Michael Davidow's Blog: The Henry Bell Project - Posts Tagged "balenciaga"
Seconds Count
“And why do you think good old Chandler hired you, Henry? Because he needed to borrow a Rockefeller man, to babysit the pooch? Because he needed a guy who made his name working for Tom Dewey?”
One of the challenges in writing about history is keeping the outcome a secret, not to your readers, but rather to your characters. It would be too easy, in other words, for Bell to lecture Chan Peterson (over their bottle of era-correct Bordeaux): “Hey Chan. That Watergate business is more trouble than you think.” But he never would have done so. Not without a crystal ball. Even though Bell lives in a very particular moment, he sees that moment through the blur of his own experiences.
A corrolary lies in how hard it is to remain coherent for readers who are not only unversed in the history you are writing about, but who may not even care about it. At heart, after all, SPLIT THIRTY concerns a father who is mourning his son. And while that mourning plays itself out during the course of a presidential campaign, where it finds itself mirrored in the losses and needs of every other character, someone else could write a similar book, have it take place at a fashion show, and use Dior and Balenciaga for Rockefeller and Goldwater.
Henry and Pooch and Kahn and Walton are truth-seekers. Where they seek it, is less important than their doing so at all.
Writing this book was therefore a balancing act, between keeping it credible and keeping it meaningful. And that meant introducing certain historical figures, showing why they mattered to these characters, and letting the casual reader in on the secret.
There is Rockefeller himself, of course; a man who never even managed to get nominated for the presidency, but whose political gallantry and personal magnetism gave Bell his war cry (“I’m a liberal, man. You can go fuck yourself.”); there is Barry Goldwater, crushed by Lyndon Johnson in sixty-four, but still the champion of his party’s right wing, whose supporters had thrown rocks at Bell’s wife, a scant eight years before SPLIT THIRTY takes place; there is Tom Dewey, the square to end all squares, but also the moderate and basically decent man that Dick Nixon tried to emulate; and there is Adlai Stevenson, not just the fuddy-duddy who lost to Eisenhower twice, but the bold pioneer of a new politics-- the politics of involved amateurs, housewives with time on their hands, celebrities, and college kids, all “madly for Adlai.”
“Money was money, Walton’s childhood was Walton’s childhood, and there was a hole in the sole of Bell’s shoe from all the walking he had done in Manhattan that month.” That hole was actually borrowed from Stevenson; there’s a famous photograph taken during one of his campaigns, showing his worn-out shoes.
A post-script: My friends at the WordPress site (high five, beautiful people!) seem most interested when I write about fashion and wine. My friends at the Goodreads site (hello strangers! and Laura!) seem most interested when I write about science fiction. I should therefore combine these things, and write about Barbarella, or Princess Leia’s hair. And if I can, I will. But sadly, I’ve written a book about politics. And advertising. And religion. Okay, and hair. (“Would you ever cut your hair like Selma Kahn’s used to be? Short, I mean. Like Mia Farrow. What did she call that. Her Edie Warhol look.” “Andy Sedgwick, you mean. Honestly, Henry.”) So stay tuned, and I will do my best.
One of the challenges in writing about history is keeping the outcome a secret, not to your readers, but rather to your characters. It would be too easy, in other words, for Bell to lecture Chan Peterson (over their bottle of era-correct Bordeaux): “Hey Chan. That Watergate business is more trouble than you think.” But he never would have done so. Not without a crystal ball. Even though Bell lives in a very particular moment, he sees that moment through the blur of his own experiences.
A corrolary lies in how hard it is to remain coherent for readers who are not only unversed in the history you are writing about, but who may not even care about it. At heart, after all, SPLIT THIRTY concerns a father who is mourning his son. And while that mourning plays itself out during the course of a presidential campaign, where it finds itself mirrored in the losses and needs of every other character, someone else could write a similar book, have it take place at a fashion show, and use Dior and Balenciaga for Rockefeller and Goldwater.
Henry and Pooch and Kahn and Walton are truth-seekers. Where they seek it, is less important than their doing so at all.
Writing this book was therefore a balancing act, between keeping it credible and keeping it meaningful. And that meant introducing certain historical figures, showing why they mattered to these characters, and letting the casual reader in on the secret.
There is Rockefeller himself, of course; a man who never even managed to get nominated for the presidency, but whose political gallantry and personal magnetism gave Bell his war cry (“I’m a liberal, man. You can go fuck yourself.”); there is Barry Goldwater, crushed by Lyndon Johnson in sixty-four, but still the champion of his party’s right wing, whose supporters had thrown rocks at Bell’s wife, a scant eight years before SPLIT THIRTY takes place; there is Tom Dewey, the square to end all squares, but also the moderate and basically decent man that Dick Nixon tried to emulate; and there is Adlai Stevenson, not just the fuddy-duddy who lost to Eisenhower twice, but the bold pioneer of a new politics-- the politics of involved amateurs, housewives with time on their hands, celebrities, and college kids, all “madly for Adlai.”
“Money was money, Walton’s childhood was Walton’s childhood, and there was a hole in the sole of Bell’s shoe from all the walking he had done in Manhattan that month.” That hole was actually borrowed from Stevenson; there’s a famous photograph taken during one of his campaigns, showing his worn-out shoes.
A post-script: My friends at the WordPress site (high five, beautiful people!) seem most interested when I write about fashion and wine. My friends at the Goodreads site (hello strangers! and Laura!) seem most interested when I write about science fiction. I should therefore combine these things, and write about Barbarella, or Princess Leia’s hair. And if I can, I will. But sadly, I’ve written a book about politics. And advertising. And religion. Okay, and hair. (“Would you ever cut your hair like Selma Kahn’s used to be? Short, I mean. Like Mia Farrow. What did she call that. Her Edie Warhol look.” “Andy Sedgwick, you mean. Honestly, Henry.”) So stay tuned, and I will do my best.
