The Man Who Wrote the Perfect Novel

Th e Man Who Wrote the Perfect Novel: a Biography of John Williams Something rare is happening in publishing. In an unusual bout of artistic justice, author John Williams has become an international bestseller twenty years after his death. He’s garnering much-belated praise for Stoner, a book that’s being called ‘a perfect novel’ and ‘the most beautiful book in the world’, with prose ‘as limpid as glass’. But readers start asking: what’s the story behind Stoner? And who is the man who wrote this perfect novel? Charles J. Shields, the author of the proposed biography, has already es- tablished a reputation for himself as an award-winning biographer for adults and young adults. As the fi rst biographer of Kurt Vonnegut and the author of a bestselling biography on Harper Lee, Shields has a history of uncovering the lives of writers in engrossing, convincing detail. John Williams is the next mystery Shields hopes to unveil. As more and more articles about Williams appear – in Th e New York Review of Books, Th e Guardian, Th e Millions, Th e New Yorker, Th e New York Times, and else- where – Williams’s works are being revived all over the world. It’s about time we meet the man who presented us with this extraordinary work – and who lived an extraordinary life. Specifi cations Th e Man Who Wrote the Perfect Novel: a Biography of John Williams will be published in 2017 by Lebowski Publishers Agency Oscar van Gelderen T: + 31 6 46096823 E: [email protected] Rights sold: Italy – Fazi Editore Charles J. Shields Th e Man Who Wrote the Perfect Novel a Biography of John Williams Lebowski Agency, 2016 © Charles J. Shields, 2016 © Lebowski Agency, Amsterdam 2016 Cover design: Peter de Lange Photograph of the author: © Michael Bailey Typesetting: Crius Group, Hulshout www.lebowskipublishers.nl www.overamstel.com Lebowski Publishers is an imprint of Overamstel Publishers bv All rights reserved. Th is book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Table of Contents Sample Chapter 17 ‘How Can Such a Son of a Bitch Have Such Talent?’ Sample Epilogue ‘John Williams Redux’ Th ree stories that Charles Shields wrote while he worked on Th e Man Who Wrote the Perfect Novel: A Biography of John Williams Biography Quotes 5 Chapter 17: ‘How Can Such a Son of a Bitch Have Such Talent?’ ‘Ah life, that amateur performance’, John Williams On April 11, 1973, the New York Times carried a story about controversy in the book world. ‘In an unprecedented dis- play of public disagreement, the 1973 National Book Award judges announced yesterday that they had split the fi ction prize between John Barth’s Chimera and John Williams’s Augustus.’ Th is had never happened before in the organization’s twenty-four-year existence. But lately, nothing seemed immune from dissent. Th e week before the announcement, the Saturday Review had predicted that literary politics would decide the fi ction prize because the judges fell into two camps: postmodernists (literary critic and historian Leslie A. Fielder, and essayist and novelist William Gass); and traditionalists (Evan S. Connell, philosophical novelist Walker Percy, and book critic Jonathan Yardley). Th e magazine was right about the likelihood of disagreement: the meeting was ‘noisy and argumentative.’ Th e previous year, historian and journalist Gary Wills had walked out of his committee’s meeting when he refused to 7 endorse his fellow judges’ choice of the hippie bible, Th e Whole Earth Catalog as the contemporary aff airs winner. And now, as the judges in diff erent categories adjourned, not only was the award for fi ction split, but also the one for the best history, too. Th is had never happened, either. However, as Jonathan Yardley, a book reviewer and young courtly man from North Carolina, stepped up on the dais in the Biltmore Grand Ballroom in New York to an- nounce the winners, he tried to convey that nothing could have been more natural than a tie. Th e novels, Chimera and Augustus were both books of ‘uncommon quality... similar in subject matter but which represent dissimilar approaches to the writing of fi ction.’ Chimera was about transform- ing myth into reality; Augustus brought to life the violent times of imperial Rome. Consequently, Barth and Williams would each get half the award money: $500 apiece (which wasn’t much more than each of the judges had been paid to read the books). No explanation was given as to why there were two history prizes. Th e double deadlock wrecked the organization – not im- mediately, the big awards ceremony would still go forward – but in the coming weeks. With the publicity value of an author winning cut in half, publishers protested by with- drawing their fi nancial support. No more free books for the judges to read, or luncheons, hotels, transportation, and all the rest of it. Th e National Book Committee was forced to disband, and it was not until 1975 when a caretaker admin- istrator for the organization ‘begged’ prospective judges not to split awards that the contest resumed. 8 In the meantime, news that John Williams had won a ma- jor literary award arrived in Denver ‘on little cat feet,’ as Joanne Greenberg put it, thinking of Carl Sandburg’s poem Fog. Despite the fact that Williams was the fi rst and only Coloradan ever to receive the National Book Award, the Denver Post, the largest newspaper in the state didn’t send a reporter to get his reaction. Nor in the English depart- ment was there, as one instructor put it, ‘an ecumenical coming together in celebration of John.’ Instead, there was a lot of headshaking behind closed doors. ‘Oh my God, if he was diffi cult to live with before!’ Some of it was envy, but Williams’ colleagues knew that receiving the laurels for fi ction would mean that he would be delivering his growly pronouncements about literature with even greater author- ity now; the little genie wrapped in cigarette smoke would never go back in the brass lamp after this. Th e editor of the university alumni magazine wasn’t glad to hear the news, either. Normally, a faculty member receiving a national honor was tailor-made for encourag- ing alums to donate more to the endowment; but over the years, she had tried to avoid professor Williams. He was impossible. She disapproved of his romantic aff airs, and the way he missed class because he was hung-over. She passed the assignment to newcomer on the staff , biographer Carol DeBoer-Langworthy, who was then a graduate student in history. She didn’t know Williams, but she had heard of him. ‘A lot of people talked about John on campus. People liked to gossip about him. He was considered outrageous.’ When 9 she knocked on his offi ce door for their appointment, she opened it gingerly, not sure what kind of person she would fi nd inside. Th e room was long and narrow – a rabbit hole that smelled of smoke and coff ee, with sloppily arranged books on shelves and cardboard boxes on the fl oor. Seated at a desk was a dark-haired man with a head that was too big for his body. He looked up at her with enormous blue eyes that swam behind a pair of thick, black-frame glasses. His face was heavily lined. ‘Th is guy is a philanderer?’ was her fi rst thought. He invited her to take the only chair available. In the middle of his desk, jutting like a rock from a tide pool of papers was a large, dark-gray typewriter. Th e interview went smoothly, though he enjoyed talk- ing more about books than describing his past. In between remarks, he coughed loudly as he pulled on his cigarette, or had to stop to clear his throat before continuing. Most experimental novels, he said, seemed dreadfully stale and forced, and they were always better the fi rst time around. It was so much easier dealing with theories of fi ction, political issues, and so forth than with relationships – that was the problem with the current state of fi ction. ‘What do you planned to talk about in your speech at the National Book Awards?’ she asked. His relaxed manner changed suddenly and he leaned forward in a way that made her recoil a little. ‘A defense of the goddamn novel,’ he said. Th e Williamses’ visit to New York City for the ceremony was triumphant. Th ey checked into the forty-seven-story 10 Waldorf Astoria Hotel, known for its striking Art Deco design, lavish dinner parties, galas, and international confer- ences. Th e next morning a photojournalist arrived at their suite to take pictures of John for Time magazine. Th en they went to lunch with Marie Rodell, where John resisted the temptation to start drinking too early. He could wait. Cork Smith, back at Viking part-time had provided him with an itinerary that included a ‘Boozerama’ at the Tavern on the Green in Central Park after the awards, followed by late- evening drinks and a buff et at publisher Th omas Ginzburg’s apartment on Madison Avenue. At Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts that evening, hundreds of people from the publishing industry attended a reception where, among other things, Williams was intro- duced to his co-winner for the fi rst time, John Barth.

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