Budd Schulberg: The Disenchanted.


The late Budd Schulberg:  “Don’t meet your heroes”goes the saying, but Schulberg was able to turn his encounter with Fitzgerald into a very good novel indeed.


Hollywood, late 1930’s. Shep Stearns, budding screenwriter, is overjoyed and overawed to be taken on by Milgrim Pictures at $2,000 a week, to work on a script with his idol, the novelist Manley Halliday. A bestselling author lauded (and loaded) to the gills in the 1920’s, by the late 30’s Halliday has long gone quiet, and is glad just to be taken on to earn some money to try and pay off his extensive bills and buy some time to work on a novel in progress. Aged 40 (but feeling twice as old), diabetic, and desperately trying to keep on the wagon, this is nothing like the dream job for him that it is for Shep. Told to write a fluffy romantic musical comedy set at an Ivy League University, everything starts to go wrong once they head East to Webster College, supposedly to gather background information. Things aren’t helped by having the producer Victor Milgrim along with them (his eye is on an honourary degree, which he thinks the presence of the great Halliday will help him obtain). To add to the trouble a camera unit is also in tow, there to shoot some pick up footage as per a rough script from Stearns and Halliday. Shep’s initial hero-worship soon turns to disbelief and finally disenchantment when Halliday falls off the wagon, the script doesn’t get written and things go terribly and tragically wrong.

You probably know Schulberg for “On the Waterfront” and “What Makes Sammy Run”.  Before he wrote that script, during his early Hollywood screenwriting days, he encountered F.Scott Fitzgerald, and Halliday is essentially a barely veiled portrait of the great writer in his latter years. This book is well worth seeking out if you admire Schulberg’s other work or are interested in what happened to Fitzgerald later on in his life and want a counterpoint to the novelist’s own writing about his ‘crack up’ phase and what came after. “The Disenchanted”, however, is well worth reading in its own right. The basic plot is very, very strong, and it’s a book you will want to read until the end since the main characters of Stearns and Halliday are well drawn, the kind most readers will want to get to know and understand. The relationship between the two men is very well described, and the way Shep’s early enchantment with his hero Halliday rapidly sours is convincingly handled.

That’s not to say I didn’t find the book without its faults. The start is rather drawn out, perhaps by design, since it depicts the slow, uncertain life of an aspiring screen writer, which seems to consist of a lot of hanging around waiting for a phone call (cue scenes of Shep Stearns staying up to all hours in a bar, waiting for a call from movie mogul Milgrim, a man who works odd hours and expects others to keep them too). Things really get going once Schulberg introduces Halliday and Milgrim. Halliday is clearly a very complex character, a man desperately trying to keep on the wagon in order to try and write another novel. As a depiction of a writer and an alcoholic it rings true. All that close up observation of Fitzgerald clearly helped, but it still needed Schulberg’s gifts to make Halliday a compelling character in his own right.

Later on, the escapades of the two writers on their fact-finding trip are similarly good, illustrating the changing relationship between the two. Shep began as idolising Halliday, but as mentioned this soon changes. Less engaging, I found, were the long flashbacks as Halliday went back over his rip-roaring 20’s glory years. Schulberg could have done with a better editor there and tried less hard to write like Henry James.

However, these are personal criticisms and other readers may think I’m too harsh. Ultimately, I think this book is a very strong study of two different ‘disenchanted’ characters: the once-great writer desperately trying to rekindle whatever made him great in the first place, and the young aspirant desperate to establish himself.

Given that the story is so strong, that it has cracking dialogue, and it’s a convincing study of two different characters, I think it’d make a great radio play. Any producers reading this then get in touch. I’d write it at the drop of a hat for you!

So whose moveable feast should you partake of? Or two ways to get back to Hemingway’s Paris of the 20’s.

Recently I took another look at Hemingway’s classic late period  memoir of life in 20’s Paris, A Moveable Feast. I’m very fortunate to own a UK first edition- without dust jacket unfortunately- published by Jonathan Cape. This publishing house isn’t particularly cool anymore, having long since been swallowed up by some faceless multinational publisher or other, but I’ve still got a soft spot for it before it went corporate and was one of the THE great UK publishing houses.  Going way back to when I first started trying to read ‘serious’ books, it seemed a lot of the authors whose work I was getting to grips with were on the Cape list. Chief of those was Ernest Hemingway. I distinctly remember reading Fiesta, The Old Man and the Sea and Across the River and Into the Trees in Cape editions from my local library. The dust jackets were beautifully designed. Well the first two were at least. Appropriately enough, for his least essential novel published in his lifetime, Across the River… had a rather dull brownish affair which isn’t as easy to recall as the vivid jackets for Fiesta and The Old Man….

Anyway, I’ve always loved Hemingway, but when it comes to recommending an edition of A Moveable Feast, it’s not out of a sense of personal nostalgia that I suggest you go for a copy of the text as it was first published in 1964, rather than get the more recently published ‘restored’ edition.

The restored version caused something of a stir when it was published a couple of years ago. The author’s grandson, Sean, decided to put the text back to what he claims was its final state, that is to say the condition it was in at the time of Hemingway’s suicide in 1961. This restoration largely consists of removing the ’64 edition’s foreword by Hemingway’s fourth and final wife Mary; altering the wording here and there; substituting a couple of passages from the ’64 text with alternate readings from the draft; and also going for a different chapter order at the end of the book.

Aside from being true to what is perceived as the great man’s final intentions, another key motivation seems to be to soften the overall picture painted in the book of Hemingway’s second wife (Sean’s grandmother) and her role in the author’s first divorce.  However, in comparison with the 1964 text I’m not sure this newer edition is as good a book.

To explain why, allow me to go a little into the work’s composition. Hemingway started work on it in the 1950s, legend has it after he came back into possession of an old trunk  that he’d left in the basement of the Paris Ritz Hotel back in 1930. It contained all manner of things he’d left behind, including working notebooks, and so it was in effect a time capsule. Soon the floodgates of memory opened, inspiring him to produce a draft of  what he originally called his Paris Sketches, which dealt mainly with his early working years in the 20’s, a time of relative poverty and obscurity.  Read the book and you’ll see that the first title is a pretty good, if less poetic, than “A Moveable Feast”, since it consists of a series of vignettes which taken together form a composite picture of his life at that time.

Now according to the Hemingway Estate, their restored version is superior since it reproduces the FINAL draft Hemingway was working on around the time of his suicide in 1961. In their view, this supercedes the original 1964 text and is, in effect, the true version. The estate object to the 1964 book, seeing it as inferior on the grounds that it was put together by Hemingway’s fourth wife Mary alongside Harry Brague, an editor from Hemingway’s US publishers Scribners. The Estate don’t like the way they supposedly made decisions they didn’t think Hemingway himself would have taken.

Things may not be as simple as all that, however. According to Hemingway’s friend A.E. Hotchner, around the end of 1959 Hemingway entrusted him with a draft of Feast to deliver to the publishers in New York. In  Hotchner’s view that draft was effectively what was finally published,  give or take a few details (mainly the lack of an introductory note and a title, the working version of which was, as mentioned, Paris Sketches). According to Hotchner, writing in the New York Times in 2009 “What I read on the plane coming back from Cuba was essentially what was published. There was no extra chapter created by Mary.”

On balance of probability it seems to me that the Hemingway estate’s restored version is that first draft, plus a few alterations derived from the working notes (a chapter removed here, a few rewordings of passages there) that Hemingway might have been tinkering with. It could well have been that these were second thoughts that date to his final two years of life. The trouble with printing this ‘restored’ version, however, is that he was an ill man for a lot of that time.  To put it bluntly, it seems that he didn’t know whether he was coming or going a lot of the time towards the end of his life. Personally I think that after his death his original editors did a fine job in getting Feast into shape and presenting it to the world as a fitting final work.  If you want any evidence as to the kind of trouble the old man was in when trying to rework this book, then look at the ‘Fragments’ included by his family at the end of the restored version. They consist of attempts to hammer out an introduction and an ending to the work, and have a pretty desperate tone to them to my mind, as if the poor man couldn’t fix his words on the page. I know writing is a hard business sometimes, and the best of us have days when the right words just will not come. However, to print Hemingway’s repeated attempts to produce a short introductory note to the book induce nothing in me other than pity. God knows what state his mind was in at the time. I don’t think the inclusion of such material helps illuminate anything except his suffering.

Overall, a look through this manuscript material made me realise what a good job his 1964 editors did in taking these fragments and assembling a brief intro and a fitting final chapter. Yes they had to make an executive decision without Hemingway’s input. Conceivably they went against his own thoughts at the time of his death. But I think they made sound judgements about what would make a better book, clearly things Hemingway might not have been able to judge clearly for himself.

The 1964 book, then, is leaner, sharper and more focussed: precisely the kind of tightly constructed work that would have emerged had Hemingway lived to discuss it properly with his editors. In contrast, the Estate’s restored version goes with Hemingway’s final chapter order. This isn’t as effective, since this book now closes- rather bathetically- with the chapter about Scott Fitzgerald’s concerns over the size of his manhood, rather than the original’s closing chapter which takes place in the mountains during skiing trips and deals with Hemingway’s infidelity that led to the break up of his first marriage. Another new editorial change I’d take issue with is the beginning of the chapter entitled “Scott Fitzgerald”. In the 1964 text went with a passage from the draft material that takes a negative tone in summing up that author’s character. In this restored version Sean Hemingway uses a later draft that is more positive about Fitzgerald. The trouble is, the chapter gives a pretty negative portrayal of Fitzgerald. It’s clear that Hemingway respected him as an artist but found his human flaws got in the way.  The original editors’ choice of intro, which sets that negative tone from the start,  seems to me the more fitting.

If there’s a saving grace to the restored version the extra material taken from the manuscript, given as appendices, is interesting and allows us to play the amateur textual critic if we wish. It also prints some pictures of the manuscripts and of the main protagonists. But ultimately, by going with Hemingway’s second thoughts on the book from a time when writing anything was clearly so difficult, and in trying to present a kinder picture of his Grandma, Sean Hemingway ultimately hasn’t done Ernest Hemingway any favours.

In his introduction, Sean writes quite dismissively of fourth wife Mary Hemingway’s editing of the original version, as if his book is the final settling of an old score. But if we believe A.E. Hotchner  again, Mary was less involved with editing the book than Harry Brague was. Either way, I think the 64 text is your own best way of getting back to the wonders of Paris in the 20s.