Charles J. Shields – Reading Markson Reading

A postcard sent to Charles J. Shields from David Markson re: the biography of Kurt Vonnegut that Shields has written (which will be published later this year).

     On which Markson wrote:
     “Dear Charles—                                                      3/29/09
     Just a few words to express regrets, again, that I couldn’t make myself available while you were here. Damn, and just a day later a gorgeous young female friend called to see if she might stop by on the weekend, and I had to tell her please, no, likewise. (Trust me, that one hurt more than putting off Charles Shields—since I mean truly gorgeous!) Hey, but let’s hope next time.
                                                              Best—Dave M.

—-

This is my second posting of a notecard sent to Shields by Markson.

A slight break from marginalia.

But no break from interesting Markson posts.

This is my personal favorite of the notecards Shields sent over to me from Markson because you really get a sense of the hilarious old letch that he was—and didn’t really deny being—with all the talk of his “gorgeous young female friend.”

     And why deny being?
     “Again, what but liking women the ineludible essence here, there a known remedy?”
     From pg. 6 of Springer’s Progress.

Lucien Springer, the protagonist of said novel, who seems to closely resemble the writer.

“Stylistic and erotic playfulness bring the reader closer to a highly colorful character, who sounds very close in spirit to the writer in his younger years, even though Markson avoids the topic of his biography in his interviews about the novel.”
Explained Françoise Palleau-Papin on pg. 131 of her study This Is Not A Tragedy.

“You’re an inveterate horny old man.”
Jessica Cornford calls Springer on pg. 48 of that book.

“I am that.”
He responds.

—-

A postcard sent to Charles J. Shields from David Markson re: the biography of Kurt Vonnegut that Shields has written (which will be published later this year).

     On which Markson wrote:
     “Dear Chs.—                                                                 4/11/09
     Thank you for the note—and my regrets, again, for not being able to get together. I had to fink out on Ann Beattie too, only a few days later, when she was in town. Next week it will probably be the ghost of Ava Gardner.
     Meantime, only a couple of days after that, four bloody hours to drag myself to a fancy oncologist, sit and wait, sit and wait, etc, + then shlepp home—all to be told ‘Go get such + such a test + then come back.’ Damn, I hate being old.
     I’m glad you saw Knox, though. I must, must, get over there.
                                                                 My best again—Dave.”

—-

Although the point of my blog is to share Markson marginalia, I was given a special treat by Charles Shields, who scanned and sent me his correspondence with David Markson.
So I couldn’t help myself but do a special post.

Markson was known for sending these type of plain white notecards to his friends and acquaintances.
I was lucky enough to receive two myself (which I’ve discussed on here at some point but have not yet posted—perhaps I will at some point in the near future).

Yesterday I explored Markson and old age, so I felt it a propos to post this notecard, which further explores the topic.

“Damn, I hate being old.”
He wrote to Shields.

     “Age.
     Dammit.”
     – Vanishing Point, pg. 180.

A few pages later:
“Age. Age.” (Pg. 186).

In the introduction to her book on Markson, This Is Not A Tragedy, Francois wrote:
“He also saw a connection between his isolation and his age. He explained that while for years he’d been saying he was getting old, now, he really was.” (Pg. xxvi).

Old. Tired. Sick. Alone. Broke.

Damn, I hate being old.

—-

A postcard sent to Charles J. Shields from David Markson re: the biography of Kurt Vonnegut that Shields has written.

     On which Markson wrote:
     “Dear Charles—                                                                 11/15/07
     I’ve a list—everybody’s birthdays—kids, grandchildren, miscl. chums—and at the start of every new yr. I copy them into the new calendar—to remember to send cards, etc. Ergo, when was it?—exactly 4 days ago—what did I see scribbled in at the bottom of 11/11?—“KV B’day.” Meaning, as in recent yrs., I’d have called him in the a.m., just to wish him well. Alas.
     (Though 10 days earlier I was still able to phone Knox Burger. You do know the lovely dedication in Monkey House?)
     Stay well. My best again—-
                                                                                                         Dave M.”

—

Over this Veterans Day holiday weekend was the late, great Kurt Vonnegut’s bday.

The above is a postcard that David Markson sent to Vonnegut’s biographer Charles J. Shields a few days after Vonnegut’s birthday in 2007.
That was his first birthday after Vonnegut’s death earlier that year in April.

If Vonnegut had been alive, Markson’d “have called him in the a.m., just to wish him well.”

Instead, the classic Marksonian refrain:
“Nobody comes. Nobody calls.”

     “Novelist naturally does receive some few phone calls after all.
     All too often in these years with news of someone’s death however.”
     – David Markson, The Last Novel, pg. 63.

Alas.

One call between Markson and Vonnegut that took place in the 90s was discussed by Markson in his Conjunctions interview:
“It’s funny. When Reader’s Block came out, Kurt Vonnegut called me, two-thirds of the way through, and said, ‘David, what kind of computer did you use to juggle this stuff?’ I told him what I’d done, and he called me when he finished it and said, ‘David, I’m worried about your mental condition.’”

    And other more melancholy calls made my by Markson:
     “He explains that his friends die one after the other, and that he calls their telephone numbers to hear their voices on their answering machines one last time, like voices from the great beyond.”
     Wrote Françoise Palleau-Papin on pg. 258 of her book on Markson and his writing: This Is Not A Tragedy.

     “A quirky new impulse of Novelist’s, at news of several recent deaths—
     Dialing the deceased, in the likelihood that no one would have yet disconnected their answering machines—and contemplating their voices one eerie final time.”
     – David Markson, The Last Novel, pg. 139.

Reading Markson’s postcards.

Like a voice from the great beyond.

Contemplating that voice one eerie final time.

—

A postcard sent to Charles J. Shields from David Markson re: the biography of Kurt Vonnegut that Shields has written (And So It Goes…):

     On which Markson wrote:
     “Dear Charles—                                                                 10/17/07
     Minor item, popped into mind—
     I once asked Kurt V. if, when he was teaching, he’d ever had any particularly good writers in his classes.
     No hesitation: ‘John Irving.’
     I didn’t pursue the conversation any further.
     But how could you do your book without this?!
                                                                                               My best—
                                                                                                         Dave M.”

—

John Irving said of Vonnegut in this EW interview:
“He was one of the very few and very select father figures in my life.”

Which sounds like exactly what Markson says of Malcolm Lowry.

When, in an interview with Joseph Tabbi, Markson spoke about the first letter he sent to Lowry, he explained it in just that sort of way:
“And then finally sent him a letter. Saying God knows what—be my father, or something as asinine.”

As Françoise Palleau-Papin writes on pg. xv of the Intro to her book on Markson This Is Not A Tragedy:
“Lowry became the father figure passionately chosen by an eager would-be son.”

Markson went on in the interview with Tabbi to say:
“Of course something I didn’t know at the time was that Lowry had written the same sort of letter himself, as an even younger man, to Conrad Aiken.”

Seems common for young writers to search for a writerly father figure.

     Marksons need their Lowrys.
     Lowrys need their Aikens.
     Irvings need their Vonneguts.
     And so on…

A postcard sent to Charles J. Shields from David Markson re: the biography of Kurt Vonnegut that Shields has written.

     On which Markson wrote:
     “Dear Charles—                                                                 Feb 7 ‘08
     Sked for pub in mid-2009? Hey, hurry it up! I just turned 80 in December! Will I last?
     I jest. Sounds like you’re working 17 hours a day. All profoundest good luck on it. And, I’ll be here!
                                                                                               My best—
                                                                                                         Dave M.”

—

Four years ago, in February 2008, Markson sent this notecard to Charles J. Shields re: Shields’ biography of Kurt Vonnegut titled And So It Goes…
Charles J. Shields’ book was finally published late last year.

I conducted an interview with him re: Vonnegut and the new book last November.
And I also conducted a shorter interview about his relationship with Markson.

Unfortunately, even though he wrote “I’ll be here,” Markson was sadly no longer with us by the time Shields was able to publish his Vonnegut bio.

So it goes.

—

A postcard sent to Charles J. Shields from David Markson re: the biography of Kurt Vonnegut that Shields has written (which will be published next month).

     On which Markson wrote:
     “Dear Charles—                                                                 Dec 30 ‘08
     Glad yr. work is going well. Damn, but I wish mine were. Feeling worse than rotten here, for months—cancelled one lunch or another with old pals, even a dinner on my birthday (81st!) with my kids and grandchildren. Though of course it will be nice to see you, whenever—assuming I can find the strength to answer the phone. Stay young!
                                                                           Meantime, my best—
                                                                                                         Dave”

—

     “Old age is not for sissies.
     Said Bette Davis.”
     Wrote David Markson.
     In his last novel The Last Novel.
     On page 178.

Stay young!