Talk With C.S. Forester: (New York Times)
Share and share alike: here is a transcript of an interview with C.S. Forester that appeared in the New York Times. The highlights are his description of his writing process, as well as his definition of an adventure novel (see the last paragraph):
Talk With C.S. Forester
By Harvey Breit
New York Times, April 6, 1952, page BR16
Riding up the elevator to meet C.S. Forester, one might have had a reasonably high expectancy that he was about to say hello to a celebrant—of the secular variety of course. Mr. Forester had a brand-new Hornblower novel between boards, this time called “Captain Hornblower”. And the film, “The African Queen”, based quite scrupulously on Mr. Forester’s novel, was having a splendid life in the cinema houses. No celebrant, though, Mr. Forester. If anything, he looked glum and even forlorn.
He lit a cigarette, propped up a couple of pillows at the head of his bed and sprawled. It was discernible that the 52-year old Mr. Forester, though enveloped in a heavy bathrobe, was bony to a fineness.
“I have a funny, unprotected feeling,” he started right in, thereby justifying first impressions. Mr. Forester looked off for a long, soft moment, then looked at his visitor for a swift, scrutinizing one. “It’s the first time,” he then said, “I haven’t either a job or a book going in thirty years. It gives me a queer, unprotected feeling. I wonder about how my book is going to go. When you’re putting down 100 words every day, you don’t care too much about the notices and the sales.”
Why wasn’t there a job? “I came to New York because of a job. There has been a good deal of publicity about it—that I was going to write a Navy history for television. Well, this week we mutually decided not to go on with it, the network and myself. So I’m out a job before I had it.”
Why wasn’t there a book going? “I thought,” Mr. Forester explained, “I’d be working on the Navy history. But I’m leaving New York and I’ll start right in soon as I leave.”
Was it always 1,000 words? “One thousand words more or less is a fixed minimum. I find the actual writing a toilsome bore. The only way to get it done is to set your course for a given number of words every day. If tomorrow is just as good as today, then three weeks go by, and before you know it… You just have to go ahead each morning and get the miserable thing done.”
Mr. Forester was still a British subject? “My son’s are American,” he replied, “One of them is in the navy and I give you three guesses what his nickname is”. Was it Horatio? Mr. Forester looked a bit downcast. “Hornblower”, he muttered. “I must say he has got a sensible idea about it, and laughs at it. I don’t know why it is that writing a best seller makes you an object of contempt for the younger generation. My sons are all terribly superior to me. They write difficult verse.”
It wasn’t true, was it that Mr. Forester (along with his gifted collaborators, John Huston and James Agee), was going to do a sequel to “The African Queen”, called “The African King”? No, it wasn’t true. Was it all right to spike such a report? “Please do spike the rumor”, Mr. Forester said with a show of enthusiasm. “I never saw the phrase, I never heard the phrase, until I read it in some newspaper reports”. It wasn’t true was it, that Mr. Forester had written the African Queen without having been to Africa? No, it wasn’t true. “Though,” he added, “I’d never been near the Rain Forest. I wrote “The Queen” in 1934. I remember it so well. One morning in London I saw my agent, who is still my friend. He told me a big London Paper had got a new bee in its bonnet. It was going to run serials from Monday through Friday, in five episodes.”
Mr. Forester said episodes. “Had I any ideas?” he continued, “They were paying good money. No, I didn’t have any. I got on the back car of my train and before I’d reached the head car the whole story started forming and was completely in my mind. I didn’t bother to go home. If you’ve read the original script I dare say you may be able to detect the five climaxes. Later, I expanded it to the novel.”
How did Mr. Forester live? Or, rather where did he live? “In California. That’s my home permanent. I lead a very nice life. June in England, October in New York and the rest in California, which I think—I really do—is the ideal life.”
Had he found the movies a bad thing? “Oh no, no, no,” Mr. Forester exclaimed. “When I was a young man it provided the money that set me free to do what I wanted.”
A final question: What was an adventure novel? “I don’t like analyzing myself,” Mr. Forester said, “but recently I’ve come to an interesting conclusion. I rather fancy most authors think of a character and then they think of what he would do. While I think of something to be done and then think of the most interesting character who could do it.”
Perhaps that did define something?
“Yes, “Mr. Forester said with positiveness, “I think it defines the adventure novel.”
Talk With C.S. Forester
By Harvey Breit
New York Times, April 6, 1952, page BR16
Riding up the elevator to meet C.S. Forester, one might have had a reasonably high expectancy that he was about to say hello to a celebrant—of the secular variety of course. Mr. Forester had a brand-new Hornblower novel between boards, this time called “Captain Hornblower”. And the film, “The African Queen”, based quite scrupulously on Mr. Forester’s novel, was having a splendid life in the cinema houses. No celebrant, though, Mr. Forester. If anything, he looked glum and even forlorn.
He lit a cigarette, propped up a couple of pillows at the head of his bed and sprawled. It was discernible that the 52-year old Mr. Forester, though enveloped in a heavy bathrobe, was bony to a fineness.
“I have a funny, unprotected feeling,” he started right in, thereby justifying first impressions. Mr. Forester looked off for a long, soft moment, then looked at his visitor for a swift, scrutinizing one. “It’s the first time,” he then said, “I haven’t either a job or a book going in thirty years. It gives me a queer, unprotected feeling. I wonder about how my book is going to go. When you’re putting down 100 words every day, you don’t care too much about the notices and the sales.”
Why wasn’t there a job? “I came to New York because of a job. There has been a good deal of publicity about it—that I was going to write a Navy history for television. Well, this week we mutually decided not to go on with it, the network and myself. So I’m out a job before I had it.”
Why wasn’t there a book going? “I thought,” Mr. Forester explained, “I’d be working on the Navy history. But I’m leaving New York and I’ll start right in soon as I leave.”
Was it always 1,000 words? “One thousand words more or less is a fixed minimum. I find the actual writing a toilsome bore. The only way to get it done is to set your course for a given number of words every day. If tomorrow is just as good as today, then three weeks go by, and before you know it… You just have to go ahead each morning and get the miserable thing done.”
Mr. Forester was still a British subject? “My son’s are American,” he replied, “One of them is in the navy and I give you three guesses what his nickname is”. Was it Horatio? Mr. Forester looked a bit downcast. “Hornblower”, he muttered. “I must say he has got a sensible idea about it, and laughs at it. I don’t know why it is that writing a best seller makes you an object of contempt for the younger generation. My sons are all terribly superior to me. They write difficult verse.”
It wasn’t true, was it that Mr. Forester (along with his gifted collaborators, John Huston and James Agee), was going to do a sequel to “The African Queen”, called “The African King”? No, it wasn’t true. Was it all right to spike such a report? “Please do spike the rumor”, Mr. Forester said with a show of enthusiasm. “I never saw the phrase, I never heard the phrase, until I read it in some newspaper reports”. It wasn’t true was it, that Mr. Forester had written the African Queen without having been to Africa? No, it wasn’t true. “Though,” he added, “I’d never been near the Rain Forest. I wrote “The Queen” in 1934. I remember it so well. One morning in London I saw my agent, who is still my friend. He told me a big London Paper had got a new bee in its bonnet. It was going to run serials from Monday through Friday, in five episodes.”
Mr. Forester said episodes. “Had I any ideas?” he continued, “They were paying good money. No, I didn’t have any. I got on the back car of my train and before I’d reached the head car the whole story started forming and was completely in my mind. I didn’t bother to go home. If you’ve read the original script I dare say you may be able to detect the five climaxes. Later, I expanded it to the novel.”
How did Mr. Forester live? Or, rather where did he live? “In California. That’s my home permanent. I lead a very nice life. June in England, October in New York and the rest in California, which I think—I really do—is the ideal life.”
Had he found the movies a bad thing? “Oh no, no, no,” Mr. Forester exclaimed. “When I was a young man it provided the money that set me free to do what I wanted.”
A final question: What was an adventure novel? “I don’t like analyzing myself,” Mr. Forester said, “but recently I’ve come to an interesting conclusion. I rather fancy most authors think of a character and then they think of what he would do. While I think of something to be done and then think of the most interesting character who could do it.”
Perhaps that did define something?
“Yes, “Mr. Forester said with positiveness, “I think it defines the adventure novel.”
posted by K. Larson at 8:57 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home