PINORMAN. A Composite Portrait.

By Richard Aldington

(Heinemann, 12/6d)

This is a mean book. It purports to be a study of three characters who were devoted friends, Norman Douglas, Pino Orioli and Charles Prentice: in fact it is a long and petty denigration of Douglas as a friend, a writer and a man. He is referred to throughout as Norman, an affectionate letter to the author is printed in facsimile, and at intervals there is a nauseous pretence of *de* attachment and friendship. Not in this way did the two masters, Douglas and Lawrence, fight their duel over Magnus. Neither waited till the other was dead in order to print half truths, insinuations, anonymous accusations. Lawrence would have been ashamed of his champion.

A mean action has a mean cause, and Mr. Aldington, who has never been a subtle writer, exposes very clearly *what are* the causes of his action. "When in 1934 Charles gave me one of the nine specially printed copies of Pino's *Moving Along* I was a little puzzled to see that it was dedicated only to Norman and Charles, and that Charles's inscription (there was none from Pino) read: "To Richard, fellow traveller too." (It is dated 31/5/34.) As I read the book I began gradually to understand. From Pino's stories I was familiar with some of the material in the book, and I soon realised that instead of merely correcting Pino's little mistakes in grammar and spelling Norman, to save himself trouble, had re-written the whole book in his own style to please himself......... Moreover, Pino had not been allowed to make any but the barest references to any trips except those taken with Norman, and even these slight references were treated with not much regard for fact..... The one occasion in which I am mentioned by name is in connection with an incident which shows me up as an incompetent driver."

And again, on a later page, he refers to the "fact" that Douglas

"had cut out all the things about our trips Pino had often said he meant to put into the book." (From this accusation that Douglas had re-written Orioli's books more hereafter).

Mr. Aldington's jealousies are so blatant that they will harm no one but himself. Indeed Mr. Aldington might sue Mr. Aldington for bringing himself into ridicule and contempt. "At that time I did not realise how highly Norman esteemed his own writings and how contemptuous he was of his contemporaries, though I had noticed he seldom praised any living author." Poor Douglas who was obviously expected to have read (and praised) such examples of contemporary writing as *Death of a Hero* and *Women Must Work*. One gets the impression of a writer who has been robbed of his only chance of fame - mention of himself in a travel book by Orioli.

Such an offence must be punished at all costs. Douglas was not present at an action against Orioli for reasons which Mr. Aldington does not presume to enquire - "Norman had 'evaporated' at the first hint of trouble." In his autobiography, "Possibly from 'gentlemanly' scruples, Douglas makes no mention of his wife." Mr. Aldington, who is not worried by 'gentlemanly' scruples, first states that he never questioned Douglas on his wife and that "it was only recently and by chance that I even learned her name", goes on to say that "he did sometimes speak of her, never in any derogatory way", and ends his paragraph "The remainder of Norman's confidences on this subject are hardly publishable, and I should not reveal them even if they were." Gentlemanly Mr. Aldington who thus manages, by a maladroit and contradictory twist, to blacken two dead people, one a stranger.

*This is a hypocritical book.* My last quotation may already have indicated that. It can be illustrated further by his reference to Douglas's sexual

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wearisome in a book.

Mr. Aldington writes that *Late Harvest* is "mostly a re-hash of material I had read before" - the truth is that less than thirty pages had ever appeared in book form in England before.

He sneers at Douglas for having "some of the airs of the highly superior person whose books come out in an edition of 500 copies 'of which' 100 are signed by the author." The truth is that though Douglas never, apart from one book, attained the astronomic figures of Mr.

editions
Aldington's popular novels, the *additions* of his last four books in *in England* alone were 3250, 4340, 5800 and 5000.

Mr. Aldington, so rashly determined to ruin the reputation of his "friend", is faced with the problem of *South Wind*, an accepted classic. Mr. Aldington is not afraid of smearing the character of a dead friend, but in *South Wind* Douglas lives, and Mr. Aldington, who has waited till death to attack Douglas's character, is afraid of the still living author. He therefore invents or reports a mysterious French writer, known only by his initials J.S. (is he also afraid to meet the great Shade?), who launches a pedantic, puerile and ignorant attack on the literary qualities of the book, while Mr. Aldington assumes the role of a defender - a defender who gives away every point through incompetence, treachery or perhaps cowardice?

*For this is a cowardly book.* If such a false sentence as the one that follows is to be written, it should be written during the subject's lifetime when even an old man ("the old gentleman" Mr. Aldington calls him) has a hand to strike with, or if he does not wish to soil his hand, a lawyer to deal with the matter for him, though Douglas probably would only have given a sudden harsh laugh and dismissed the author in one joking tolerant phrase into the

limbo of contempt - "Damned fool." those who loved
Douglas and know how deep was the affection felt for him
among the poor of the island he had made his own will be
angered when they read: "Is it permitted to ask what has
been recorded that Norman Douglas ever did for poor Italians
except to wheedle them out of their wine and try to pervert
their children?"

One must be very confident of one's own virtue
to write such phrases, even of a "friend". If Mr. Aldington
had been present at a certain gospel scene nineteen hundred
years ago, one can imagine with what unction and celerity
he would have stooped to pick up the first stone.

Graham Greene.

C.6 Albany,
London, W. I.

17th August 1954.

Dear Kenneth,

So many thanks for your letter. I am
seeing the old Dottressa tomorrow and shall get the
story out of her! Then I am off on the spur of the
moment to Haiti for a fortnight to join Peter and
Natasha Brook.

About the review of Aldington - I think it
would be very dangerous to circulate copies as he might
turn nasty and bring an action for libel. The worm
might turn and what a worm!