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I do find it a splendid and most exciting book3! Surely
this is the way to do the story of a strain of blood—not the Orlando4 way. The awfulness of a
family is that it is not one being undergoing vicissitudes, but a succession of
beings, swift into the world and out again; even under the delusion that he is a
comp complete creature and a free agent, when he
is neither,—when he is but a momentary aspect of something that is wholly
indifferent to him. The title is exactly right for it. The book has a nice balance;
the tone is cheerful and the facts are grim. By “cheerful” I mean—well, the
mood in which life has to be carried on if it is carried on at all. I do avow that
this book makes me feel that it had better not be
carried on. It wouldn’t be, perhaps, except for the fact that before the age of forty forty it is physically and impossible for most of us to believe in either
death or defeat. We hear “forever, forever” ringing in our ears, but it does not mean what it means in your book—far
from it. This leads me to the only thing I don’t like, which is the introduction of
the writer and New York5. It serves a
purpose, and it’s interesting from point of composition. But for me, the more I can
forget that a book is a kind of “writing” and done by a writer, the better. I think
La Prisonnière6" suffers greatly from the fact
that there for the first time Proust7 begins
to speak of himself as a writer instead of remaining merely an eye and an ear
(mostly and ear!) and grandmother’s spoiled baby. I know painters put themselves in
their pictures, but that’s different. Some day I’d like to thrash this out with you.
But that’s a very small point, and the book itself is a great delight. I feel so
happy and satisfied for you. You’ve got into the pages somehow the terrible way that
life rus rushes on, and how no plans count for
anything and no person counts for anything. The title rings in one’s mind afterward
like a tune one would like to be rid of.
Oh, I’ve never thanked you for the long letter you wrote me from California8, which did me a world of good and brought that country all back to me again. I’ve thought a little of going to live in San Francisco9 - - - but I’m a little afraid. I hope you saw the Porters10, I liked them so much. I want to talk about California with you. I’ll go down to New York in a few weeks.
Hastily W. P. P. S.Perhaps I wish the Expositor in your story (I realize there had to be one) were a
sober and studious person person engaged in
digging out family history - - - and somewhat staggered by what she found. Your
choice is more modern, but I think the other would have certain merits of its
own.