Dissatisfied Authors, #2 -- Garbo

My horrible eyesight is a daily annoyance but it does come with a few perks, one of which is being able to read all the Talking Books I want. And the Library of Congress, working with local public libraries, not only furnishes books and musical instruction materials, it also provides subscriptions to certain magazines. 

I get to read both American History and Smithsonian for free, which is awesome. And because I get the mags in audio form, I often read them cover-to-cover as I do dishes, or file my income taxes, or try to match up all the socks in the laundry basket.

This last week, each of these magazines brought me a different tale of writerly dissatisfaction, and what each author did about his unhappiness. First, John Steinbeck. The September 2019 issue of Smithsonian has a feature story about the raising of a sunken fishing boat made famous by Steinbeck.

The popular novelist, along with his wife, his friend Ed Ricketts, and a charter boat captain, went on a famous journey in 1940. It was a bit like a six-week version of On the Road, except on the water.  After the boat brought the group back from the exploration, Steinbeck used a log book kept by Ricketts to create a volume which was partly a description on life on a boat, partly a reflection on what connects us all, and partly biologist Ricketts' illustrated list of the sea creatures he'd seen. 

When Sea of Cortez was published in 1941, few copies sold and neither critics nor the American public showed any interest in it. Steinbeck was unhappy about this, and his unhappiness was compounded a few years later by Rickett's 1948 death in an automobile crash. Steinbeck worked with his publisher to re-publish Sea of Cortez, minus the marine biology catalog, and with an afterword by Steinbeck paying tribute to Ricketts. 

This version, with an altered title, was published to literary acclaim and with brisk sales in 1951, and for seventy years, it's remained one of Steinbeck's best-loved books. Steinbeck's solution to his dissatisfaction, though it had an element of sadness, worked.  

A hundred years before Steinbeck wrote about his famous fishing-boat adventure, Walt Whitman was busily penning non-rhyming poetry.  His collection Leaves of Grass, like the early version of John Steinbeck's Sea of Cortez, sold poorly. As the later author would be, Whitman was dissatisfied by the public's rejection of his work. But Whitman didn't do a Steinbeck -- wait ten years and try re-publishing. He tried a different solution. 

In its February 2020 issue, an American History writer glories in the details of Whitman's relentness, over-the-top self-promotion. When Leaves of Grass came out in 1855, few copies sold and few critics had anything to say about it. Except for some really glowing reviews in a few publications. Take the September, 1855 issue of The United States Review, for instance. The unsigned reviewer was really blown away by the writerly talent which had produced Leaves of Grass:

"An American bard at last!" said he. (After all, the book's publication date was the Fourth of July.) And went on at length: "No sniveller or tea-drinking poet, no puny clawback or prude is Walt Whitman. He will bring poems fit to fill the days and nights, fit for men and women with the attributes of throbbing blood and flesh."

Yep, your guess is correct. Whitman was the unsigned reviewer.  I am not sure that the published raves meant copies of Leaves of Grass flew off the shelves into the hands of throbbing-fleshed men and women. However, I imagine it did give Whitman considerable pleasure to see his work praised in print. On the one hand, he was the source of the praise, but on the other hand, the reviews concurred with Whitman's own self-assessment, so there was that.  

The American History article also includes quotes from two more anonymous rave reviews, one from the Brooklyn Daily Times, in which Whitman proclaimed himself  "America's Bold New Voice!" and one from The American Phrenological Journal.

In this publication dedicated to the study of the human head, Whitman's collection of poems is called "the most glorious of triumphs in the known history of literature."  Can't say anything better than that.

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I never went that far, but when promoting my novel Rusty: How Me and Her Went to California and Everything, Except Not Really, I did use xeroxed reviews to get more review space. In my defense, I hadn't written the first two or three reviews I enclosed with my submission. An actual newspaper reviewer did this one, for example. 

As time went on, however, I needed newer, fresher reviews. So I simply provided unsigned critiques of my own work.  I didn't put fake reviewer names on them or anything. A lot of the magazines I sent submissions to were perfectly happy to have a glowing review of my novel, even if they did suspect that it had been written, like the book itself, by the author. 


In those printed-page days, publications often laid out issues ads first. They then filled the annoying white space between Happy Hour listings and photos of new styles of sofa. Any free writing which appeared in their mailbox was good enough to print.


And hey, in the writing biz, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Whitman and Steinbeck took action, and so did I. 

By the bye, after writing this post I happened to come across a typical list of magazines available through the Talking Books program. The offerings change a little from time to time. You can download not only current issues, but back issues as well.  

Anyone who has a physical limitation which makes reading difficult is eligible to apply; low vision, physical issues which make holding a book difficult, and so on. Your tax dollars pay for it, so if you meet the requirements, apply through your local library. 

Garbo

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