The Letters of Shirley Jackson
Page 61
i don’t know if i told you quite how sick stanley was. the doctor in new york really frightened me about getting him home and into the hospital at once, and then when we got home oliver, our doctor, managed to scare stanley about a coronary, so that even though the hospital was not necessary stanley went to bed docilely and stayed there and now is firmly in oliver’s clutches. oliver comes once a week to give him a shot, and poor stanley has lost forty pounds and is taking all kinds of pills and going to bed early and not working so hard and generally reforming in all directions. we are all, except barry, staying on the diet with stanley. sally has lost about fifteen pounds and so have i. stanley lost so much in the first week or so; by giving up salt and taking dope. i finally left him in care of sally and joanne and went off to work at bread loaf; by the time i left he was up and around but very grouchy and the girls apparently had quite a time with him; i was gone two weeks and it was during that time he lost all that weight, so i got quite a shock when i came home. i am now getting to be quite a low-calorie cook. i have ransacked our local supermarkets and brought home all the diet foods i could find. since this diet is more or less permanent i have just settled down to live with it.
i actually had my last good meal at bread loaf, when a group of us went to the blueberry hill inn and had a wonderful dinner. since then i have been hungry. bread loaf was most enjoyable; i did my work well enough to be invited back next year, and i spent a lot of the two weeks sleeping. this entire summer was somehow devoted to stanley’s illness, since it began with the asthma early in the summer and got worse and worse. as a result i realized as soon as i got away that i was worn out, so bread loaf turned into a vacation. i lived with the rest of the staff in a lovely old house on campus, and since it is one of the traditions there that the staff never mixes with the paying customers, we got to be a little private group, eating together and gathering every day at twelve and at five in our private little bar, where we had a bartender and an inexhaustible supply of bloody marys. i gave four lectures, conducted three reading sessions, and had conferences with six students, which meant that i had something to do every day. i also got some writing done.
i’m working very hard right now, and enjoying it more than i have in a long time. i divide my time between stories and the children’s book. i give two lectures in new york state this month, and then in the spring stanley has a sabbatical and we are going to chicago and michigan and eventually to georgia; stanley has been asked to do a memorial introduction to the books of flannery o’connor, a very good writer who died quite young a month or so ago, and she lived in georgia so we must go there to meet her family. neither of us has ever been in the south, and it will be an interesting experience. we will drive down, and take our time about it, and see some old southern mansions.
sally has changed so that you would not recognize her; one result of her going to the doctor has been that she has gone out and made friends, and is now involved in a great social whirl.
laurie and corinne are quite discouraged about the job situation. laurie spent last week in new york seeing people and had not much luck, and the people who own their little house are raising the rent considerably so laurie and corinne are most anxious to move. right now laurie is still working at the track, but he must find something this month. the new baby—gretchen—is charming and as a result of being so late she is not red and wrinkled, but perfectly beautiful. she looks very much like corinne. miles is lively and cheerful and talking a lot.
as i say, we are being very quiet. we are cutting down on holidays, too, so that we have already decided on a much quieter christmas this year. stanley’s brother and his wife, who were separated for several years, are now together again, so stanley’s mother will spend christmas with them this year. they will all be up thanksgiving, though.
must stop now. please write, keep well, and go out and have a piece of chocolate cream pie and think of us.
much much love,
s.
• • •
[To Carl Brandt, Carol’s son and an agent at Brandt & Brandt]
September 28 [1964]
Dear Carl,
I am frankly a little stunned at the idea that of all the stories I have ever written Martha Foley*29 should choose PEANUTS*30 as one of the fifty best stories. Also nothing is said about payment. I am signing the contracts, however, and returning them to you.
I would be grateful if you could explain to Houghton Mifflin that I do not think that my religious affiliation is any of their business.
I am sorry to sound so grumpy, but this whole business seems faintly odd to me.
Best,
Shirley Jackson
• • •
[To Carol Brandt]
October 3 [1964]
Dear Carol,
Welcome back, and here is a story for you. I do hope you had a wonderful time and ate and ate and ate.
Eating is at present the center of our lives. Stanley is much recovered, and on a very strict diet; he has lost a great deal of weight and must keep on, so we live in a low-calorie atmosphere.
The little book goes well, although I set it aside to do some stories.
I am sitting down again, and working hard and joyfully. We have a new granddaughter, by the way, and our maples have all turned gold.
Best,
Shirley
• • •
“The Neurotic Personality of our Time”
[To Carol Brandt]
October 14 [1964]
Dear Carol,
I really do not think the story is what he has in mind, but I’ll get it off to you in a few days and you can decide. It’s really quite a nasty little story.*31
I wrote Pat, and Sally, who adores him, made him an enchanting little card. Have you any word on how he is?
I find that every now and then I lift my head from calorie-counting and dream of that dessert at the Four Seasons.
Best,
Shirley
Just heard about Pat.
Editor Pat Covici (1885–1964) has just died. Shirley had become very fond of Pat, had dedicated We Have Always Lived in the Castle to him, and is deeply affected and saddened by his death.
• • •
[To Carol Brandt]
October 30 [1964]
Dear Carol,
Here is my new story—not the one I thought to do for the Post, but a newer one—and I do hope you like it.
I am very sad that you are confused over Sally’s story, because Stanley and I both thought it was a beautiful job, difficult and disturbing; I suppose you could say that it was about the myths of the changing of the seasons. I did not show her your letter, of course, nor mention that you had written about it. The poor child made the mistake of handing in the story as an assignment in English and is still smarting over the treatment she got from the teacher, who read half of it to the class and then stopped and asked “Does anyone really want me to go on with this?”
Anyway, I hope you’ll want to send it to one or two places just to see what happens. I have one more story to do, and then I think another book. I have put the children’s book aside for a while; it got me started writing again but I would rather do a more grownup type of thing, I think.
Best,
Shirley
• • •
[To Corinne, Laurie, Miles, and Gretchen, now living in New York City]
tuesday [November 1964]
dear c/l/m/g,
i am writing although there is no news at all. joanne is coming for dinner tonight, which makes for a pretty exciting day.
i hope the records*32 come before saturday. thank you very much for getting them, and will you let us know how much they cost so we can reimburse you. i hope they are not t
oo ghastly. barry let me watch the beatles on television the other night and i think they are fine but then he made me listen to people called the animals and the rolling stones and my goodness. they are all twelve years old, i think.
we solved the storm window problem by ordering two metal windows for the study. we figure at the rate of two windows a year we may have all metal windows before the house sinks to the ground. i do feel that all the beams are loose as a result of barry’s records.
the handle fell off the refrigerator again.
dad hit 180 pounds and now he won’t weigh himself anymore.
barry is borrowing a car motor from bennington college (why does bennington college have a car motor?) and is going to put it in the cellar and teach me how to take it apart. i will then be able to make all repairs on morris.
i spoke to corinne’s mother the other day and invited them for thanksgiving but they have family coming. we are going to miss you. you are coming for christmas aren’t you? it’s very lonely without you.
everyone sends love; write soon; keep well. all our love to m and g.
m.
• • •
[To Carol Brandt]
November 6 [1964]
Dear Carol,
I am very curious indeed to know who my new editor will be. Since my son Laurie and family are now living in New York City, I have been looking for an excuse to make a flying trip there, and may manage it to meet a new editor.
Working, working.
Best,
Shirley
• • •
[To Carol Brandt]
November 17 [1964]
Dear Carol,
I am quite excited about having a new editor, and from what you say I should think that Corlies Smith would be the wise choice, since I do of course want someone who is interested in fiction and knows my work. I would very much like to meet Mr. Smith but don’t know when or how I can come down, since from now until Christmas things keep quite busy around here. We are planning to come down in January; is that too late? I would like to get down to see Laurie sometime, but am afraid that that will have to be put off. And, too, I would like to have some kind of book started to show a new editor.
I gather that my two stories are not doing well. I am discouraged but not entirely. And blessings on you for sending out Sally’s story; she was wild with excitement when the letter came from The New Yorker.
I may honestly end up writing a low-calorie cookbook.
Best,
Shirley
• • •
[To Laurie and family]
thurs. [November 1964]
this letter came back because i—of course—had the wrong address. so i can now put in the green stamps.
snowing.
they fixed the refrigerator but dad’s desk chair fell apart again. it was once too often; i am ordering him a new one today. you remember how it happens: first the chair cracks and joggles and then slowly comes apart and dad leaps up and the chair goes out from under him and he leans over and his lighter falls out of his pocket and he leans over to pick up the lighter and his cigarettes fall out of his pocket and he leans over to pick up his cigarettes and cracks the side of his head against the desk…
love to all.
m.
• • •
[To Carol Brandt]
November 24 [1964]
Dear Carol,
I have decided to put those two stories completely out of mind and I am making little tentative pokes at a book. I want to have something for you before I come down in January.
Best,
Shirley
• • •
[To Geraldine and Leslie Jackson]
january 11 [1965]
dearest mother and pop,
am sorry to be late writing you but we just got back from new york; i am using my new typewriter and nothing is where it ought to be, so my typing is odd, to say the least.
we loved all your wonderful presents, and many many thanks. The check is going to go into our summer fund; stanley has a sabbatical this year, and we are thinking of england, or taking a cruise, or some such wild crazy thing, and putting aside money for it now.
we had to go to new york on business; my editor at viking press died this summer (pat covici, whom i have known for a million years, and whose death upset me terribly) and it was necessary for me to meet and decide on a new editor, and a terrible thing it was. my agent interviewed several nice ambitious young men at viking, and finally decided on one and he took me to a fancy lunch and it turned out he has a thirteen year old son just like barry so it will be all right; we can work together. all he really has to do is send me free books and take me to lunch and write me timidly that they are correcting my grammar. anyway the new typewriter is to start the book,*33 and i have a year and a half to write it in. the saturday evening post just bought my new story;*34 i am back in business.
we are still dieting, although it is difficult in new york. we are all well, had a wonderful christmas with grandchildren, and only wish you could have been here.
many many thanks and love from all of us. write soon.
s.
• • •
[To Carol Brandt]
January 20 [1965]
Dear Carol,
The advance from Viking is wonderful, and I am full of awe for you. I should finish the book easily in eighteen months, and certainly with peace of mind under these terms. Many thanks for planning it so thoughtfully.
Seeing you in New York was lovely, and I have had a nice note from Cork Smith saying how much he enjoyed lunch that day; so did I, and I look forward to working with him.
I hope that you notice that I am seriously at work at last; I have a new typewriter ribbon.
Many thanks again.
Best,
Shirley
* * *
• • •
In February, Shirley develops pneumonia and is briefly hospitalized.
[To Carol Brandt]
March 5 [1965]
Dear Carol,
Much to report. We are home from the south, after a splendid but tiring trip; I am supposed to be convalescent, cannot go up stairs, cannot lift anything or overdo in any fashion, take eight different kinds of pills and so on. It is a pleasure, anyway, to be half back at work; the hardest part of all of it is taking it easy.
I am getting to work on the Journal story, and it should not take long, although I must go slowly. I am supposed to keep telling myself “Slow slow” whatever I am doing; a person could go crazy.
I have not looked at the book for a while and am most anxious to get back to it.
I am sorry to sound so sloppy and self-absorbed. My whole life has been turned upside down in some lunatic fashion, and I can’t seem to come to terms with things quite yet.
Best, and many thanks,
Shirley
I do sound sorry for myself—it’s not really this bad!
• • •
[To Carol Brandt]
March 18 [1965]
Dear Carol,
Here is the Journal story. I realize that I must apologize for the abominable typing; I am working on a strange typewriter and we do not seem to get along.
All best,
Shirley
• • •
[To Carol Brandt]
April 8 [1965]
Dear Carol,
Delighted to hear that the story is okay for the Journal. I am feeling better and livelier every day, and so long as I don’t get tired I can do anything I want, so I have been working. We have just come back from Wisconsin, where I read the fir
st ten pages of the children’s book and the first ten pages of the grownup book to a student audience, and they were very enthusiastic. As a result, of course, I am even more excited about both books.
The Viking check has still not come; are they just dragging their feet? Do you think we could get it regularly on the first of each month? I hate to bother you with this, but we depend on it.
Have a wonderful trip. I tried plane travel for the first time in years on this trip to Wisconsin and I must say the food is awful. Your route makes me believe that all those places really exist, and can be really visited.
Best,
Shirley
• • •
“Dear, you look so strange tonight.”
This is the last letter Shirley will write to her parents.
[To Geraldine and Leslie Jackson]
may 12 [1965]
dearest mother and pop,
as you can imagine, we are both exhausted and have had enough traveling and lecturing to last us for quite a while. we have just come back from a trip that took us first to syracuse, where we both lectured, then to rochester, where stanley lectured at nazareth college then to akron, south bend, and finally chicago,*35 where i was resident lady lecturer for four days, meeting students and Talking about Writing, and giving a lecture and doing a radio program and having dinner with the president and going to teas and sherry parties (i loathe sherry) and brunches, then stanley went to macmurray college in illinois and lectured and then he lectured again in urbana and then we took four days driving home. from the day we left syracuse the weather was constantly over ninety. in chicago it was almost impossible to go outside in the heat. i lectured in an auditorium so hot i dripped all over my manuscript and the audience was visibly suffering; all the doors were open but the temperature in there must have been over a hundred. part of my job in chicago was living in a student dorm where stanley felt very ill at ease; we had to have all our meals in the student cafeteria, as part of the bargain, so that students could come over and talk to me. food was terrible. we got out once to dinner at the president’s home, where the food was worse. we drove up westminster road in rochester, and i almost didn’t recognize the old house; rochester has changed so that i was completely lost; our hotel reservations (made by nazareth nuns) got confused so we went to the sheraton where we had been told to go, and ran into a convention of embalmers or some such who had of course filled the place, and then got sent to the manger hotel which i dimly remembered as highly unsavory and in a bad part of town but it seemed all right now. i was interviewed by the democrat and the chronicle, enclosed, and the times-union, which i haven’t seen; don’t think i said all the things they say i did. the interviews took place in the nuns’ reception room and sister margaret mary was plying us with the bottle of cutty sark they keep for the priest.