Then suddenly it was Saturday afternoon with only a day left in Paris and I hadn’t been in touch with anybody. Again, I called the number Montague had given me. I couldn’t believe it when his French wife answered. But Montague was in Ireland. Yes, he had mentioned me to her. She knew my name. And then, sitting on the hotel room bed, I said to myself, “What the hell is the matter with me?” and grabbed the phone book. Saroyan was listed. I called the number. A young man told me that Saroyan had left for California but he filled me in on all my old friend had been doing. Then Mavis Gallant? Of course she was in the book. Mavis herself answered the phone. “Are you so silly?” she said. “You must have been eager to see me if you couldn’t even look in the phone book,” and she said she would come down to the hotel within an hour. She did, and we sat in the bar till eight o’clock, when she had to leave for a dinner engagement. Lovely hours, with Mavis as vivid and laughing as ever. Mavis at twenty-four in Montreal. Mavis as she was now. Still Mavis.
And later that night I got myself into a story. Since my mind was full of stories, all the stories I had written during those early Paris days, it seemed only right that I should become a character in one of my own kind of stories. In the hotel, coming down in the elevator I was with three or four other guests. An American of about fifty in an elegant expensive suit with wide lapels was with a woman who was obviously his wife. He had iron-grey hair, and a pink and white, freshly shaved, executive’s face. Under his arm was a parcel, some long object wrapped in newspaper which I thought was rather unworthy of his executive air. Then I realized his eye was on me. “Excuse me,” he said just before the elevator reached the ground floor and the lobby. “Do you know anything about this stuff?” and he drew from the newspaper wrapping a two-and-a-half foot African wooden sculpture.
I thought he must have spoken to me because I was casually dressed. I had on a fawn coloured jacket, a pair of brown slacks, and a red cashmere sweater. It had to be my clothes, or my hair, much longer than his. We had stepped out of the elevator. “Well, let’s have a look at it,” I said. It was a trite African carving. “Hmm,” I said. “Where did you get it?”
“Right outside the hotel. The fellow is out there now,” he said.
“How much did you pay for it?”
“He wants fifty dollars.”
“Hmmm,” I said, and pondered gravely while this rich buyer waited, glancing occasionally at his wife. But I was in a dilemma. What did I owe to this rich businessman? Nothing. What did I owe to the fellow who lurked outside? Nothing. But didn’t I owe something special to myself? So I said, “Where are you from?”
“Indianapolis.”
“What did you want this piece for?”
“I was going to put it in my home . . . if it’s any good.”
“I’ll tell you what to do,” I said. “Tell the seller you will give him thirty-five dollars. Not a cent more. Tell him you are aware that there are dozens and dozens of these things you can buy more cheaply. They are in fact all around. Don’t put it in your home. Put it in your office. I’m sure he’ll give it to you for thirty-five bucks.”
“Thank you very much,” he said brusquely.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
Fifteen minutes later, I saw my executive friend arguing with an Algerian who was squatting on the walk twenty feet from the hotel entrance.
“Thirty-five dollars! Not a cent more,” the executive kept repeating, and when I looked back money was changing hands.
Upstairs in our room, telling this to Loretto, I had the aesthetic delight of having achieved a balance of form. The African sculpture, I imagine, was worth about five dollars, but I, having been given the power to order things around, satisfied myself that I had behaved justly. The executive could well afford the thirty-five dollars. The Algerian deserved something for sitting out on the sidewalk those long hours. And I, too, was owed something for being drawn in on this transaction. Sitting in the hotel bedroom I felt that I had been fair to myself in having the power to achieve a neat moral balance, a moralist to the end!
In the morning we stood on the rue de Rivoli looking at Notre Dame and the Ile de la Cité and reflected that the French were very smart about their Paris. They might build it anew, again and again, yet the Paris one generation and then another loved would still be there, still the lovely woman among all cities. I felt very lucky in saying good-bye and remembered those lines in The Brothers Karamatzov . . . Alyosha’s speech to the boys . . . “Live your life so that looking back you may have a good memory of things.”
Questions for Discussion
1. Callaghan says that when he was young Toronto was a very British city, but he was intensely North American. Who were the writers who conveyed the “feel” of being British and who were the writers he read who were North American? What made them distinctively North American, and why, for example, was Sherwood Anderson’s collection of stories, Winesberg, Ohio, so important to young writers like Callaghan and Hemingway?
2. What was it about newspapers and the world of newspapermen that made “reporting” so important and so natural a job for avant garde and experimental prose writers like Hemingway, Dos Passos, and Callaghan?
3. Callaghan says the trouble with writing is that storytellers use language to evade the thing for what it is in itself, and to do so, they too often retreat into metaphor. Instead, he says, words should be as transparent as glass. Is this an accurate description of his aesthetic, his style; does he actually manage to tell stories “through glass” by using almost no metaphors? To what dramatic effect? How does this effect the “authenticity” of the story?
4. For certain writers of Callaghan’s generation, sports like boxing or long-distance running or bullfighting became metaphors for writing – not just a style but a moral integrity at the heart of a style. Does boxing in Callaghan’s story take on such metaphorical weight?
5. John Glassco of Montreal, who was a young writer in Paris at the same time as Hemingway and Callaghan, years later published his Memoirs of Montparnasse, to much acclaim. He had let it be known that he’d written the book during and shortly after those Paris days. This turned out not to be true, the book being “honed” years later, and some parts – presented as fact – are fiction. Does this matter, and to whom?
6. To expand on the previous question, it is generally agreed that Hemingway’s memoir of those Paris days, A Moveable Feast, is made up of a series of brilliantly written portraits – Fitzgerald, Stein, Pound – but, as portraits constituting a memoir, they are more like short fictions containing their own devastating truths, but fictions nonetheless. Does this matter, and to whom?
7. Callaghan says the Left Bank world of the cafés was one of gossip and backbiting. One of the backbiters was an American publisher and writer, Robert McAlmon. He challenged Callaghan to a story-writing contest: who could write the better story about John Glassco and his boyfriend? Callaghan wrote such a story. What is the title of this story? How convincing a story is it, and how “fair” do you think it is to Glassco, as you’ve come to know him through his memoir?
8. For all his evenness of temper as a storyteller there is a violence in Callaghan, a violence that comes out in more than boxing. This violence, and the vanities attached to it, cause deep wounds. Would it be fair to say that That Summer in Paris is Callaghan’s attempt to close and heal old wounds, and can such a “memoir” be seen as an act of atonement?
9. One of Callaghan’s critics, Gary Boire, has written: “Magus-like, niggling, Morley Callaghan is one of Canada’s most demanding talents, pushing the reader toward an individual anarchic evolution.” Do you find the seeds, the promise of the fruition of this “anarchic evolution,” in That Summer in Paris?
Related Reading
Callaghan, Barry.
Barrelhouse Kings. Toronto: McArthur & Company/Exile Editions, 1998.
Callaghan, Morley.
Ancient Lineage and Other Stories: selected and with an Afterword by William Kennedy. Toronto: The Ne
w Canadian Library, McCelland & Stewart, 2012.
Conron, Brandon.
Morley Callaghan. New York: Twayne, 1966.
Glassco, John.
Memoirs of Montparnasse. Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1970.
Hemingway, Ernest.
A Moveable Feast. New York: Bantam, 1965.
Hemingway, Ernest.
The Letters of Ernest Hemingway, The Cambridge Edition, Volume 2. Edited by Sandra Spanier and Robert W. Trogdon. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013.
McAlmon, Robert.
Being Geniuses Together 1920 - 1930. Garden City, N.Y. Doubleday & Company, 1968.
Staines, David, ed.
The Callaghan Symposium. Ottawa: The University of Ottawa, 1981.
Wilson, Edmund.
O Canada: An American’s Notes on Canadian Culture. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1965.
Wilson, Edmund.
The Bit Between My Teeth: A Literary Chronicle of 1950 - 1965. “That Summer in Paris.” New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1965.
Related Reading from Exile Editions
Callaghan, Barry, ed.
The Stories That Are Great Within Us. Toronto: Exile Editions, 2013.
Callaghan, Morley.
The Complete Stories of Morley Callaghan, Volumes One - Four. (Exile Classics Series No.s 22-25). Toronto: Exile Editions, 2012.
Callaghan, Morley.
Strange Fugitive. (Exile Classics Series No. 20). Toronto: Exile Editions, 2011.
Callaghan, Morley.
It’s Never Over. (Exile Classics Series No. 19). Toronto: Exile Editions, 2011.
Callaghan, Morley.
The Loved and the Lost. (Exile Classics Series No. 17). Toronto: Exile Editions, 2010.
Callaghan, Morley.
The New Yorker Stories. (Exile Classics Series No. 11). Toronto: Exile Editions, 2008.
Callaghan, Morley.
A Literary Life. Reflections and Reminiscences, 1928-1990. Toronto: Exile Editions, 2008.
Callaghan, Morley.
A Time for Judas. Toronto: Exile Editions, 2005.
Callaghan, Morley.
The Vow. Toronto: Exile Editions, 2005.
THE EXILE CLASSICS SERIES ~ 1 TO 27
THAT SUMMER IN PARIS (No. 1) ~ MORLEY CALLAGHAN
Memoir & Essays 5.5x8.5 280 pages 978-1-55096-361-8 (tpb)
It was the fabulous summer of 1929 when the literary capital of North America had moved to the Left Bank of Paris. Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce, Ford Madox Ford, Robert McAlmon and Morley Callaghan... amid these tangled relationships, friendships were forged, and lost... A tragic and sad and unforgettable story told in Callaghan’s lucid, compassionate prose. Also included in this new edition are selections from Callaghan’s comments on Hemingway, Joyce and Fitzgerald, beginning in that time early in his life, and ending with his reflection on returning to Paris at the end of his life.
NIGHTS IN THE UNDERGROUND (No. 2) ~ MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS
Novel 6x9 190 pages 978-1-55096-015-0 (tpb)
With this novel, Marie-Claire Blais came to the forefront of feminism in Canada. This is a classic of lesbian literature that weaves a profound matrix of human isolation, with transcendence found in the healing power of love.
DEAF TO THE CITY (No. 3) ~ MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS
Novel 6x9 218 pages 978-1-55096-013-6 (tpb)
City life, where innocence, death, sexuality, and despair fight for survival. It is a book of passion and anguish, characteristic of our times, written in a prose of controlled self-assurance. A true urban classic.
THE GERMAN PRISONER (No. 4) ~ JAMES HANLEY
Novella 6x9 64 pages 978-1-55096-075-4 (tpb)
In the weariness and exhaustion of WWI trench warfare, men are driven to extremes of behaviour.
THERE ARE NO ELDERS (No. 5) ~ AUSTIN CLARKE
Stories 6x9 159 pages 978-1-55096-092-1 (tpb)
Austin Clarke is one of the significant writers of our times. These are compelling stories of life as it is lived among the displaced in big cities, marked by a singular richness of language true to the streets.
100 LOVE SONNETS (No. 6) ~ PABLO NERUDA
Poetry 5.5x8.5 232 pages 978-1-55096-108-9 (tpb)
As Gabriel García Márquez stated: “Pablo Neruda is the greatest poet of the twentieth century – in any language.” And, this is the finest translation available, anywhere!
THE SELECTED GWENDOLYN MACEWEN (No. 7)
GWENDOLYN MACEWEN
Poetry/Fiction/Drama/Art/Archival 6x9 352 pages 978-1-55096-111-9 (tpb)
“This book represents a signal event in Canadian culture.” — Globe and Mail The only edition to chronologically follow the astonishing trajectory of MacEwen’s career as a poet, storyteller, translator and dramatist, in a substan-tial selection from each genre.
THE WOLF (No. 8) ~ MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS
Novel 6x9 158 pages 978-1-55096-105-8 (tpb)
A human wolf moves outside the bounds of love and conventional morality as he stalks willing prey in this spellbinding masterpiece and classic of gay literature.
A SEASON IN THE LIFE OF EMMANUEL (No. 9) ~ MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS
Novel 6x9 175 pages 978-1-55096-118-8 (tpb)
Widely considered by critics and readers alike to be her masterpiece, this is truly a work of genius comparable to Faulkner, Kafka, or Dostoyevsky. Includes 16 ink drawings by Mary Meigs.
IN THIS CITY (No. 10) ~ AUSTIN CLARKE
Stories 6x9 221 pages 978-1-55096-106-5 (tpb)
Clarke has caught the sorrowful and sometimes sweet longing for a home in the heart that torments the dislocated in any city. Eight masterful stories showcase the elegance of Clarke’s prose and the innate sympathy of his eye.
THE NEW YORKER STORIES (No. 11) ~ MORLEY CALLAGHAN
Stories 6x9 158 pages 978-1-55096-110-2 (tpb)
Callaghan’s great achievement as a young writer is marked by his breaking out with stories such as these in this collection... “If there is a better storyteller in the world, we don’t know where he is.” — New York Times
REFUS GLOBAL (No. 12) ~ THE MONTRÉAL AUTOMATISTS
Manifesto 6x9 142 pages 978-1-55096-107-2 (tpb)
The single most important social document in Quebec history, and the most important aesthetic statement a group of Canadian artists has ever made. This is basic reading for anyone interested in Canadian history or the arts in Canada.
TROJAN WOMEN (No. 13) ~ GWENDOLYN MACEWEN
Drama 6x9 142 pages 978-1-55096-123-2 (tpb)
A trio of timeless works featuring the great ancient theatre piece by Euripedes in a new version by MacEwen, and the translations of two long poems by the contemporary Greek poet Yannis Ritsos.
ANNA’S WORLD (No. 14) ~ MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS
Novel 5.5x8.5 166 pages ISBN: 978-1-55096-130-0
An exploration of contemporary life, and the penetrating energy of youth, as Blais looks at teenagers by creating Anna, an introspective, alienated teenager without hope. Anna has experienced what life today has to offer and rejected its premise. There is really no point in going on. We are all going to die, if we are not already dead, is Anna’s philosophy.
THE MANUSCRIPTS OF PAULINE ARCHANGE (No. 15) ~ MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS
Novel 5.5x8.5 324 pages ISBN: 978-1-55096-131-7
For the first time, the three novelettes that constitute the complete text are brought together: the story of Pauline and her world, a world in which people turn to violence or sink into quiet despair, a world as damned as that of Baudelaire or Jean Genet.
A DREAM LIKE MINE (No. 16) ~ M.T. KELLY
Novel 5.5x8.5 174 pages ISBN: 978-1-55096-132-4
A Dream Like Mine is a journey into the contemporary issue of radical and violent solutions to stop the destruction of the environment. It is also a journey into the unconscious, and into the nightmare of history, beauty and terror that are the awesome landscape of the Native American spirit world.
THE LOVED AND THE LOST (No.
17) ~ MORLEY CALLAGHAN
Novel 5.5x8.5 302 pages ISBN: 978-1-55096-151-5 (tpb)
With the story set in Montreal, young Peggy Sanderson has become socially unacceptable because of her association with black musicians in nightclubs. The black men think she must be involved sexually, the black women fear or loathe her, yet her direct, almost spiritual manner is at variance with her reputation.
NOT FOR EVERY EYE (No. 18) ~ GÉRARD BESSETTE
Novel 5.5x8.5 126 pages ISBN: 978-1-55096-149-2 (tpb)
A novel of great tact and sly humour that deals with ennui in Quebec and the intellectual alienation of a disenchanted hero, and one of the absolute classics of modern revolutionary and comic Quebec literature. Chosen by the Grand Jury des Lettres of Montreal as one of the ten best novels of post-war contemporary Quebec.
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