Another Life_ A Memoir of Other People - Michael Korda [186]
I was astonished and delighted at the prospect of adding Greene’s name to the S&S list, but of course I wondered what had caused him to change. “It’s quite a story,” Monica said. She was an elderly Englishwoman whose formidably starchy appearance concealed a heart as soft as a marshmallow, as well as left-wing opinions that had gotten her into hot water in the McCarthy era and earned her Graham’s loyalty. Graham, it appeared, had recently delivered to Viking Press the manuscript of his latest novel, Travels with My Aunt, one of his rare ventures into comedy. Viking had sent the manuscript to Playboy, hoping to sell the first-serial rights, and Playboy had called back to say that while they loved the book, they didn’t like the title much—it seemed too prissy. Tom Guinzburg, the head of Viking, decided on reflection that he didn’t like the title much either, so he sent Graham a cable advising him to change the title for the U.S. edition of the book. He also suggested a number of titles dreamed up by the editors of Viking at a brainstorming session. Had Guinzburg gone to the trouble of getting to know his eminent but irascible author, he might have spared himself and his editors the trouble. Instead, he received in reply a terse cable from Graham in Paris that read: EASIER TO CHANGE PUBLISHER THAN TITLE. GRAHAM GREENE.
IT WAS thus that I became Graham’s publisher and editor at last, and for the next sixteen years we corresponded constantly, and saw each other whenever I was in Europe, often in the company of my father, Vincent, who had been the art director on The Fallen Idol and The Third Man, and of whom Graham was genuinely fond. My father was famous on three continents for his taciturnity, but Graham, normally the most talkative of men, seemed to enjoy endless dinners with him, in Antibes, or London, during which the two men sat facing each other for hours across a table laden with food and drink, never saying a word, apparently quite content with each other’s silent company. Once, after a dinner during which neither one of them had spoken more than a few words, and those about the weather and the food, Graham whispered to me as I took him to his waiting taxi, “Your father is the cleverest man I know!” As for Vincent, he maintained stoutly that “Gray-ham,” as he pronounced it, was the only Englishman he knew whose conversation was worth listening to.
Since Graham hardly needed editing in the conventional meaning of the word, much of my work consisted in pouring oil on troubled waters. Here was an author who knew his own mind and did not take suggestions lightly. I was not spared the occasional sharp rap on the knuckles to remind me of Tom Guinzburg’s fate. A cable about flap copy read: I HATE THE WORD “STUNNING.” I ALSO DISLIKE VERY MUCH THE TITLE “BEST-SELLING AUTHOR” WHICH IS MORE APPLICABLE TO MR. HAROLD ROBBINS. Or, about the grandiose plans for a glitzy mass-market paperback advertising campaign: THEY FILLED ME WITH DISMAY, THANK GOD I DON’T LIVE IN THE UNITED STATES. Or, refusing a proposed interview: SORRY, BUT SAVE ME FROM MICHIKO KAKUTANI! A fairly harmless list of questions after a libel reading by the S&S house counsel produced the comment, COMPLETE NONSENSE!, together with the suggestion that if we at S&S were afraid to publish the book we should let his agent know so that she could find another, more courageous American publisher. My relationship with Graham, while deeply affectionate on both sides, at first remained that of a pupil to a master, and I found myself reverting to adolescent status.
Perhaps the most striking thing about Graham’s relationship with his publishers worldwide was his infinite capacity for attending to details and his determination