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Received on Tue Apr 15 03:41:07 2003
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