THE LETTERS OF F. SCOTT FITZGERALD. Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд

Hollywood,

       California November 2, 1940

       Dearest Zelda:

      Listening to the Harvard and Princeton game on the radio reminds me of the past that I lived a quarter of a century ago and Scottie is living now. I hear nothing from her though I imagine she is at Cambridge today.

      The novel is hard as pulling teeth but that is because it is in its early character-planting phase. I feel people so less intently than I did once that this is harder. It means welding together hundreds of stray impressions and incidents to form the fabric of entire personalities. But later it should go faster. I hope all is well with you.

       With dearest love,

       Scott

      1403 North Laurel Avenue

       Hollywood,

       California November 9, 1940

       Dearest Zelda:

      Got into rather a fret about Scottie last week, which however came out all right. She went to the infirmary with grippe and then in spite of my telegrams to everyone there, including the dean, Scottie and the infirmary itself, darkness seemed to close about her. I could get no information. Her weekly letter was missing. As I say, it turned out all right. She had been discharged and was probably out of town but I wrote her a strong letter that she must keep me informed of her general movements - not that I have any control over them or want any because she is after all of age and capable of looking after herself but one resents the breaking of a habit and I was used to hearing about her once a week.

      I’m still absorbed in the novel which is growing under my hand - not as deft a hand as I’d like - but growing.

       With dearest love always,

       Scott

      1403 North Laurel Avenue

       Hollywood,

       California November 16, 1940

       Dearest Zelda:

      I’m still listening to Yale-Princeton, which will convince you I spend all my time on the radio. Have had to lay off Coca-Cola, hence work with an attack of avitaminosis, whatever that is - it’s like a weight pressing on your shoulders and upper arms. Oh for the health of fifteen years ago!

      I’d love to see anything you write so don’t hesitate to send it. I got the doctor’s bill which has been paid today. I liked Scottie’s little sketch, didn’t you?

       With dearest love,

       Scott

      1403 North Laurel Avenue

       Hollywood,

       California November 23,1940

       Dearest Zelda:

      Enclosed is Scottie’s little story - she had just read Gertrude Stein’s Melanctha on my recommendation and the influence is what you might call perceptible.

      The odd thing is that it appeared in eastern copies of The New Yorker and not in the western, and I had some bad moments looking through the magazine she had designated and wondering if my eyesight had departed.

      The editor of Colliers wants me to write for them (he’s here in town), but I tell him I’m finishing my novel for myself and all I can promise him is a look at it. It will, at any rate, be nothing like anything else as I’m digging it out of myself like uranium - one ounce to the cubic ton of rejected ideas. It is a novel à la Flaubert without ‘ideas’ but only people moved singly and in mass through what I hope are authentic moods.

      The resemblance is rather to Gatsby than to anything else I’ve written. I’m so glad you’re well and reasonably happy.

      With dearest love,

       Scott

       P.S. Please send Scottie’s story back in your next letter - as it seems utterly impossible to get duplicates and I shall probably want to show it to authors and editors with paternal pride.

      1403 North Laurel Avenue

       Hollywood,

       California December 6, 1940

       Dearest Zelda:

      No news except that the novel progresses and I am angry that this little illness has slowed me up. I’ve had trouble with my heart before but never anything organic. This is not a major attack but seems to have come on gradually and luckily a cardiogram showed it up in time. I may have to move from the third to the first floor apartment but I’m quite able to work, etc., if I do not overtire myself.

      Scottie tells me she is arriving South Xmas Day. I envy you being together and I’ll be thinking of you. Everything is my novel now - it has become of absorbing interest. I hope I’ll be able to finish it by February.

       With dearest love,

      1403 North Laurel Avenue

       Hollywood,

       California December 13, 1940

       Dearest Zelda:

      Here’s why it would be foolish to sell the watch. I think I wrote you that over a year ago when things were very bad indeed I did consider pawning it as I desperately needed $200.00, for a couple of months. The price offered, to my astonishment, was $20.00, and of course I didn’t even consider it. It cost, I believe, $600.00. The reason for the shrinkage is a purely arbitrary change of taste in jewelry. It is actually artificial and created by the jewelers themselves. It is like the Buick we sold in 1927 - for $200.00 - to come back to America in ‘31 and buy a car of the same year and much more used for $400.00. If you have no use for the watch I think it would be a beautiful present for Scottie. She has absolutely nothing of any value and I’m sure would prize it highly. Moreover she never loses anything. If you preferred you could loan it to her as I think she’d get real pleasure out of sporting it.

      The novel is about three-quarters through and I think I can go on till January 12 without doing any stories or going back to the studio. I couldn’t go back to the studio anyhow in my present condition as I have to spend most of the time in bed where I write on a wooden desk that I had made a year and a half ago. The cardiogram shows that my heart is repairing itself but it will be a gradual process that will take some months. It is odd that the heart is one of the organs that does repair itself.

      I had a letter from Katharine Tighe the other day, a voice out of the past. Also one from Harry Mitchell who was my buddy at the Barron G. Collier Advertising Agency. And one from Max Perkins who is keen to see the novel and finally one from Bunny Wilson who is married now to a girl named Mary McCarthy who was an editor of The New Republic. They have a baby a year old and live in New Canaan.

      I will write you again early next week in time for Christmas.

       Dearest love.

       P.S. I enclose the letter from Max, in fact two letters only I can’t find the one that just came. They will keep you au courant with the publishing world and some of our friends.

      1403 North Laurel Avenue

       Hollywood,

       California December 19, 1940

       Dearest Zelda:

      This has to be a small present this year but I figure Scottie’s present as a gift to you both and charge it off to you accordingly.

      I am very anxious for Scottie to finish this year of college at least, so please do not stress to her that it is done at any inconvenience. The thing for which I am most grateful to my mother and father are my four years at Princeton, and I would be ashamed not to hand it on to another generation so there is no question of Scottie quitting. Do tell her this.

      I hope you all have a fine time at Christmas. Much love to your mother and Marjorie and Minor and Nonny and Livy Hart and whoever you see.

       Dearest love.

       Scott