The Impossible James

Short of an imaginary-Freedom-Tower to dwarf all imaginary-Freedom-Towers, it is impossible to imagine a monument able to capture the greatness of the immortal Henry James.  How else to describe a man who could continue to produce short stories and novels for nearly sixty years after his own death?  He may never have written the Great American Novel (which more on shortly), but he was America's Greatest Living Novelest. 

At least until his timely death in 1974.

When the editorial board of Library Journal said "The Library of America is starting off with a bang in 1999," they didn't jest: the Library of America  scored quite the coup.  Forthcoming editions include:

• his (unpublished) novel about three starving German socialites after the Great War, The Wings of the Pigeon (1931)
• his (unpublished) sequel to The Ambassadors, the scathing Chamberlain (1939)
• his (unpublished) update to The Siege of London (1883) entitled The Seige of London (1942)
• his (unpublished) account of the death of humanism and the increasingly technocratic nature of political power, Washington Squares (1948)
• his (unpublished) paean to domesticity in the '50s, The Diary of a Man of One-Hundred and Fifty (1952)
• his (unpublished) biography of the young Charles Van Doren, The Pupil (1957)
• his (unpublished) sequel to his (unpublished) biogrpahy of the young Charles Van Doren, The Pupil?!? (1958)
• his (unpublished) story of a young woman's entrance into and rebellion against society, titled The Private-Life-Is-Political (1968)
• his (unpublished) shameful novella written shortly before his death, The Beasts Rumble in the Jungle (1974)

Comments

[Camicao]

I've often thought of the prolific nature of XIXth century authors (and of Stephen King), to try to understand if there was anything different about the time that would explain their productivity, other than an individual's talent. The great, dickensian Spanish novelist Benito Perez Galdos, used to get up at 4 in the morning to write for four or five hours. His sister, I think, copy-edited and such. He managed to crank out dozens of voluminous and delightful novels, as well as tons of book-length historical fictions. It boggles the mind. It would be great to read a cultural history of writing, to try to figure out the writing habits of these fellows. But I think that blogging captures something of the XIXth century desire to write and write and write! (as it was done in diaries, journals and letters etc). You, for example, impress me tremendously for the amount that you've written that is scholarly on this blog and on The Valve. You're Jamesian to a degree, but I mean that as a compliment (because I do not care for James that much; I like the godawful sensualism and brutality of a London -Martin Eden is one of my favorite XIXth century novels-).

[Scott Eric Kaufman]

[EDIT: I've deleted some nonsense that lived here.] The fact that the Little Womedievalist to whom I'm married will land the primo job somewhere is all that stands between me and law school. Last year I took the LSAT and applied to every law school CNN would consider a "reputable" institution and was accepted, with a free ride, to all of them. If I, as an Americanist, can't coast into a position on her coat-tails, I know that I'll take my work ethic, bravado, and dubious distinction as a "master debater" (earned in high school by acquiring 2400 debate points) into law school...and you admire my productivity? I don't mean to denigrate your position so much as question my own, and I hope you realize that; but in all honesty, I'm 90% certain that I'll fail. Some dark mornings I actually consider how I can best sell myself as a disabled deaf Americanist so that I might have some leg up in the market. (Then I slap my pride around for even considering such a debased tactic.)

For what it's worth, I'm also a fan of the "up from nothing," Horatio Alger-esque novel. But if I admit that, I have to acknowledge the attraction of identity politics, because the majority of the people in my department drive the cars my father--who was a chemical engineer by day and an EMT by night--used to pull the privileged from for the majority of my childhood. I know I'm not technically, i.e. financially, working class; but I think having a father who was a chemical engineer who would come home after a 13 hour work-day, throw me in the car, take me to a baseball game, serve as third-base coach, then take me to the Randolph Rescue Squad, where I would take a bath in a bucket while he saved the lives of, well, whoever called 911 that night...I think that made me understand what it meant to 1) be socially responsible and 2) work, work, work.

In other words, this rambling's introduced you to the locus classicus of my insomnia. And for that, I apologize.

[Camicao]

Hey Scott, I seem to have touched a nerve. It was a compliment! Why should it bother you that I appreciate the quality and quantity of what you write on this blog? I don't see the relationship between my praise and your job prospects or with my tenure!

Incidentally, I do appreciate and sympathize with your dilemma as an Americanist; my partner is one, as are several of my good friends. I know how difficult it is.

[Scott Eric Kaufman]

Dr. Camicao, I didn't mean that to be directly a response to you. That's called "the 7:40 p.m. panic attack." All I meant to say is that I hope to one day be in the position your in. During the "attack," I somehow connected my prolixity with your tenure; I'm not entirely sure why. I do, however, find it strange that the better the quality of my work on a given day, the more likely I am to despair over my job prospects.

In other words: sorry for sounding so shrill. I'll go back and edit some sense into that comment.

[Camicao]

Scott- No worries! Don't worry about it! You take care, Cam (no need for titles between friends)