Reflections on the 14th International F. Scott Fitzgerald Society Conference

Poster for the 14th International F. Scott Fitzgerald Society Conference in Saint Paul, Minnesota, 2017. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Me with Sam Lanahan, the grandson of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, June 26, 2017.

Author Scott Donaldson speaking at the Conference, June 26, 2017. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Last week I attended the 14^th International F. Scott Fitzgerald Society Conference in Saint Paul. It was an excellent opportunity to meet some of the leading Fitzgerald experts from around the world, and to indulge my own burgeoning fascination with Fitzgerald. 

I read Fitzgerald in high school, back in the late 1990’s, The Great Gatsby in 10^th grade, and some of his short stories after that. But for some reason, even though I loved Fitzgerald’s writing and bought several of his books, I didn’t go on a Fitzgerald binge the way I did with Hemingway at around the same age. So now I’m finally really digging into Fitzgerald’s life and work, and it’s been richly rewarding. He’s a great author who is still having a significant impact on popular culture, and he led a richly fascinating life. His writing obviously still speaks to people in a meaningful way in 2017, 121 years after his birth. 

I was excited to meet several of the scholars attending the conference, but Scott Donaldson was the one I was most excited about. I’ve been aware of Scott Donaldson’s work for about twenty years. At some point in 1995 or 1996, during my freshman year of high school, I picked up The Stories of John Cheever. The compact little paperback, with its distinctive bright red cover with the large, swooping C on it, quickly transported me to a post-war suburbia full of drinking, adultery, and page after page of gorgeous prose. At some point over the next year or two, I found Donaldson’s 1988 biography of Cheever at a bargain bookstore in an outlet mall. I read bits and pieces of it, but didn’t read it cover to cover, and I added it to my growing Cheever collection. A couple of years later, I learned that Donaldson and I were both alums of The Blake School. My awareness of Donaldson’s work has increased in the last couple of years, with the reissue of his biography of Fitzgerald, Fool for Love, by the University of Minnesota Press in 2012, and his 2015 book The Impossible Craft: Literary Biography. I recently reviewed Fool for Love and his 1999 book Hemingway vs. Fitzgerald. 

Scott Donaldson was very nice, and he was actually the first person I talked to at the conference, he was walking out of Hotel 340 as I was walking in, so I said hi to him, told him I’d enjoyed his books, and mentioned that we had Blake in common. He said he’s always looked back fondly on his time at Blake. His talk Monday afternoon was about Tender is the Night, and he said his next book will be about Tender. Later in the week I was able to ask Donaldson if he had known William F. Buckley when he was at Yale. Donaldson laughed and said, “I used to beat him at bridge all the time!” It turns out that Donaldson and his roommate regularly played Buckley and his roommate. He told me that it was obvious then that Buckley was brilliant. I knew that Donaldson had written a biography of Charlie Fenton, a professor at Yale who taught a class called “Daily Themes.” I told Donaldson that Buckley also had great things to say about the “Daily Themes” class. 

I also met Sam Lanahan, grandson of Scott and Zelda and son of Scottie Fitzgerald. He gave a talk about some of Zelda’s relatives, which was fascinating and informative. Lanahan has some resemblance to his grandfather—the eyes and nose especially. Lanahan was also an excellent speaker, with a quiet charisma that drew the audience in. As I was listening to him, I thought, “This is probably similar to what Scott Fitzgerald was like.” I chatted with Lanahan briefly after his talk, and he was a delight. 

One of the highlights of the conference was an early morning session with A. Scott Berg, who has written acclaimed biographies of Fitzgerald’s editor Maxwell Perkins, Charles Lindbergh, and Woodrow Wilson. (I reviewed Berg’s biography of Wilson here.) Berg was a fascinating speaker; I could have listened to him all day. He’s actually named after F. Scott Fitzgerald, as his mother was reading Fitzgerald’s novels when she was pregnant with him. Berg and Chris Keyser discussed the upcoming Amazon TV series The Last Tycoon, based on Fitzgerald’s unfinished novel. It sounds pretty interesting, and the clips they showed made it look good. I hope it’s better than the 1976 movie that Elia Kazan directed, which I reviewed here.

I also heard James L.W. West III speak, he’s the editor of the Cambridge edition of Fitzgerald’s collected works; the 16^th volume in the series is due to be released later this summer. Anne Margaret Daniel spoke at the same session—she’s the editor of I’d Die for You, the volume of uncollected Fitzgerald stories that just came out in April, which I reviewed here. I asked Daniel after her talk about the uncollected pages still in the Fitzgerald collection at Princeton—what Fitzgerald called false starts—and if she thought those would ever be published. She said they wouldn’t, since they were so clearly unfinished and never meant for publication. But they’re still available for scholars to see at Princeton. In that same session Don Skemer spoke. Skemer is the Curator of Manuscripts at Princeton and handles the Fitzgerald papers there. He spoke about how Fitzgerald’s papers came to Princeton, and he dispelled the notion that the University didn’t want Fitzgerald’s papers. That was what I had read, so I was glad to know that Princeton understood the value of Fitzgerald’s papers, even though he was out of fashion as a writer at the time they accepted the papers. There was initially some reluctance on the part of John Biggs, the executor of Fitzgerald’s will, and Scottie Fitzgerald to allow access to letters that described Zelda’s mental illnesses, but with her death in 1948 the decision was made not to restrict access to Fitzgerald’s papers. I think this was a very smart move, as the open availability of Fitzgerald’s papers has aided so much of the research that has produced biographies that continue to kindle interest in Fitzgerald’s life and work. 

There was also a superb bus tour of Saint Paul’s Cathedral Hill/Summit Avenue/Crocus Hill/Summit Hill neighborhood, where Fitzgerald grew up. I was fortunate enough to be on the same bus as Dave Page, the leading expert on Fitzgerald’s time in Saint Paul. Page was the co-author of F. Scott Fitzgerald in Minnesota: Towards the Summit, which I reviewed here, and the sole author of the recently published F. Scott Fitzgerald in Minnesota: The Writer and His Friends at Home. Page knows just about all there is to know about Fitzgerald’s time in Saint Paul, and I learned a lot of new information on his tour. 

The Fitzgerald Conference was a lot of fun, and thanks should go to Fitzgerald in Saint Paul for helping organize it.

The Best Books I Read in 2016

Miles Gone By: A Literary Autobiography, by William F. Buckley, Jr., 2004.

The Storm of War: A New History of the Second World War, by Andrew Roberts, 2011.

The Fire Next Time, by James Baldwin, 1963.

Survival in Auschwitz, by Primo Levi, originally published in 1947, first English translation published in 1958.

Wilson, by A. Scott Berg, 2013.

King of the Night: The Life of Johnny Carson, by Laurence Leamer, 1989.

Radical Chic & Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers, by Tom Wolfe, 1970.

The Right Stuff, by Tom Wolfe, 1979.

The Bonfire of the Vanities, by Tom Wolfe, 1987.

I read 33 books in 2016, most of which I reviewed on this blog. Here are my favorites that I read this year. The links will take you to the full reviews of these books.

Miles Gone By: A Literary Autobiography, by William F. Buckley, Jr. 2004. WFB makes the list for a second year in a row. Miles Gone By isn’t a strict autobiography; rather, it’s a collection of autobiographical writings from throughout Buckley’s long career. Miles Gone By is really about the man behind the politics, and partisans of either stripe can enjoy Buckley’s wit, joie de vivre, impressive vocabulary, and generous spirit, all of which are on full display. It’s a marvelous read, and time spent in the company of the witty, passionate, intelligent Buckley is always time well spent.  

The Storm of War: A New History of the Second World War, by Andrew Roberts, 2011. Roberts also makes the list for a second year in a row, for his superb overview of World War II. Roberts brings the conflict to life, and he’s an equally good writer on military or political matters. His chapter on the Holocaust is superb and haunting. Roberts is also very strong on the Eastern front, and convincingly makes the argument that it was Russia who bled the Nazis dry. The Storm of War captures the global scope and sweep of World War II while still reminding us of the stark tragedies that each one of the 50 million deaths in that conflict represents.

The Fire Next Time, by James Baldwin, 1963. Baldwin’s searing look at race in America is still relevant today, more than fifty years after it was written.

Survival in Auschwitz, by Primo Levi, 1947. For anyone wanting to understand more about the Holocaust, Levi’s eloquent memoir is a superb place to start. Levi was a prisoner in Auschwitz for more than a year, and in Auschwitz, he saw mankind at its worst. Levi summed up the entire experience of the Holocaust with this anecdote:

“Driven by thirst, I eyed a fine icicle outside the window, within hand’s reach. I opened the window and broke off the icicle but at once a large, heavy guard prowling outside brutally snatched it away from me. ‘Warum?’ I asked him in my poor German. ‘Hier ist kein warum’ (there is no why here), he replied, pushing me inside with a shove.” (p.29)

Wilson, by A. Scott Berg, 2013. An excellent cradle to grave biography of our 28^th President. Berg paints a vivid picture of one of our most accomplished presidents. Wilson’s writings are quoted from liberally, so the reader gets a vivid sense of his personality. 

King of the Night: The Life of Johnny Carson, by Laurence Leamer, 1989. A slight change of pace from the books listed above. This summer I attempted to learn all that I could about the enigmatic Johnny Carson. While Carson’s off-camera life was sometimes quite messy, (he was married four times) on screen he was the personification of cool, and he always seemed to have the perfect quip at hand. Leamer’s diligently researched biography is a superb portrait of the Tonight Show host.

Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers, by Tom Wolfe, 1970. My new favorite author, Tom Wolfe, makes the list again, this time for three different books! Radical Chic describes a party that Leonard Bernstein threw for the Black Panthers at his thirteen-room, two-story, penthouse duplex. Wolfe’s writing is as sharp as a knife throughout the essay: “God, what a flood of taboo thoughts runs through one’s head at these Radical Chic events…But it’s delicious. It is as if one’s nerve endings were on red alert to the most intimate nuances of status.” Wolfe is always on red alert to the most intimate nuances of status! That’s his calling card! This is right up his alley! 

The Right Stuff, by Tom Wolfe, 1979. Wolfe’s chronicle of the early U.S. space program is an engaging look at the Mercury 7 astronauts. Along the way, Wolfe explores the mythic “right stuff” that test pilots and astronauts must have to remain cool under pressure. The sections where Wolfe re-creates the astronaut’s Mercury flights are superb. One of the main figures in the book is the late John Glenn, who was the most media friendly of the Mercury 7, and was also a strict moralizer who sometimes clashed with the other astronauts. 

The Bonfire of the Vanities, by Tom Wolfe, 1987. Wolfe’s first novel, Bonfire was a massive study of New York City, specifically the justice system, the one part where different strata of society interacted. Wolfe captures the zeitgeist of the 1980’s in all its money-lusting glory with the character of Sherman McCoy, a wealthy bond trader. It’s a marvelous book, nearly 700 pages long, with 2,343 exclamation points.

Book Review: Wilson, by A. Scott Berg (2013)

Paperback cover of Wilson, by A. Scott Berg, 2013. You can see some other presidential biographies on the shelf behind it. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Thomas Woodrow Wilson, 1856-1924. Despite how dour he often looked, Wilson actually had a pretty good sense of humor.

Author A. Scott Berg.

Woodrow Wilson had a remarkable rise to the presidency. Wilson came to politics from academia, rising to prominence as the President of Princeton University. In 1910, Wilson ran for Governor of New Jersey, and just two years after winning that election, won the presidency. Wilson’s life story is explored fully in A. Scott Berg’s 2013 biography, titled simply Wilson. 

Berg’s book is an interesting and highly readable look at Woodrow Wilson’s life and times. Berg is an unabashed Wilson fan, so there are times at which his account might give Wilson the benefit of the doubt too often. But Wilson is still an essential book for learning more about the personality of the 28^th President. 

Wilson was our most educated president, as he remains the only occupant of the nation’s highest office to earn a Ph.D. With the current backlash against intellectuals of any political stripe, it seems unlikely that another Ph.D. will enter the Oval Office anytime soon. Berg quotes a letter from 1883 in which Wilson wrote, “I can never be happy unless I am enabled to lead an intellectual life.” (P.87) The only other presidents I can imagine giving voice to a similar opinion would be Thomas Jefferson and James Madison. 

Wilson was a studious and serious man, and when he found out he was to be the Democratic Party’s nominee for president in 1912, someone said to him, “Governor, you don’t seem a bit excited.” Wilson’s response was, “I can’t effervesce in the face of responsibility.” (P.234) Wilson worked hard as president, perhaps too hard, as his health was often precarious at best. Wilson also suffered from depression during his life, and Berg notes that the depression Wilson fell into after the Democrats’ defeats in the 1914 midterm elections was “the thirteenth such ‘breakdown’ in his adult life.” (P.345) Wilson had suffered a great personal loss as well in 1914, as his beloved wife Ellen died of Bright’s disease in August, just as World War I was beginning to consume Europe. 

As 1914 turned into 1915, many politicians wanted the United States to enter World War I, but Wilson did not consider it to be the United States’ business to enter into a European conflict. In early 1916, as war fever was mounting, Wilson said to one of his closest aides, “I have made up my mind that I am more interested in the opinion that the country will have of me ten years from now than the opinion it may be willing to express today…I will not be rushed into war, no matter if every damned congressman and senator stands up on his hind legs and proclaims me a coward.” (P.384) 

Of course, the United States entered World War I in 1917, and after the Allied victory in 1918, Wilson took a leading role in the negotiations for the Treaty of Versailles. This would prove to be simultaneously the capstone of Wilson’s career as a public servant, and also his bitterest disappointment in politics. Wilson argued forcefully for a peace that would not unduly punish Germany, as he said on March 27, 1919, “Our greatest error would be to give {Germany} powerful reasons for one day wishing to take revenge. Excessive demands would most certainly sow the seeds of war.” (P.566) In hindsight, Wilson sounds quite prophetic, but he was never able to convince French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau of these ideas, and Clemenceau helped steer the Treaty into an instrument of revenge against Germany. 

At home, Wilson was unable to convince the Senate to ratify the Treaty of Versailles. There were moments when it seemed like ratification was possible, but Wilson collapsed while on a speaking tour in September of 1919, and suffered a very serious stoke a week later. The stroke left Wilson incapacitated, and Berg writes, “A month passed during which no government official, not even a secretary, saw the President of the United States.” (P.649) Wilson’s physical incapacity now limited the influence he could personally have over the Senate, and his stubborn personality meant that he refused to accept any modifications to the Treaty. Ultimately, the Treaty of Versailles was not ratified by the United States Senate, which meant that the United States never joined the League of Nations.

A continuing question of history is, how much power and influence did Wilson’s second wife Edith have after Wilson’s stroke? Some historians have called her “America’s first female president.” I think that’s a bit of an overstatement-Edith was certainly controlling access to the president, but she wasn’t making policy decisions totally on her own. During Wilson’s health crisis, much of the government’s work simply came to a standstill, due to Wilson’s inability to do the work the presidency required. 

Woodrow Wilson left the presidency in 1921 a broken man, and he died in 1924, less than three years after leaving office. Wilson remained a stanch supporter of the League of Nations until he died, and still held out hope that somehow the United States would join.

Wilson was something of a contradiction, an intellectual academic who nevertheless inspired huge crowds with his soaring oratory, a humble Presbyterian with a self-effacing sense of humor who held many grudges, and kept few friends throughout his life. Wilson helped to shape the modern presidency, as he was the first president since Thomas Jefferson to deliver his State of the Union speeches in person, and he held the first presidential press conference. His presidency was full of accomplishments, and the Progressive policies that he favored continue to shape the United States today, more than one hundred years after he was first elected to the presidency.

Berg’s Wilson is a massive tome, some 750 pages of text, not including footnotes and index, so it is a hefty reading commitment. But along the way you’ll get to encounter a truly fascinating man. Berg quotes liberally from Wilson’s letters and papers, so you get a real sense of his personality, in all its complexity.