So Big

by Edna Ferber

  One day, she and Woollcott, among others, were lunching at the Algonquin. She, just back from Paris, sported a broad-shouldered suit, the outré style of the day.

  Woollcott commented, “Why Edna, you look almost like a man.”

  Ferber eyed him levelly. “Why, Aleck, so do you.”

  When the going threatened to get rough, there was always someone to turn the right phrase and set the table back on its course. Often it was George S. Kaufman, who was present when Ferber and Woollcott got into one of their frequent snarls. Ferber seemed to be bettering Woollcott, whereupon Woollcott, never to be outdone or undone retorted, “You shut up, you. goddamn Christ-killer!”

  Kaufman, with back like a ramrod, said with asperity, “I just want to warn you that that’s the last time I’ll have my race insulted. The next time I’ll walk out. And Mrs. Parker, I trust, will walk halfway with me.” (Dorothy Parker happened to be one-half Scottish and one-half Jewish.)

  Wit has never been taken seriously, but is appreciated and understood as an entity in America more, perhaps, than in any other country. Whatever the Round Table wasn’t, it was very American and very funny. Its members were qualified wit mongers whose rhetoric has been marketed, packaged, sold, and resold to this day. Upon being asked by an actor what he thought of the play he’d just seen, George S. Kaufman quipped, “You should have been sitting in the audience with me.” When Lillian Hellman appeared at lunch at the Round Table, Ferber’s response was, “Any side of the table Lillian Hellman sits on, I’ll sit on the other side.” Or when a club-woman type stopped Ferber in the lobby of the Algonquin to comment, “Oh, Miss Ferber, I didn’t know you were Jewish,” Ferber tossed off, “Yes, but only on my mother and father’s side.”

  Funny and trenchant were the signatures of this tough bunch.

  Me and “Ferb”

  ACTUALLY, I NEVER would have called her by her nickname. I think it would have been conceived as disrespectful. Although children were seen and heard in my family, we were taught to be very careful around great aunt Edna, and to mind our p’s and q’s. We were to write thank you notes immediately after a gift had been sent us and to personally phone her up every couple of weeks, but never during the morning hours when she was writing! We were carefully taught early that great aunt Edna was a national, if “peculiar,” treasure. Although she had some well-known idiosyncrasies, we were to cherish her as well as to be grateful to her.

  I may have been instructed in this behavior; however, my warm emotions toward her made it easy. We seem to have come from equidistant points, meeting square in the middle, and I never doubted that we were kindred. She called me “dollface,” and “Miss Gomitt” (my maiden name is Goldsmith), and I would throw my arms around her in a bear hug.

  I am flooded with favorite memories of our relationship. In the two decades that I knew her, I collected invaluable lessons of wisdom, kindness, and survival tactics. One of the turning points in shaping my own destiny as a writer came at an early age. Every few months or so, Ferber and I would have a “date.” After treating me to an elegant, delicious lunch, we would go to FAO Schwarz’s toy store, where a Madame Alexander would be purchased, and then, as a chaser, we would walk into Central Park and choose the perfect bench for people-watching. Perhaps through a rose-colored glass, I seem to recall that whenever we did this, the weather behaved beautifully. So there we would sit—oh, there was often a popsicle involved that we would languorously lick—and scrutinize the passers-by. “What do you think of that fellow?” she would ask me, and then, early on before I was seasoned, give a gentle prompt: “Do you think he had a happy morning?”

  “Oh, no,” I’d say, “I think he fell out of bed and then fought with his wife.”

  As our game became more sophisticated, the dossiers on the strangers became most involving and rich with detail. It was, as I know so well today, what writers do, love to do, must do.

  Another memory-sample of “my” Ferber was the late afternoon that I decided to drop in. One just didn’t do this with her. One always made an appointment far in advance. But my callow preteen self decided while strolling up Lexington Avenue that I would buy her a cake and pay a call—friendly style. I stopped at a bakery called Cake Masters, where they had rather garden-variety fare but within my budget. I distinctly remember it was an extremely large, goopy-gooey strawberry cheesecake. I thought it was impressive; in retrospect, it was quite a horror and unlike the fine patisserie she was used to. I doubt I wished to impose my will upon her with a visit and a cake she wouldn’t like. I seem to recall it was simply the impetuousness of youth combined with the feeling that I was special to her, and although she might be grumpy to any other “interloper,” she most likely would be pleased to see me.

  The cake was bundled into a slightly grease-stained white cardboard box and tied with skinny red-and-white string. I carried it like the Hope diamond up to her building at 71st and Park Avenue.

  I was announced, sent up in the elevator-manned lift to the penthouse, and greeted effusively by Molly Hennessey, Ferber’s beloved housekeeper. “Miss Ferber! Miss Ferber!” she called out. “She’s here!”

  Ferber came out quickly with her arms open wide. “Why, Miss Gomitt! I can’t imagine anyone I would want to see more!”

  After thanking me for the thoughtful cake, Molly whisked it away. I wondered whether they would gobble it when I was gone, or—a cloud passed over me—would they dispense with it immediately, thinking it a crude imitation of what was usually served. The next day Ferber called me to tell me that she refused to weigh herself for awhile after having eaten so much of the sumptuous dessert.

  While Ferber lay dying, Kitty Carlisle Hart visited her every day. “I was around for all the good times so I might as well be around for the bad ones,” she said.

  I never had a bad moment with Aunt Edna. She was my Glinda.

  —Julie Gilbert

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  About the book

  1924

  IF EVER AN AUTHOR failed to anticipate the public’s response to one of her own books, it was Edna Ferber when she was writing So Big. Fourteen years after its remarkable success, she confessed, “I never dreamed that So Big would be [popular]. I wrote it against my judgment. . . . I wrote my book because I wanted to write it more than anything else in the world. . . . Not only did I not plan to write a best seller when I wrote So Big; I thought, when I had finished it, that I had written the world’s worst seller. Not that alone, I thought I had written a complete Non-Seller.”

  In fact, when Ferber submitted the final manuscript to her publisher, her cover letter to Russell Doubleday said, “I feel very strongly that I should not publish it as a novel. It will, as you know, appear serially in the Woman’s Home Companion. I think its publication as a book would hurt you, as publishers, and me as an author.”

  Doubleday did publish the book, and the critical response was overwhelmingly positive. Reviewing So Big for The New York Times, L. M. Field called it “a thoughtful book, clean and strong, dramatic at times, interesting always, clear-sighted, sympathetic, a novel to read and to remember.” In the Literary Review, J. J. Smertenko went further, noting that “with all its flaws and crudities it has the completeness, and finality, that grips and exalts and convinces. By virtue of these qualities So Big is a masterpiece.”

  Not for the last time in her career, Ferber was singled out for the distinctly American quality of her prose and subject matter. “There can be no question that So Big gets close to the life of its chosen bit of American soil, or that it is persuasively human in its touch,” said the Springfield Republican. And C. H. Towne, writing in the International Book Review, said, “Here is a young woman who knows the power of the sharp, incisive phrase, dipping her pen into the blood of humanity, bringing us news of life, as she sees it, with no thought of‘serialization’ and ‘movie rights’. . . . We need this sort of writing and editing in these United States
.”

  But no one surpassed Burton Rascoe in his praise. “To Miss Ferber’s narrative and descriptive powers I genuflect in homage,” he wrote in the New York Tribune. “Her vocabulary is rich and vital; she sees material objects with a penetrating and delightful vision; she has portrayed aspects of Chicago more vividly and with greater distinction than any writer I know; she knows the history of the development of Chicago in the industrial age and she is able to convey in a few words the import of that development; she can describe flappers and debutantes, shop girls and stenographers, tell you how they dress, how they talk, what their working philosophy is, with illuminating flashes.”

  Ferber was never happy with the title So Big, intending to use it only as a tentative working one. When it was serialized in the Woman’s Home Companion, it was titled Selina, after its heroine, but when it came time to publish in book form, the author could think of no better title, so she reluctantly returned to So Big. “I still didn’t like it,” she wrote in her 1939 autobiography, A Peculiar Treasure, “but it had stuck somehow. I now think that those two short words, their familiar ring, and all the fat round curves in the S, the O, the B and the G helped to make the book a selling success.”

  She attributed much of its success to a young staffer at Doubleday, Dan Longwell, who championed the book and mapped out a campaign for selling it. He reputedly made a substantial bet that the book would sell fifty thousand copies—an estimate it certainly surpassed many times over. Whatever Longwell did, it worked. Shortly after the publication date, Ferber embarked on a trip to Europe. On the voyage she encountered so many passengers reading So Big that she knew instinctively that she had a best seller on her hands.

  Ferber’s fourth novel, So Big, won the Pulitzer Prize, and was published in Germany, England, Holland, Finland, Sweden, Norway, Hungary, Poland, Russia, and Denmark. It quickly became required reading for English courses at many high schools and colleges.

  Given its critical and commercial triumph, it was inevitable that Hollywood would adapt So Big into a movie. But the novel’s narrative success has not translated so well to the screen, despite three attempts. The first was a 1925 silent film starring Colleen Moore. Barbara Stanwyck assayed the role of Selina in William Wellman’s 1932 film, Jane Wyman in Robert Wise’s 1953 remake. Ferber herself called the first two efforts “very bad indeed.”

  After So Big, Ferber’s next novel was Show Boat, which proved even more popular and enduring. While she would never again win a Pulitzer for one of her novels, she lived and wrote for another forty-two years. Her prolific output as novelist, short story writer, and playwright proved to have great popular appeal around the world, making her among the most commercially successful writers of her day.

  Ferber and Her Pulitzer Prize

  THE YEAR 1925 was a prize-winning one for Edna Ferber. The Pulitzer was given to her for her 1924 novel, So Big. It was not quite won on the book’s merit alone. There was a go-between—a self-appointed courier who brought affection to business. His name was William Allen White, editor-in-chief of the fabled liberal newspaper, The Emporia Gazette and devoted friend of Ferber’s. He also happened to be one of the judges of the coveted prize. His quest for Ferber’s Pulitzer unfolded in a series of letters to the other members of the committee.

  January 27, 1925: “My dear Frank [F. N. Doubleday, president of Doubleday, Page & Co.]: Is Edna Ferber’s So Big entered in the Pulitzer contest? I am one of the judges of that contest . . . and want to know if it has been formally entered. Sincerely yours, W. A. White.”

  February 2, 1925: “Dear Mr. Fackenthall: Is Edna Ferber’s So Big on the list of novels entered for the Pulitzer Prize? I don’t see it on the list submitted to me. I should certainly think that it should go in the first nine anyway . . . Sincerely yours, W. A. White.”

  March 7, 1925: “My dear Mr. Firkins: I have been looking over the novels of the Pulitzer Contest. . . My judgment is that everything considered, Edna Ferber’s So Big is the best of the lot. . . Sincerely, W. A. White.”

  March 9, 1925: “Dear Dr. Fletcher: I feel somewhat as you do about the novels in the Pulitzer Prize contest. I believe I listed a few in a letter the other day—notably So Big, Plume’s and Hergesheimer’s novels, which might be possible winners. But on the other hand, I wouldn’t insist that either of those were an outstanding book, though I believe that So Big is a thing which tremendously needs to be said. If you and Mr. Perkins feel that the award should be abrogated for this year, I don’t feel strongly enough for So Big to make any serious objection.

  “I am, however, a little bit fearful that our refusal to make an award will be misunderstood. The question will arise then: What becomes of the money? Will it be a two-thousand award next year or will it go into the principal, or what?. . . sincerely, W. A. White.”

  William White is in the top row, second from the left. Edna Ferber is in the front row, second from the right, next to her mother, on the far right.

  At this point, O. W. Firkins seemed to be a little nervous about the situation as admits to White that he has not even read one of the contenders.

  March 9, 1925: Dear Mr. White: It is certainly time for us to get together, since the time limit is March 15th, only six days hence . . . I have not even seen So Big, but if you put it first, we ought all to read it. . . As for the other books . . . I prefer Balisand. . . Between you and me, agreement should not be difficult; of Mr. Fletcher’s feelings I know only that he likes none of the books well and is half disposed to renounce the project of award. Very truly yours, O. W. Firkins

  March 11, 1925: “Dear Mr. Firkins: I am sending you on this mail a copy of So Big. I wish you would give it a careful reading. It is nothing in its favor to tell you that it has been on the list of Best Sellers in America for the last ten months but that does indicate something in the way of appreciation of the average man . . . I feel as you do about Balisand, but I rather think So Big is a better novel, though we won’t have a quarrel about that. Sincerely, W. A. White.”

  Then came a letter to the Pulitzer Trustees Fund from the third judge, Jefferson B. Fletcher, which threatened a stalemate at the most, and a tie for the prize at the least.

  April 3, 1925: “Gentleman: . . . If a positive choice by the Trustees is desired, I should prefer, myself, Balisand but my greater preference under the circumstances would be to divide the prize between Balisand and So Big... Regretting that I am unable to present a more definitive decision I remain sincerely yours, Jefferson B. Fletcher.”

  William Allen White was not a politician for nothing. The outcome—granted by default—was that the prize went to So Big. White traces for Ferber how this came about in his victory blessing to her.

  April 28, 1925: “Dear Edna: . . . When it came to reading the novels, I wrote to the other three judges saying that I was for So Big for my first choice . . . But when it got down to the final three, I was for you, the other two judges were for Balisand and Plumes had two second choices, mine and Firkins’ as I recollect. It was not a unanimous decision, and as I recollect it So Big had one first choice, mine, one second choice, Fletcher’s, and one third choice, Firkins’. The final rating was to be established on the book that got the lowest number of points. I received a letter from the Chairman of Judges, Mr. Fletcher, indicating that we could not come to a unanimous decision and suggesting that I agree to Balisand. I wrote him a letter of agreement and then I appealed from the decision of the judges to the committee which reviews that decision. My appeal won and So Big was chosen. . . . Affectionately yours, Will.”

  It seemed that even as far back as 1925, there was a good deal of manipulation, hype, and spin. However, White, known as a highly ethical person, most likely got fed up with the shilly-shallying of the other two, but didn’t want to openly contradict them. Because he was such a champion of Ferber, and because he so believed that So Big was far and away the best novel, he took the matter to a higher level. Due to White, the prestige of the prize made Edna Ferber a national novelist heroi
ne.

  Read on

  Have You Read?

  More by Edna Ferber

  GIANT

  * * *

  This sweeping tale captures the essence of Texas on a staggering scale as it chronicles the life and times of cattleman Jordan “Bick” Benedict, his naïve young society wife, Leslie, and three generations of land-rich sons. A sensational story of power, love, cattle barons, and oil tycoons, Giant was the basis of the classic film starring James Dean, Elizabeth Taylor, and Rock Hudson.

  “A powerful story. . . truly as big as its subject.”

  —Los Angeles Times

  SARATOGA TRUNK

  * * *

  The basis for the classic film starring Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman, Saratoga Trunk unfolds the story of Clio Dulaine, an ambitious Creole beauty who more than meets her match in Clint Maroon, a handsome Texan with a head for business—and an eye for beautiful young women. Together they do battle with Southern gentry and Eastern society, but in their obsession to acquire all they’ve ever wanted, they fail to realize they already have all they’ll ever need—each other.

  “The greatest American woman novelist of her day.”

  —New York Times

  Also by Edna Ferber

  Great Son

  American Beauty

  Cimarron

  Show Boat

  Saratoga Trunk

  Giant

  Ice Palace

  Copyright

  HARPERPERENNIAL MODERNCLASSICS

  SO BIG. Copyright © 1924, 1951, 1952, 1982, 1983 by Edna Ferber. Introduction copyright © 2010 Jennifer B. Lee. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.