Letters
Vol. 8 No. 14 · 7 August 1986
From James Hall
SIR: Philip Roth’s palimpsest of his relationships with Bernard Malamud (LRB, 8 May) will be more useful when reprinted if matters institutional and geographical can be clarified.
Understandably, after about thirty years, Mr Roth places Malamud at the University of Oregon (U of O) in Eugene, whereas Malamud’s Oregon years were at Oregon State College, now University, OSU, in Corvllis. Then as now the two towns and institutions were fifty miles apart; in character, tone and educational burdens the differences are significant. Within a tax-supported system, U of O emphasises the Arts, Humanities and pre-professional training; on campus are Schools of Law, Architecture, Journalism, and institutes of theoretical science. By contrast, the former ‘Agricultural and Mechanics’ campus emphasises pre-technical training: at OSC there are Schools of Forestry, Veterinary Medicine, Applied Engineering, and institutes or programs in aquaculture and food chemistry. At the time Eugene was Oregon’s ‘second city’ (to Portland); Corvallis was and remains a market town of nice proportions and charm.
These comparisons and contrasts, however, are misleading. If U of O officially sponsored all advanced work in the Arts and Humanities, in fact OSU had in residence the most interesting artists, especially painters, sculptors and printmakers. Moreover, OSU had a lively town-gown artistic community; by comparison U of O seemed traditional, stuffy. On both campuses and in both towns there were small, sometimes vital Jewish communities; prejudice was by no means unknown. At that time both campuses were exceedingly small and the main thrust was to expand science and engineering programs; ‘creative’ writing was not of the first order of importance. There were, however, fiction writers, the odd poet and dramatist, cartoonists, non-fiction writers – including Sylvan Karchmer, myself, Malamud, and the ‘Poet Laureate’of Australia. A mixed bag. If the State of Oregon enjoyed a purely lumber economy, we were its high-grade sawdust.
Bernard Malamud’s attitudes on all this were suitably complex. If he taught much Composition to pre-engineers, the routine nature of the courses permitted time for his own writing; if he resented being on the less prestigious campus – and he did – he enjoyed an intimate circle of friends, on campus and off. His teaching was more the truncheon than the rapier: Composition courses could be reduced merely to the mechanics of expression and Malamud’s personality had its pedant side. He worked very hard, usually in a very dark office; he was neither engaged nor excited, nor knew much about the enormous technical advances taking place all across the campus – such was my impression.
Although his Corvallis years were by no means totally unsatisfactory, Bernard always emphasised – as he did with Roth – the ‘exile’ nature of his post and assignments. This was largely for Back East, New York City consumption. Much as Faulkner exploited his bohemian pose, and the South, Malamud used his Jewishness and Oregon. These things, happily or no, may well help us to write.
Malamud said more than once that his initial hire at Oregon was a fluke, by chance, his ‘fate’. Locally, however, it was said that the then OSU faculty wished Malamud on campus for his different, East Coast point of view, including, one presumes, his Jewishness, and his ‘interest’ in writing. Probably so: Malamud had only the MA degree, little or no relevant teaching experience, and little or no publication. It is not unkind to say that one order of provincial outlook invited another. Immediately Bernard began to publish his early, distinctive prose fiction, his talents were recognised where it counted most at OSU. Eventually he enjoyed ‘star’ status; he made appropriate demands. In fact, he became a valued faculty person and, among other things, activated a Great Books Program, a thing much needed by the student body at large. Those who knew him best saw clearly certain traits: he was a complex, driven man able to make few concessions to domestic life, friends, colleagues, or to a neutral – if not always benign – university. At once he could be abrupt, dismissive, kind, obsessional, devious, rigorous, loyal, proud, thankless, and, more often than not, generous. For example, although OSU had done much for his career, immediately upon leaving he published A New Life. This novel is a roman a clef, settled old scores, was retaliatory, doubtless actionable, and surely an embarrassment to some persons who had been kind to a then unknown writer and his family. By intention the novel is comic; it focuses entirely on Malamud’s first year or so in Corvallis. As such it is a self-serving book, a revealing, marginal artistic success – and yet something the author very much felt compelled to write. After leaving, he often went back to Corvallis for visits, a respected and welcomed guest.
As a literary artist, Malamud’s practice is ‘conservative’: he wrote ‘tales’, relied on allegory, and was not adventuresome in matters of structure. In prose style and selection of detail, he was of the naturalistic persuasion, with strong moral and moralistic tinctures. In many ways he was an irregular writer, and attempts at technical innovation were often strained. Save for a rich middle period, he did not grow much as an artist. While always a distinctive practitioner, intelligent, and with immense drive, the negative implications of some of these characteristics are all too apparent in his last, not very readable novel, written when he was in ill health, and terribly extended. But he finished the work: a fine, right thing to do. I am inclined to think that his originality lies in tone and diction, especially dialogue, and has less to do with the larger issues of theme (e.g. point), or with subtlety of characterisation within recognisable types.
Authentic as Mr Roth’s memories of his friend may be, I think he overwrites the vellum, places too much the best face on things. If we credit the tale, as against the teller, then Mr Roth’s novel Ghost Writer must dramatise his true feelings and judgment of Malamud, his work, and his later reputation. Possibly that somewhat cruel, mildly comic novel is Mr Roth’s A New Life and served some of the same purposes.
James Hall
Santa Cruz, California
