Percival Everett
University of Southern California
University Park Campus
Los Angeles, CA 90089
August 29, 2002
Martin A. Snell
Senior Editor
Simon & Schuster
Dear Mr. Snell,
Your proposal is so absurd that I would not have considered it at all, but for the fact that you wrote me a letter about it and did not use e-mail or a telephone, both of which I detest. I figure any letter is worth looking at and nearly any letter-writer worth answering.
But holy Mama of God, a project by that senile orangehead Strom Thurmond? A History of the African-American People? I mean, it’s not a bad idea for a satire, but even there it sounds more like a Saturday Night Live skit. And you make it clear this is no satire. I am reasonably sure you do exist. I looked you up in a directory, figuring this was a prank; but there you were.
And why me? Well, never mind that. I gather you wanted a genuine person of color. A black person giving some kind of legitimacy to the number-one racist in the last century: now there’s a proposition to make me jump up and shout, “Yassuh!” But what the hell, the idea of states’ rights always interested me, and Thurmond got where he did by differentiating himself from “vulgar racists.” I expect he’s sincere in what he says about himself, that he has taught himself to believe he has always had the best interests of the nigra and the Constitution at heart. There’s something appealing about the quality of that self-deception, that sublime idiocy. It’d be interesting to see what could be done to allow his history to proceed without condemning itself obviously from the first page.
But what sort of history does he have in mind? Does he know? If not, that’s OK, as I can then shape it as I like.
You want me to get a helper. OK. I don’t know any historians that would do it. A guy here, Jim Kincaid, would do it. He knows nothing of history (he’s in the English Department, which tells you a lot), but he is heedless and writes a lot. Besides that, he has little on his plate, so I could count on him to do a lot of the grunt work.
So, answer a few of these questions and we’ll be set. The terms are fine. You don’t expect me to pay Kincaid out of that, do you? Negotiate with him separately. He’ll come cheap.
Sincerely,
Percival Everett
Percival Everett
SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
September 3, 2002
Dear Barton,
Was your letter-before-last a joke? I mean, there you said you didn’t want to hear another word from me “or my kind.” (What the hell does “or my kind” mean?)
I supposed you were serious and so I shut up. You said to shut up and I did.
It’s hard to know about tone in letters. I am an English major, graduated recently from NYU, and I pride myself on reading tone. Still, it’s hard.
As you probably expected, all is as usual here. Snell pushed so hard for your project that they gave it to him, with the understanding—or so I gather—that his ass is on the line. I never get anything very direct here, but I think that’s the story.
As his ass goes, so goes mine. So tell me: is this the real thing?
Best,
Juniper
p.s. You asked a while back if this was the right house for you. You might as well ask your cat. I mean, what do I know? Snell is committed to the project, which will be fine if it gets done before he is himself committed. So I think I’d stay here, if I were you. The way I look at things like this is: if you’re someplace and it isn’t too bad, stay there unless you know you can get to a place that’s better.
p.p.s. Please don’t make me reveal my first name.
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
September 4, 2002
Martin,
As I mentioned many times, if this project is to blossom, it will be necessary that, at every step, you people adapt to the Senator’s way of doing things and not vice versa. He did not get to where he is nor has he stayed there so long (longer, you may know, than any man or woman in the history of the world) by not knowing what he’s doing. He knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t say you don’t, but he is sure he does.
The original contracts will be just fine. The Senator is clear on all this. I am. You are. Why delay matters?
I also received your phone message—please don’t do that again—telling me that Mr. Everett has agreed to consult on this project and that he has some sort of historian and scholar as an assistant. As you are paying them, as per contractual arrangement, we will abide by your decision. Let’s just hope they work out. It is probably time for you to tell me how to get in touch with them, so we can get this History rolling.
Are you fond of hunting?
Yours fondly,
Barthes
SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
September 11, 2002
Dear Percival,
Just between us, I think the Senator expects you to ghostwrite this, with Kincaid’s help and doubtless some input from an aide by the name of Barton Wilkes. In fact, I may as well tell you that you will probably get lots of input from Barton Wilkes, an extraordinarily strange man, I’m afraid, but one we have no reason to doubt has the ear (and maybe the mind) of Senator Thurmond. So ardent is Wilkes in protecting the Senator, that we have not ourselves been able to establish direct contact with Thurmond at all, only with Wilkes. He will probably want to know about your mother. I’d advise telling him, as it’s one point on which he is truly interesting.
Be that as it may, I do not see any reason not to trust Wilkes. He’ll be in touch right away, I am sure. Then you can take what he sends you, parcel out what you like to Kincaid, and go to town. We have invested very heavily indeed in this project here at Simon and Schuster, despite the uncertainty of that final shape, which we hope you will help get straightened out as soon as possible. But it’s not too much to say we think this book will be the hit of the decade. My own sniffer tells me it is so, and I’ve never treed the wrong possum.
I wish I had a sharper assistant, but I won’t trouble you with that now.
I wouldn’t worry too much about accuracy and that sort of thing. After all, what’s attractive (or the reverse) here is the Senator’s spin on things. And we imagine he’ll spin like the teacups ride at Disneyland. I’d let him. You may find it challenging to get things in order, even to make coherent the Senator’s take on the past and his role in it. But don’t try to make him too sensible, you know, or too reasonable. Nobody expects that or wants it either. We want a unique voice here. That’s what counts. Accurate history can be got anywhere. This is different.
As for Wilkes, I’d take what he sends you and try to deal with it as seems best to you, asking him as few questions as possible. In fact, I’d try to ask no questions. He’s prickly. He asked if I was fond of hunting and once signed himself “Button.” I’d not fall too deeply into the personal with him, if I were you, except as regards mothers. Remember the Glen Close character in “Fatal Attraction.”
We appreciate your work on this, Percival, and hope you find it challenging and, possibly, instructive. I look forward to meeting you and your assistant and talking about things. If you want to write up the Mother issue and run it by me first, that’d be fine.
Sincerely,
Martin
SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
September 11, 2002
Dear Barton,
I enclose the contact information on Mr. Everett and also, should you need it, on Mr. Kincaid, Everett’s scholar-assistant. They are both eagerly awaiting any preliminary discussion you wish to undertake or, failing that, material on the History itself.
Here’s wishing you a produc
tive and mutually rewarding relationship. We much look forward to seeing the completed manuscript.
Yours truly,
Martin
Memo: Snell to McCloud
September 11, 2002
McCloud:
I dare you to say you’re overworked.
In fact, Vendetti—you know him, the depraved Italian guy? I guess he’s Italian, though I wouldn’t want to stereotype, just because he’s fat, dark, inarticulate, and mean. I don’t even know what his title is, but he acts like he’s a made man on the way up that old Mafia ladder. Everybody but me just about dislocates their knees getting down to kiss his ass.
This Vendetti comes up to me and says, “Hey, Snell. That assistant of yours, the one with the funny name, Julep or something, you know who I mean?” “What of it?” I said. “Here’s what of it,” he said; “he have any time on his hands? Cause I got about 30 projects I need some help on and I figure he couldn’t be any too busy.” “Why’d you figure that?” I said. “I just figured,” he said. “Well, you figured wrong, Vendetti,” I said, adding, “And if you think you can figure that way about me, you got the wrong boy, that’s about all that is!”
That put the swarthy prick in his place.
I protected you and now need to keep you busier, having said you were busy. Besides, I am getting a very uneasy feeling about Wilkes, not about the project but about Wilkes personally. You have that feeling too? It doesn’t matter, since I have it.
Here’s what you do. You try to insinuate yourself into Wilkes’s personal life and find out what’s what. I don’t mean to get too personal or anything, nothing illegal. Just try to find out if he’s a square dealer, on the up and up. Just to be perfectly clear, it’s not his sex life I’m curious about. No, it’s his sanity. Of course one may be entwined with the other, in which case, of course, you should collapse that distinction, using due discretion and making it clear at all times that you are acting on your own and not on behalf of the firm.
So, see if you can get a chummy correspondence going. Ask him about his mother and about hunting, two of his interests. Perhaps he will invite you there. In which case, go. Don’t invite him here, though. I don’t want him in the same zipcode with me.
The company picnic is next Saturday, you know. Lots of the fun comes from the paired-up games, like the three-legged race, the human wheelbarrow race, the swimming game called “wedgie your buddy,” and that elaborate cosmetic and clothing game, where partners dress one another in whimsical costumes and give mutual make-overs.
It is customary for the pairings to be arranged ahead of time.
Mart
OFFICE OF SENATOR STROM THURMOND
217 RUSSELL SENATE BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C. 20515
September 12, 2002
Juniper:
Well, as for tone, do you know Lewis Carroll? There’s tone for you. Or Nabokov. But why am I telling this to a bonafide English major from NYU, a credential you have now waved before me twice. At one point, the White Queen says to pretty Alice, “I’ve seen hills compared to which that [hill] would be a valley.” If you think my tone is complex, which it is, be glad you aren’t corresponding with the White Queen. Or Humbert.
I see that by citing Lewis Carroll and Humbert I have laid myself open to the suspicion that I may share their proclivities. Well, put that in your toner, Mr. McCloud, and see what your printer delivers!
The project is about to roll, though between you and me, we (which includes the Senator as well as yours truly) need first to test these boys we have assisting.
You ever heard of either of them, these writer-scholars? Your sweetmeat Snell, the one with the extremely peculiar mother—warped him, obviously, the mother did—picked them. You met Snell’s mother? I’d love a description.
Tell me something about yourself. I feel that I am the only one being forthcoming.
And while I’m at it, perhaps I should just up and say to you, “Certainly, if you do not trust me enough to tell me your name, why should you? I’ve never been one to beg for trust. Never had to. So your given name shall be a secret known only to you, the phone company, the janitor in your building, and your whores.”
Tony (get it?)
Rupert? Rik? Rodan?
SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
September 12, 2002
Professor James Kincaid
English Department
University of Southern California
Los Angeles, CA 90089-0354
Dear Mr. Kincaid,
I see that I have neglected to contact you about the Thurmond project and describe our terms. I realize that you know of this project through Percival Everett and that he will assign you your duties. Whatever you work out is fine with us. It is what we call a “subsidiary arrangement,” that which you and Everett have. We are not legally obliged, as I understand it.
We offer you a flat fee of $750 (seven hundred and fifty dollars) for such duties as Mr. Everett assigns, contingent on his approval of such work. The enclosed contract spells all this out clearly.
We look forward to your participation in this project, for which we have the highest hopes.
Sincerely,
Martin A. Snell
Martin A. Snell
Senior Editor
Memo: Thurmond Book
From: Arthur Sullivan, Senior Editor
To: Martin Snell
Date: September 16, 2002
Snell, I just saw the correspondence on the Thurmond project.
The oddities therein are multitudinous.
I know you spoke eloquently, or at least heatedly, in support of this book. You failed to mention a few things: the absence of any evidence to suggest that Thurmond is writing this or any other book, is even aware of this project; the manifest lunacy of this Wilks character; the obscurity of the ghost-writing team. And what the fuck is this project anyway? I know you asked that question of Wilks yourself, but to have offered a contract before settling it seems to me—well, curious.
We’re saddled with this now. By “we” I mean “you.” If this fizzles or, worse, explodes, be sure that your first major push here will be your last.
Meanwhile, let me know how I can help.
James R. Kincaid
University of Southern California
University Park Campus
Los Angeles, CA 90089
September 17, 2002
Mr. Martin A. Snell
Senior Editor
Simon & Schuster
Dear Mr. Snell,
I have shown your letter and what you choose to call a “contract” to Percival Everett; and believe you me, we have had quite a laugh over it. I don’t blame you, as I suppose you simply don’t know who I am, but the idea of me working for $750 (which is worth about 10 minutes of my time) or assisting Percival Everett! My jaw drops. It’s not that Percival isn’t a fine person and writer, wholly deserving of an assistant, a whole damned army of assistants. But to think I would be ready to play that particular role. Really, Mr. Snell, you are droll.
I have written many scholarly books, books not wholly unacclaimed in certain scholarly circles. I also have reason to believe that my own writing abilities have not gone unappreciated and that I could, were I of a mind, write Everett’s kind of fiction—or anybody else’s. You’ll, of course, understand my position.
Mr. Snell, I do not wish to be difficult, nor have I in mind any dulling of the sharp edge of this project, which both quickens my curiosity and tickles my scholarly funny bone. How about this? I tear up this mistaken contract and we both forget it. I have no wish at all not to be friends with you, who knows on what basis?
So, I give you a choice: $45,000 or 1% of net profits. Some equivalent combination I would also consider.
Do you ever get to Los Angeles? Next time you’re here, I hope you will be my guest for lunch. I have a few other projects I’d like to waft past your nostrils.
Warmest personal regards,
James R. Kincaid
James R. Kincaid
SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
September 18, 2002
Barton:
Well, has the shit ever hit the fan here. The bosses have finally taken a look at what old Snell has committed the company to and they are all over him like missionaries on one of those bare-chested babes in “National Geographic.”
You ask for something personal. You know, I guess I have told you a lot more personal stuff than you have me. And why personal stuff? I mean, I’m not averse but just curious. It’s not like I’m used to saying personal things just because they’re personal. After all, it’s not like we’re in some truth session. You ever do that in college? Stuff like, “Tell one time when you were caught or almost caught masturbating.” Real personal things like that.
So, I guess I don’t mind at all being personal, so long as it’s a mutual thing, you know.
My sister was caught masturbating. I mean really caught. And really masturbating. My sister is two years older than me, you see, and really gorgeous, if I do say so myself. I mean, she is also pretty much a raving bitch, if you ask me, but she hides that very well around anyone except me. Others say she is warm and independent, but the truth is she’s just self-absorbed and dog-dirty mean. But she can look really good, even in the morning, you know, and in ratty clothes and after a shower even. And some find her kind, I’ll grant that.
Anyhow, so here I was a freshman in high school and she was a junior. I was sitting in my room one night, doing homework or something, and I hear my Mom say, “What ARE you doing? Oh my God, Reba, don’t you know that is filthy? It’s just filthy. And the windows are open and the blinds and you have no clothes on at all. And you are doing that filthy thing to yourself. Is that what they teach you in school now? That it’s OK to do that to yourself?” And on and on like that. At first I didn’t know what she was talking about, but then I figured it out and went around the corner and peeked. Now, you’d think my sister would be sobbing and howling, cringing on the floor, holding sheets up to her chin. But no. She was just standing there staring at my mother, letting her go on and on. Finally, my mother gave out one last “And what do you have to say for yourself?” My sister just stared at her, standing there beside her bed, kind of thrusting her chest out, naked as a jay bird. Then she said, “It’s called masturbating, Mother. You ought to try it. It’d improve your disposition. But if you ever interrupt me doing myself again, I’ll leave home.” The last sentence is kind of approximate, because as soon as my sister said that about my Mother ought to try masturbating, my mother started shrieking all over again.
A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond Page 4
