Book Review: The Late George Apley, by John P. Marquand (1937)

Original dust jacket of The Late George Apley, by John P. Marquand, 1937.

Author John P. Marquand, 1893-1960.

John P. Marquand was an author who was critically and commercially successful during his lifetime, but since his death in 1960, he has not had a posthumous career revival. Marquand is probably best known for his series of spy novels featuring the Japanese agent Mr. Moto, and for his novel The Late George Apley, which won the 1937 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.  

When I came upon a reference to Marquand in the book F. Scott Fitzgerald on Authorship, I thought to myself, “I’ve heard of Marquand, but I don’t really know what he wrote.” I read his Wikipedia biography, and I was intrigued. Right away, I thought to myself that John P. Marquand and F. Scott Fitzgerald would have had a lot to talk about. (Marquand and Fitzgerald met at least once, in Paris during the 1920’s, but they never became close friends.) I wanted to read some of Marquand’s work, so I started with The Late George Apley. It did not disappoint.  

Marquand’s early biography has a lot of similarities to Fitzgerald’s. Marquand graduated from Harvard in 1915. He then worked as a reporter. He saw active service in France during World War I. After the war, he worked as a reporter for the New York Tribune, and then at an advertising agency. In 1921, he became a full-time fiction writer. Fitzgerald would have graduated from Princeton in 1917, had he finished in four years. (Fitzgerald never finished his degree at Princeton.) He enlisted in the Army in 1917, but never saw active service—he was about to be sent overseas when the Armistice was signed. After the war, he tried to get a job as a reporter in New York City but settled for working at an advertising agency. In 1919, he became a full-time fiction writer. Fitzgerald’s publisher for his entire life was Scribners, and his editor there was Maxwell Perkins. Marquand published his first two novels with Scribners, where his editor was Maxwell Perkins. Marquand’s first two novels were published in 1922 and 1925, the same years that Fitzgerald published his second and third novels.  

The Late George Apley is an exquisite work of satire. The framing device of the novel is that George Apley’s son has asked the narrator to write a biography of his father, a leading citizen of Boston. Marquand threads the needle perfectly, as his narrator/author takes us through the events of George Apley’s life, much of it reconstructed through primary sources such as letters. The narrator/author is a blowhard named Willing, which seemed to me to be a joke about how “willing” he is to always give Apley’s behavior the benefit of the doubt. It takes a special skill for a writer to write in the guise of a boring writer, and Marquand nails Willing’s dull, overexplanatory style. 

George Apley was born in 1866 into one of Boston’s leading families. The Apleys run the Apley mills, which has provided their income for decades. However, it’s decided that George doesn’t quite have a head for business, so he goes to law school and obtains a cushy job. Just after college, Apley took the “Grand Tour” of Europe. I love the metaphor that Apley uses in writing about the trip in a letter: “It seems to me that all this time a part of Boston has been with me. I am a raisin in a slice of pie which has been conveyed from one plate to another. I have moved; I have seen plate after plate; but all the other raisins have been around me in the same relation to me as they were when we were all baked.” (p.102)  

Many times during the novel George Apley expresses concern or dissatisfaction with the course his life is taking, but he seems unable or unwilling to fully break away from it.  

I found this letter that Apley writes to his son to be quite hilarious: 

“As you know, for a number of years I have been making a collection of Chinese bronzes. I have tried to inform myself fully about these things, and I have spent much time with wily Oriental dealers. I have not done this because I particularly like these bronzes...I have made this collection out of duty rather than out of predilection, from the conviction that everyone in a certain position owes it to the community to collect something.” (p.162-3)  

It’s a noble goal to collect something and share it with the community, but rather ridiculous to collect something that you don’t actually get any pleasure from. Marquand is excellent at highlighting Apley’s somewhat misguided sense of duty.  

Marquand also captures George Apley’s voice perfectly, highlighted by this letter written to his son John when John enters college that is both funny and sad: 

“There is a great deal of talk about democracy. I thought there was something in it once but now I am not so sure...Do not try to be different from what you are because in the end you will find that you cannot be different. Learn to accept what you are as soon as possible, not arrogantly but philosophically.” (p.216-7)  

George Apley has resigned himself to his position in life, but his position in life does not seem to fulfill him. He advises his son John not to have too much money in the bank and suggests to him “you start a collection of something, let us say of tapestries...I have found it very important to avoid criticism, and it does not look well to be extravagant.” (p.255) I found it quite humorous that George was suggesting that John start collecting something, but also sad how George feels this relentless pull and tug of status, of caring so much what other people think.  

As America fights in World War I and then enters the glittering Jazz Age of the 1920’s, George Apley feels distinctly left behind. He begins a letter to John: “I wish there weren’t quite so many new ideas. Where do they come from?” (p.294) I suspect that many of us have felt that way at times.  

Marquand pulls off a tricky feat in this novel—he is able to make you laugh at George Apley and also have sympathy for him. The Late George Apley launched Marquand as a serious novelist, and for the rest of his life his novels garnered critical acclaim as well as high sales.  

The Late George Apley was the subject of much controversy in Boston after its release. Marquand said in an interview shortly after the novel’s publication: “Boston is the only city in America you could satirize. No other city has enough solidity, is complete enough...There are really only two things a writer can satirize in the American scene today. One of these is the small town, and Sinclair Lewis has done that in Main Street and Babbitt. The only other place static enough and finished enough to write a novel about is Boston.” (Marquand: An American Life, by Millicent Bell, p.252-3) Marquand makes an interesting point—that for a work of satire, you need a place with culture and customs that are fixed enough to sustain the satire.  

The Late George Apley is an excellent novel that would appeal to fans of Edith Wharton and other novelists of manners.  

Book Review: Business is Good: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Professional Writer, by James L.W. West III (2023)

Business is Good: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Professional Writer, by James L.W. West III, 2023. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Fitzgerald scholar James L.W. West III

F. Scott Fitzgerald scholar James L.W. West III’s most recent book is Business is Good: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Professional Writer. Released in March of 2023, the book collects West’s recent essays about different aspects of Fitzgerald’s writing. For Fitzgerald scholars, it’s a must read, as West has deep insights into Fitzgerald’s work.  

One of the essays examines a 1924 letter that Fitzgerald wrote to Moran Tudury, an author who wrote short stories for pulp magazines. In the letter, Fitzgerald wrote of his 1922 novel The Beautiful and Damned “it was a false lead. Its attempted naturalism was a concession to Mencken—perhaps unconscious. The business of creating illusion is much more to my taste and my talent.” Fitzgerald writes that “my new novel...is a new thinking out of the idea of illusion.” (p.18) This is of special interest because the novel Fitzgerald is referencing will become The Great Gatsby.  

West writes of Fitzgerald, “one of his great strengths as an artist was the internal tension in his work between romantic and naturalistic elements, neither of which ever came fully to dominate his thinking or writing.” (p.20) I think West is absolutely correct, Fitzgerald’s work is a fascinating mix of naturalism and romanticism, and that’s part of what makes his work so beautiful.  

One of the most fascinating chapters was about the Broadway play of The Great Gatsby, which opened in 1926. The script, by Owen Davis, took considerable liberty with Fitzgerald’s story. Davis's adaptation is chronological, so the play opens in Louisville in 1917, and Gatsby’s background, which is revealed late in the novel, is told to the audience at the beginning of the play. West details the plot of the play, which has some significant differences from the novel. West also reveals a great line that Davis added, as Tom Buchanan says to Gatsby during their confrontation, “You’re out of your class, old sport! You can’t speak her language.” (p.54)  

In one chapter, West examines Fitzgerald’s ledger, a large book where Fitzgerald kept track of his writings and offered monthly summaries of his life. West writes: “Through 1932 Fitzgerald’s attitude is confident and forward-looking. After that, however, his mood becomes increasingly elegiac, melancholy, and regretful...As time goes on he seems less interested in himself and, indeed, increasingly less interested in life.” (p.84) As depressing as this conclusion is, it’s hard to argue with it. Fitzgerald certainly had many reasons to be melancholy after 1932, as both his personal and professional lives were filled with difficulty.  

There’s a fascinating chapter on Fitzgerald’s 1927 short story “Jacob’s Ladder,” and how the original publication of the story in The Saturday Evening Post did not perfectly match Fitzgerald’s intentions for the story. In the last three words of the story, an error crept in, and Fitzgerald’s “vast throbbing darkness” became “fast-throbbing darkness” when the story was published in the Post.  

West reveals to us how fastidious a good editor needs to be, as he chronicles the many options available to someone wanting to edit The Great Gatsby. Now that Gatsby is in the public domain, anyone can edit it. So, should Daisy and Tom’s daughter remain “three years old,” as Daisy tells us she is? From the chronology of the novel, their daughter is actually two years and three months old. West tells us “When Fitzgerald originally drafted this scene he had a different chronology in mind for the novel.” (p.136) But Fitzgerald forgot to change the daughter’s age. So, what is the editor to do? Of course, it’s a minor point, but if we take Daisy at her word, that would mean that she was pregnant when she married Tom, which is probably not the implication that Fitzgerald wanted to make. Perhaps Daisy’s error in stating her daughter’s age is an indication of her light-headedness. This may not have been Fitzgerald’s intention, but it certainly fits with her character.  

My only quibble with West’s book is in the first chapter, he writes that in the summer of 1917, Fitzgerald “traveled to Fort Snelling, Minnesota, thirty miles to the south of St. Paul, and took the examination for a commission.” (p.11) As a Saint Paulite, I can tell you that Fort Snelling is not thirty miles south of Saint Paul—it’s right next to Saint Paul, and only about seven miles from where Fitzgerald was living in Saint Paul in 1917. But that’s a small quibble compared to the many pleasures that West’s book brings.  

Business is Good is ample proof that there is still more for us to learn about the life and career of F. Scott Fitzgerald.  

Book Review: Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald, Edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli and Judith S. Baughman (2004)

Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald, Edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli and Judith S. Baughman, 2004.

Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald, edited by noted Fitzgerald scholar Matthew J. Bruccoli and Judith S. Baughman, and published in 2004, fills an important gap in the collection of books by and about Fitzgerald by collecting 37 interviews with the author that were originally published during his lifetime.  

It’s fascinating to see how Fitzgerald was presented in the press during the 1920’s and 1930’s. In his lifetime, Fitzgerald was much more famous as “the author of This Side of Paradise” rather than “the author of The Great Gatsby.” None of the interviews in the book mention Gatsby in any detail, an indication of how the book was neglected by the public at the time it was published in 1925.  

Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald shows the reader aspects of Fitzgerald that might not always come across in his fiction. His sense of humor is usually on fine display in these interviews, and it’s interesting how often Fitzgerald mentions politics. Fitzgerald wasn’t a political writer, by any means, but it’s clear from these interviews that he viewed himself as a liberal. If all you know of Fitzgerald is his glittering portraits of the wealthy, you might not think that he would call himself a socialist, as he does in these interviews. Fitzgerald’s desire to show the corrosive effects of wealth in his fiction matches up with the personal political convictions that he espouses here.  

There are many fascinating tidbits for Fitzgerald fanatics to gather from Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald. I’ll describe some of my favorites. A highlight is Thomas Boyd’s long interview with Fitzgerald, conducted in 1921 in Dellwood/White Bear Lake, just outside of Fitzgerald’s hometown of Saint Paul. (The difference depends on how specific you want to get with the location of the house the Fitzgeralds were renting.) Thomas Boyd was a book critic who wrote an acclaimed World War I novel, Through the Wheat. Scott recruited Boyd and his wife Margaret, who published under the name Woodward Boyd, to join him at his publisher Scribners. Thomas Boyd described reading some of the manuscript of Fitzgerald’s second novel, The Beautiful and Damned. “He disappeared into the house and returned with the manuscript of The Beautiful and Damned. ‘Here it is.’ It was written on ordinary-sized paper and not typed. The pencil scrawl was in large letters and altogether it must have been two feet thick.” (p.17) It’s wonderful to have these kinds of firsthand details about Fitzgerald’s writing. You can’t help but put yourself in Thomas Boyd’s shoes and imagine the excitement of reading Fitzgerald’s handwritten manuscript.  

As a left-hander, I’m always on the lookout for references to other left-handers. One of the articles says of Fitzgerald: “He is left-handed in everything save writing.” (p.95) I wonder if Scott was a natural left-hander who was switched to writing right-handed, as so many children were in those days? I’ve seen photos of Fitzgerald wearing a watch on his right wrist, which is usually a good indicator of a left-hander. Anyway, I will gladly accept F. Scott Fitzgerald as an honorary left-hander.  

One of the most amazing interviews in this book is from 1927. The interview was titled “Fitzgerald, Spenglerian,” a reference to the German philosopher Oswald Spengler, whose book Decline of the West Fitzgerald was reading at the time. Fitzgerald sounds like a prophet: 

“Mussolini, the last slap in the face of liberalism, is an omen for America...The idea that we’re the greatest people in the world because we have the most money in the world is ridiculous. Wait until this wave of prosperity is over! Wait ten or fifteen years! Wait until the next war on the Pacific, or against some European combination!”  

Fifteen years after 1927 was 1942, when the United States, after suffering through the Great Depression, was at war with Japan, Germany, and Italy. Fitzgerald hit it right on the nose, although he didn’t live to see 1942. I’m not sure why some of the quotes from this interview aren’t more widely circulated, since they demonstrate Fitzgerald’s astute political thinking.  

It’s always interesting to see how Fitzgerald is described by people who knew him. Interviewers vary on the color of his eyes between blue and green. Fitzgerald was described in a 1927 piece by Margaret Reid as “probably the best-looking thing ever turned out of Princeton.” (p.90) I’m sure Fitzgerald delighted in that. A 1928 piece informs us that “His ties and pocket handkerchiefs are all brightly-colored.” (p.95) I approve of Fitzgerald’s sartorial flair—I always use my ties as a way to get more color into an outfit.  

Another reference to politics is made in a 1931 interview with the Montgomery Advertiser: “Mr. Fitzgerald, who said he was a Jeffersonian Democrat at heart and somewhat of a Communist in ideals, declared that the prohibition law was not only a foolish gesture but that it was a hindrance to the machine of government.” (p.101) It’s no surprise that Fitzgerald was against prohibition, but very interesting that he now moved even farther to the left in his politics. Perhaps the stock market crash of 1929 had made him slightly more radical.  

My only small quibble with the explanatory notes was the footnote following this sentence: “His novel This Side of Paradise was published before his graduation from Princeton.” The footnote reads: “Untrue. This Side of Paradise was published in 1920.” (p.102) Yes, TSOP was published in 1920, but since Fitzgerald never actually graduated from Princeton, it’s technically true that the novel was published “before his graduation” since his graduation never actually occurred. It’s splitting hairs, I know. But don’t worry too much, the Princeton Class of 2017 awarded Fitzgerald an honorary degree, 100 years after he should have graduated.  

Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald ends on a sad note. The last extended interview Fitzgerald ever gave was in September of 1936, on his 40th birthday. Recovering from a broken shoulder, Fitzgerald was in a bad place mentally as well, and he was really in no shape to be talking to any members of the press. But ambitious reporter Michel Mok surprised Fitzgerald by coming unannounced and knocking on the door of his room at Asheville, North Carolina’s Grove Park Inn. Fitzgerald should have slammed the door in Mok’s face. But Fitzgerald’s kindness took over, and he invited Mok in and rambled on about what a shambles his life was in at the moment. When Fitzgerald saw the article in print, he attempted suicide by overdosing on morphine. Fortunately, he was unsuccessful.  

After Mok’s article, there’s just one more short piece in the book. Barely more than a single page, it’s a 1939 article from the Dartmouth College newspaper, and it focuses more on movie producer Walter Wanger than Fitzgerald. Neither man is directly quoted in the article. And so, F. Scott Fitzgerald fades out of Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald, leaving his own book without a parting word. It’s like a move Gatsby might have pulled, leaving one of his own parties while all the guests are still there. 

Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald is essential reading for Fitzgerald fans, and it gives us a glimpse of what a fascinating and intelligent man F. Scott Fitzgerald was.