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Lot 85
ON THE WISDOM OF HAPPINESS AND HIS PLACE IN LITERARY HISTORY. STEINBECK, JOHN. 1902-1968. Autograph Letter Signed ("John"), to his sister Mary after her surgery for cancer, contemplating the meaning of life and his legacy,
25 October 2023, 14:00 EDT
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ON THE WISDOM OF HAPPINESS AND HIS PLACE IN LITERARY HISTORY.
STEINBECK, JOHN. 1902-1968. Autograph Letter Signed ("John"), to his sister Mary after her surgery for cancer, contemplating the meaning of life and his legacy, 5 pp, legal folio, on yellow foolscap, [Sag Harbor, September 12, 1958], with original transmittal envelope, light creasing, corners bumped, envelope creased and lightly soiled.
" I KNOW NOW THAT I AM NEVER GOING TO BE THE BEST WRITER IN THE WORLD, BUT I'M A GOOD ONE AND I LOVE MY WORK."
In this letter, written after Mary's surgery to remove a cancerous tumor, Steinbeck is by turns parental, sentimental and philosophical. He opens with straight talk about Mary's health: "The night after your operation and after I had talked to Bob, I phoned Horace to make sure there wasn't going to be any nonsense about telling you the exact truth. The exact truth is all good. I am assured that they got it all and that you are very fortunate. You will have to take care and go for regular tests but that is just good sense. I know so many people who have had it and absolutely no recurrence—Dick Rodgers and Elizabeth Otis, among others. But even though they are sure, they go for regular check ups. / What I was afraid of was that through misguided kindness, you would be protected from learning exactly what the situation was. I do not consider this kindness. You can take care of realities. It's the uncertainties that are murderous. / You have always suspected something like this but I think resisted checking. Now I think that is all behind you. The thing is gone but you will not hesitate to make certain it does not return. They tell me there is no reason why it should or even might come back. But you will go regularly never the less. I think perhaps you might be even more comfortable in your mind by substituting a reality for a suspicion. Elizabeth told me it was so with her. Once she had it, had it removed and was careful—a great load came off her mind."
After telling his sister to take care of her health (sounding more like a father than a brother), he tries to lighten the mood with a joke about Elaine's recent health scare: "I know you will be feeling lousy for a while. Surgery does that. In March Elaine came down from the operating room looking like a piece of cat meat. It nearly killed me. You should see her now. She has never been more beautiful and full of wonderful beans. And she says she feels better than she has in years. When Frank Loesser sent her a pound of caviar with a gardenia on top she phoned him saying, 'I'd trade any uterus for that any day.'"
The latter part of the letter becomes much more contemplative: "You know that our time is not unlimited. That has nothing to do with your operation. Just the law of averages. Elaine and I have decided that we are going to devote our remaining time to being happy as it is possible to be and that is very damned happy ... We feel that we haven't time for old things with which we used to indulge ourselves—old guilts, old sorrows, out-moded duties. They're gone. Now is the time to enjoy. At least we are old enough and wise enough to accept that. I know now that I am never going to be the best writer in the world, but I'm a good one and I love my work. I'll probably have a pencil in my hand when they lay me out. I hope so ... Elaine has taught me so much. When people used to try to tell me they liked my books, I looked for their motives, I kicked dust and went sullen. Now I thank them very much and I am genuinely and openly pleased. I used to be secretly pleased, I guess. People are awfully nice to us and we're dam well going to admit that we like it. I know that I can if I have to, live on beans and sleep in a shed, but it would be silly and dishonest to do it if I don't have to. Work disciplines don't come from that anyway. They come from inside ... The hair shirt is definitely out. We no longer punish ourselves for old or fancied sins. I know about what I amount to and it isn't God and it isn't the Devil either. But what I am is more good than bad and the egomania of sin and the self indulgence of sorrow is out. Of course there are things I wish I had or had not done but thinking about them isn't going to change anything. I think I have been about as good and virtuous as I was capable of being and the hell with it. People are going to read my books for a few years. Immortality even at its most exalted last about fifty years. I think I've contributed more than I've destroyed."
" I KNOW NOW THAT I AM NEVER GOING TO BE THE BEST WRITER IN THE WORLD, BUT I'M A GOOD ONE AND I LOVE MY WORK."
In this letter, written after Mary's surgery to remove a cancerous tumor, Steinbeck is by turns parental, sentimental and philosophical. He opens with straight talk about Mary's health: "The night after your operation and after I had talked to Bob, I phoned Horace to make sure there wasn't going to be any nonsense about telling you the exact truth. The exact truth is all good. I am assured that they got it all and that you are very fortunate. You will have to take care and go for regular tests but that is just good sense. I know so many people who have had it and absolutely no recurrence—Dick Rodgers and Elizabeth Otis, among others. But even though they are sure, they go for regular check ups. / What I was afraid of was that through misguided kindness, you would be protected from learning exactly what the situation was. I do not consider this kindness. You can take care of realities. It's the uncertainties that are murderous. / You have always suspected something like this but I think resisted checking. Now I think that is all behind you. The thing is gone but you will not hesitate to make certain it does not return. They tell me there is no reason why it should or even might come back. But you will go regularly never the less. I think perhaps you might be even more comfortable in your mind by substituting a reality for a suspicion. Elizabeth told me it was so with her. Once she had it, had it removed and was careful—a great load came off her mind."
After telling his sister to take care of her health (sounding more like a father than a brother), he tries to lighten the mood with a joke about Elaine's recent health scare: "I know you will be feeling lousy for a while. Surgery does that. In March Elaine came down from the operating room looking like a piece of cat meat. It nearly killed me. You should see her now. She has never been more beautiful and full of wonderful beans. And she says she feels better than she has in years. When Frank Loesser sent her a pound of caviar with a gardenia on top she phoned him saying, 'I'd trade any uterus for that any day.'"
The latter part of the letter becomes much more contemplative: "You know that our time is not unlimited. That has nothing to do with your operation. Just the law of averages. Elaine and I have decided that we are going to devote our remaining time to being happy as it is possible to be and that is very damned happy ... We feel that we haven't time for old things with which we used to indulge ourselves—old guilts, old sorrows, out-moded duties. They're gone. Now is the time to enjoy. At least we are old enough and wise enough to accept that. I know now that I am never going to be the best writer in the world, but I'm a good one and I love my work. I'll probably have a pencil in my hand when they lay me out. I hope so ... Elaine has taught me so much. When people used to try to tell me they liked my books, I looked for their motives, I kicked dust and went sullen. Now I thank them very much and I am genuinely and openly pleased. I used to be secretly pleased, I guess. People are awfully nice to us and we're dam well going to admit that we like it. I know that I can if I have to, live on beans and sleep in a shed, but it would be silly and dishonest to do it if I don't have to. Work disciplines don't come from that anyway. They come from inside ... The hair shirt is definitely out. We no longer punish ourselves for old or fancied sins. I know about what I amount to and it isn't God and it isn't the Devil either. But what I am is more good than bad and the egomania of sin and the self indulgence of sorrow is out. Of course there are things I wish I had or had not done but thinking about them isn't going to change anything. I think I have been about as good and virtuous as I was capable of being and the hell with it. People are going to read my books for a few years. Immortality even at its most exalted last about fifty years. I think I've contributed more than I've destroyed."