Skip to main content

#1036: Willa Cather to Mabel Dodge Luhan, January 17 [1931]

More about this letter…
Plain view:

Guide to Reading Letter Transcriptions

Some of these features are only visible when "plain text" is off.

Textual Feature Appearance
passage deleted with a strikethrough mark deleted passage
passage deleted by overwritten added letters overwritten passage
passage added above the line passage with added text above
passage added on the line passage with added text inline
passage added in the margin passage with text added in margin
handwritten addition to a typewritten letter typed passage with added handwritten text
missing or unreadable text missing text noted with "[illegible]"
uncertain transcriptions word[?]
notes written by someone other than Willa Cather Note in another's hand
printed letterhead text printed text
text printed on postcards, envelopes, etc. printed text
text of date and place stamps stamped text
passage written by Cather on separate enclosure. written text
Dear Mabel1;

I've just finished4 "Lorenzo in Taos"5 with great admiration. It's as good as the Buffalo6 part of "Intimate Memories"7. It's like a big canvas full of gorgeous color and thrilling people—and motion. It's the constant change in the personal equation and in the emotional climate that make the book so exciting. Everything that goes on between the people is unexpected and unforeseen, as things usually are in life and so seldom are in the pages of a novelist. I don't always agree with you in your interpretation of your people and their motives, but I always agree with the way it's done—with your presentation of your own interpretation, I mean. Everybody in the story is alive and full of behaviour—except a few colorless people whom you have the good sense to let alone. Perhaps you're a little hard on Frieda8, a little hard on Brett9—but you've made 'em as you saw 'em and they and all the rest keep the ball rolling. You've done Tony10 magnificently! I wouldn't have thought anybody could do him so well. It's splendid, and not over-done. And you've done yourself better than any anywhere except in the early Buffalo volumes. In the Italian part of the memoirs I always felt that a stream of interesting people went across the page but that you as a person disappeared. Here you re-appear with a bang! I imagine that it's because your eye is fixed on Lawrence11 and you do yourself rather incidentally that you succeed so well. It's amazingly spontaneous and amazingly true. I'm sure it's the best portrait there ever will be of Lawrence himself. I'm amused at your struggles with his giggle. Was it a giggle? Wasn't it more like a snicker? Not snigger, but snicker? To me giggle is always fat and jolly.

I simply love the way you do in Taos12 country and the weather. When I was writing about it in a very formal and severe manner, as befits the eye of a priest and the pen of a stranger, I kept thinking that I would love to see it done intimately, as part and parcel of somebody's personal life—not a background! (about once a week I get a letter from some puppy who tells me he has done a story of sophistocated easterners in a New Mexican background, or some other kind of simper with a New Mexican background.) I wish to God I could have put the Archbishop13 in Kansas14 or Nebraska15—not many sensitive artistic natures have the grit to follow you there. It's a great advantage to work in a part of the country that is distinctly déclassé—it rids you superficial writers and superficial readers. But this is a long departure.

When a country like the Taos country is really a part of your life, and when your life is a form of living and not a little camera,--well, then it all works up very stunningly together. Few things have ever given me more joy than the night you all spent chasing about the alfalfa field. Why Tony's car becomes a positive God of Vengeance, a frightful threat threat threat to the foolishness of all of you, and to a whole school of thinking that has upset the old balance of things, where personal desires and emotions were masked under a National consciousness of or a tribe will, or the particular false-front of any one social period.

Edith16 is in Boston17 for a week, or she would probably be writing you at the same time. She read Lorenzo through before she left.

I'll be leaving for California18 in a few weeks, to join my mother19. Her condition is about the same. The doctors tell me it may go on five or six years like this. She seems to get pleasure out of being with us, even in such a wretchedly helpless state. I have to stop off in San Francisco20, so I'll probably go over the northern route. But my next long trip will be to Mexico City21. I'm envious that you've beat me to it.

With heartiest congratulations Willa Cather