Lipton’s Journal/Correspondence of Robert Lindner and Norman Mailer/June 12, 1954

::::::::::::::::::::To Robert Lindner
::::::::::::::::::::June 12, 1954
Dear Bob,
The trip to Mexico keeps getting put off. I’ve just finished typing my book today after thirteen consecutive days of work—about twice as long as I thought it would take—and then next week is going to be full of the old ripperoo with Stan [Rinehart], so that if all goes well we’ll take off either before or directly after next weekend. And when we get to Mexico I’ll write you again. If something comes up where you want to send me a line, send it care of Beatrice [Silverman] Sanchez, Eligio Ancona 85-12, Mexico D.F. Actually I don’t think we’ll be there before the second or third of July.
Amigo, I’m afraid we’re a couple of alta kakes. (Lippy and Liver). Actually I appreciated your scouting around to find out about my condition which is not bad as you say, and I’ve been dieting very carefully, amazing myself with my capacity to stay off alcohol, sugar, bread, etc. All the things I love so much. I guess the idea of “severity” can be carried over to other things. I winced as you described the lip symptoms. How unpleasant that must be. You know, Bob, part of your depression—obviously large parts [ — ] are the cigarettes, and the aftermath of forty stuff (my after-thirty jag carried on for months), but I wonder if a big part isn’t the author’s equivalent of post-natal depression. I know that every time I’ve finished a novel I’ve been in a state of purposelessness and vague anger and irritability for quite a while afterward. Sometimes it takes a few months to set in, sometimes not, but it’s quite possible that a writer feels unconsciously that his works are his children—I remember you telling me that there’s embryo envy or impregnation envy or something of the sort in the male psyche, and since it takes a man with a big load of the feminine in his nature to be a serious writer, perhaps the depression has to do with some recognition that the literary foetus is finally literary and not a foetus. I don’t know, but since these games are fun, note carefully: swelling of the lip (lip equal to vulva) (vulva terminus of womb) ergo you are still carrying the symbolic pregnancy you hate to relinquish. Forgive me for the above but it was such fun I had to go through with it. Do present it to Arthur Mandey as my latest “contribution” to psychoanalysis. I’m certain it’ll get him agitated enough to chew up an extra box of Dexamyls.
Congratulations on the [Max] Lerner. Despite my mild antipathy to Lerner I’m genuinely glad he gave you a good preface, and as a matter of fact I like him a little better for it.
The problem of the ORGY. Ugh! I ended up cutting the orgy to the bone so that all that remains is a sort of vague idea of what’s going on. And if necessary I’ll cut it completely. The reason for cutting it completely is that the chapter will actually be improved because of the sense of what happened at the orgy will come through in the subsequent Eitel-Elena dialogue, and as a matter of fact it will seem even more evocative and orgiastic that way. I’d do it before submitting to Stan except that if I do, he’s going to demand other cuts, and I need something for bargaining. You’re quite right that I feel the orgy is a failure, but Bob I’ve shot my wad on it—I cannot make it better, I even hate writing the Goddamn thing, and there are times when every author has to recognize that certain things in his book have to remain infirm because he lacks the talent or imagination to up them. Your suggestion that I write the orgy in full I just can’t follow. I don’t even know if you’re right in the abstract, but in the concrete it’s equivalent to having the book either 1) unpublishable or 2) banned upon publication. Now if I had set out to write a book which would be privately printed, that would be something else. The entire book would have been different, in style, conception, everything, and if I’d been a braver bigger writer possibly I would first have conceived it that way. Except I’m not quite sure because finally The Deer Park is about morality and what is love, what is sex, etc. rather than what is fucking. And therefore to stick in one chapter on an orgy which is written to the hilt would be out of line with the rest of the book. I’ve got a strong sense of when I chicken out, and I really don’t feel Bob that I’m compromising here. The book is going to be hated, reviled, stomped on, etc, I believe, because it’s a disturbing book as I wanted it to be, and the orgy is more a function of the plot than a part of the essential meaning. Don’t worry about my compromising with Stan. I’m prepared to walk out of Rinehart if he doesn’t see the light, because although having Ted in my corner is fine, I believe there are better houses for me. This of course is confidential, vieux Lippé.
I don’t know if I follow you on the business of my drinking. Since I’ve been without it at a couple of parties I’ve noticed that my anxiety is if anything greater, and that I feel very withdrawn from people. You’re quite right that a part of me disconnects when I get drunk, but another part connects, so that often I act drunk the way I would like to act sober. Sometimes emotions like love are much easier for me to feel strongly when I’m strong—sometimes of course vast detachment, but as you say this is more to talk over that to write about.
Re: Stan, there’s something very peculiar going on in him. I even have a hunch that in some cockeyed way he sees my portrait of Teppis as a portrait of him, and this hurts all the benevolent pater paternalism on which Stan runs his business, his house, and his heart. He keeps claiming the book will be banned because of the Teppis scene which I think is a little alarmist, but anyway that I’m not going to take out. Even before Stan saw it, I took the descriptive edges off it so that the reader will have no more than a sense that something perverted happened, but whether it was fellatio, urinatio, coming in the pants, or just twitching will be left to the readers own predilections and antipathies which I think is artistically more valid because the essential relation of Teppis to his “love” objects has not been obscured at all, and as Cy said “Why set cock-sucking back ten years?” by which he meant that the connotation of the scene made fellatio the villain rather than Teppis. Anyway, Stan saw the revised version, still hates it, and next week the battle of the blow-hards starts. My guess is that I will gain my points and stay at Rinehart. If you don’t hear from me until I get to Mexico that will be the case. If something more dramatic or final occurs I’ll drop you a line.
There’s a small chance we’ll see you and Johnnie this summer, Bob. If Mexico hits us badly, and if Bea is real bitchy to Adele we may not stay as many months as we planned, but this is all speculation now. Adele is in fine shape albeit a little depressed by her twenty-ninth birthday, today, and sends her love along with mine to you and Johnnie and the kids.
We miss all of you too, hermano.
	
::::::::::::::::::::Love
:::::::::::::::::::::Norman