Michael Davidow's Blog: The Henry Bell Project - Posts Tagged "split-thirty"

I started this blog to augment my author’s page on the Goodreads website; then I added it to my Amazon author’s page. Then I recreated it on the Wordpress platform, where three friendly guys have since pressed the “like” button on an entry called “Mad Man.” That was where I mentioned Matthew Weiner’s Mad Men, the AMC television show. That fact stands out to me. Nothing else has produced such an effect.

So in a shameless attempt to market my work accordingly, here is a brand new entry in which I helpfully compare Don Draper to Henry Bell. I am somewhat handicapped in doing so, because I have still never seen Mad Men. But you can learn a lot about it, by reading the news.

Don Draper is the handsome lead character in a glossy soap opera seen and loved by millions. Henry Bell is the burly lead character in a literary novel known to around five people in New Hampshire, Boston, and Washington, D.C. (there is also someone in Los Angeles). Early on, he is described as the “ant” to another ad-man’s “grasshopper.”

Don and his friends seem to drink a lot, but I’m not sure what (there’s an awful lot of discussion out there about how to make “Mad Men” cocktails). Henry drinks scotch, because he’s a Republican (as for his friends: Bertie drinks bourbon, because he’s a Democrat; Walton drinks tequila, because he’s from California; and Pooch drinks anything, because he’s an alcoholic).

Don seems to have some problem with his wife. Henry loves Paula, in spite of their being divorced.

Don has some other existential crisis going on, too, which seems to manifest itself in various shades of sex and wardrobe changes. Henry’s existential crisis has something to do with Ecclesiastes and the work of Thomas Kuhn.

J. Crew is marketing a line of clothing based on Don and his friends. Henry wears the same grey suit in nearly every scene, and I don’t think Peterson’s neckties survived 1973.

Don is haunted by his time in Korea. Henry fought in Italy, where he attempted to avoid getting the clap.

The actor who plays Don shows up on a lot of magazine covers. When I think about who could possibly play Henry, I think about Sterling Hayden, and Bill Holden. Then I wake up, and I go to work.

And I should probably end with this: Mad Men was created by some forty-something Jewish guy who was born in Baltimore, and who really liked the sixties. SPLIT THIRTY was written by some forty-something Jewish guy who was born in Boston, and who really liked the seventies. He wishes Matthew Weiner well. Perhaps they will meet someday.

Paula and his sons had frequented this area, once; Stevie had made it his own as a boy. Had always turned west at this same marker, too. The zoo was nearby, and a pretzel stand, and that dirty pond, with its grimy swans. Bell had no idea, what lay beyond. To his own recollection, he had never kept walking.

Bertie Kahn had always sat here, too, whenever Selma had wanted to pray. Temple Emanu-El was right across the street.

Bertie might be found there later this week. The Jewish High Holidays are early this year. They start on Wednesday night.

SPLIT THIRTY is a god-soaked book. You might have to go back to On the Road or the stories of J.D. Salinger to find an ensemble cast with members so devoted to chasing the divine. That said, though, there isn’t much in the way of conventional religion to be found within its pages. Sal crosses himself whenever he passes a church, true, but he himself would call that superstition. Selma apparently went to services, but Selma is dead by the time this book opens. Not even Paula is interested in church.

How does that square with the story’s preoccupation, then? When its central question involves whether any of its characters ever succeeds in managing a single prayer?

I can tell two stories from memory to explain. Both come from Martin Buber’s Tales of the Chasidim; I simply can’t recall which rabbis they concern. And in retelling them, I’m sure I will change them. But that’s okay. It comes with the territory.

In the first, a young rabbi attends services with his new father-in-law. This wealthy man has been bragging about his son-in-law’s learning and piety. The whole congregation looks forward to seeing him preach. He takes the pulpit and stands in silence. A moment or two pass. Things turn awkward. Then he sits down again. His father-in-law is livid. “Why didn’t you pray for us?” he asks. “People expected more from you!” “I intended to pray,” the young man replies. “But I saw that pride had decided to pray with me. I could not pray myself without letting him pray, too. So I considered it best to keep my mouth shut.”

In the second, a great and learned rabbi stops at a small synagogue for evening prayers. He sits in the back so as not to disturb anyone. He finds that he can barely comprehend what is happening. He tries to pray, but it feels so wrong, he stops. He is so ashamed, he closes his book. He sits with his eyes closed. He barely manages to say “amen” at the end of the service. In a rush to leave after that happens, he is stopped by the local rabbi. “You must tell us your great secret,” says this man. “What secret is that?” “The secret of such powerful prayer. Your single word, amen, nearly toppled me over with its awful strength.”

To try to pray, and to fail, is prayer itself. Words to the wise, from Martin and his friends.