Book Review: Letters to a Young Poet, by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

Letters to a Young Poet collects 10 letters that the poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote to Franz Xaver Kappus from 1903 to 1908. The book, first published in 1929, has become a touchstone of artistic writing that’s even referenced in the classic 1993 movie Sister Act 2.  

Kappus wrote to Rilke and asked for his advice about a possible career as a poet. In the first letter, Rilke made it clear that he cannot judge the quality of Kappus’ work. Rilke wrote: “Nothing is less relevant to a work of art than the judgements of other people. Whether positive or negative, they will always reflect some measure of misunderstanding.” (p.13) Rilke has a point: an artist must be satisfied with their own work and not judge it based on how the public reacts to it. Of course, this is easier said than done. Everyone wants their work to be well received by the public, critics, or their peers, and it can be devastating to self-confidence and the ego when our art is not well received. Rilke is also quite right that critics will misunderstand works of art. Most of the time, the critic has no way of truly knowing what the artist’s intentions were, so it’s inevitable that there will be misunderstandings.  

Rilke wrote to Kappus: “Ask yourself why you pursue this thing you call writing...Ask yourself if you would die if you were forbidden to write...if you respond to this question with a strong and simple yes, then build your life according to this necessity.” (p.14-5) Rilke’s advice might sound a bit extreme, but he’s really asking Kappus if he has to write, if writing is truly essential to his life and well-being. When I read this, I thought to myself, “How would I answer Rilke’s question?” I would answer with a yes. Of course, I wouldn’t literally stop breathing if I was forbidden to write. But I would be quite unhappy, and I wouldn’t be the best version of myself. I would be miserable, honestly. I need an outlet for my thoughts and creativity.  

Rilke naturally writes in aphorisms, and it’s easy to see why Letters to a Young Poet has become such a widely quoted book. It’s natural to wonder what happened to Franz Xaver Kappus? Did he take Rilke’s advice and become a writer? He did. Kappus wrote poetry, novels, screenplays, and journalism. Ironically, Kappus’ most famous pieces of writing are the letters he wrote to Rilke that inspired these replies. The edition I read, published in 2021 and translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy, doesn’t even include Kappus’ letters, although there are some editions of the book that include Kappus’ letters as well. Oh well, artists can’t control how critics or posterity will deal with their work.  

If you’re an artist of any sort, you’ll find some wisdom in Letters to a Young Poet. 

Book Review: The Natural, by Bernard Malamud (1952)

Bernard Malamud’s 1952 novel The Natural, about baseball player Roy Hobbs and his magical bat Wonderboy, is a very different piece of art from the 1984 movie starring Robert Redford. While the movie is ultimately a heroic story of triumph and success, Malamud’s novel is a bleak satire of America.  

A friend of mine had read The Natural shortly after reading The Great Gatsby, and it struck him at the time that both novels were about the emptiness of the American Dream. I read The Natural last spring, and shortly after finishing it, I re-read The Great Gatsby, and I agree, there are definitely similarities between the two novels. I don’t know that Malamud was specifically influenced by Fitzgerald, but certainly both authors were approaching their material from a similar philosophical standpoint.  

The Natural is really a myth, a fable, a story that exists on a heightened plane of reality. That’s the charm of the novel, but it also makes it hard to relate to the characters. I never felt much affinity for the Roy Hobbs of the novel, as he is an inarticulate lunkhead.  

As a baseball fan, it’s always fun to read novels that are set in the baseball world. Although Roy Hobbs’ stunning success at baseball is unrealistic. But we are in a fable, after all. And perhaps the fable-like setting is the reason for this huge error: Malamud describes the fictional New York Knights, a National League team, playing a night game in Chicago against the Cubs. A night game at Wrigley Field in 1952? No way that could happen! As every baseball fan knows, Wrigley Field was the last major league baseball stadium to have lights—the first night game at Wrigley didn’t happen until 1988. But maybe The Natural exists in a reality where Wrigley Field added lights in the 1940’s, like every other baseball stadium.  

The Natural is a bleak novel, and it holds out little hope for heroes. Perhaps that’s the point Malamud is making—that we should not try to make our sports figures heroes or models for living. As the great pitcher Bob Gibson once said, “Why do I have to be an example for your kid? You be an example for your own kid.” Great advice. Certainly, the Roy Hobbs of the novel is not someone to emulate.  

Malamud’s novel is a fascinating look at America seen through the lens of its national pastime.  

Movie Review: Spirits of the Dead, starring Jane Fonda, Alain Delon, Brigitte Bardot, and Terence Stamp (1968)

Spirits of the Dead is an intense, surreal, sexy, stylish, fever dream of a film. Based on three short stories by Edgar Allen Poe, it’s an anthology film as three different casts and directors take on the three tales. Released in Europe in 1968 and the USA in 1969, the film is a who’s who of swinging 60’s cinema. The film stars Jane Fonda, Peter Fonda, Alain Delon, Brigitte Bardot, and Terence Stamp. The directors were Roger Vadim, Louis Malle, and Federico Fellini.  

Whether you like the film or not, you’ll be dazzled by the exquisite costumes and sets, and the very pretty people you get to watch. Here are my thoughts about the three stories. 

Metzengerstein, starring Jane Fonda and Peter Fonda, directed by Roger Vadim. This story was filmed just after the terrific campy space movie Barbarella, also starring Jane Fonda and directed by Roger Vadim, her husband at the time. Side note: Vadim was married to Brigitte Bardot and Jane Fonda. In between those marriages, Vadim had a relationship with Catherine Deneuve. I don’t know if I’m more impressed that Roger Vadim was with these three amazing women, or if I’m more annoyed at him for not making the relationships work out.  

This segment was the slowest of the three. But Fonda’s wardrobe is amazing, full of gorgeous and sexy costumes. If you get bored, you can just start counting her costume changes.  

Fonda’s character is a young countess who pursues a life of indulgent pleasure. Fonda’s brother Peter plays her cousin—their families have been feuding for centuries, but she feels an inexorable pull towards him. Having Peter Fonda play this role was a great choice, as it lends the story the requisite oddness/creepy factor.  

The story loses steam halfway through, and the ending isn’t a surprise, although there’s still lovely scenery to enjoy. 

William Wilson, starring Alain Delon and Brigitte Bardot, directed by Louis Malle. It’s Alain Delon and Brigitte Bardot, and they both look super hot. What more do you need to know? 

The story concerns a man named William Wilson who encounters another man who is also named William Wilson. This other Wilson haunts him throughout his life, as their lives run on parallel tracks. This continues the theme of doubles or doppelgangers in Delon’s movies, which is a major theme in Purple Noon, La Piscine, and Mr. Klein. (Side note: Maurice Ronet, who played characters who mirrored or doubled Delon’s characters in Purple Noon and La Piscine, provided the French narration for the Fonda/Vadim segment.)  

The kinky sadomasochism that was an undertone in the first story is brought to the forefront in this story. Delon’s character is extremely sadistic—he would have been a formidable match for Fonda’s countess. It’s always effective when directors used Delon’s good looks to play a character who is morally corruptible. (See also: Purple Noon, Le Samourai.)  

The highlight of this segment is seeing two icons of French cinema, Alain Delon and Brigitte Bardot, on screen at the same time. Delon and Bardot never made a full movie together, which is a shame, but they also appeared together in 1961’s anthology film Famous Love Affairs. Bardot and Delon were good friends, and their chemistry together in Spirits of the Dead is electric. They don’t need words; they just need smoldering glances across the table as their characters play cards. What card game are they playing? I don’t even know. It doesn’t matter.  

Bardot’s part is difficult to play, as there’s really not much for her to work with. What you need in that scene is a female who can match Delon’s charisma and star power. You need that scene to be a battle of equals, between two giants, and Bardot delivers. Even with an unfortunate black wig.  

I don’t know if William Wilson was my favorite segment of the movie, but I really liked the creepy, unsettling aspect of the story, and Delon’s excellent performance.  

Toby Dammit, starring Terence Stamp, directed by Federico Fellini. Terence Stamp was one of the coolest guys ever. He shared a flat with Michael Caine, before they both rose to stardom. He dated Julie Christie and supermodel Jean Shrimpton. His brother Chris Stamp managed The Who. He was living at an ashram in India when the call came to play General Zod in Superman. Terence Stamp simply had style.  

I can’t quite get over the fact that the name of Stamp’s character is Toby Dammit. This is also the name of the character in the Poe story this segment is based on. I want to put a comma in there, to make it a sentence: “Toby, dammit!”  

Toby is an actor, and as the segment begins, he’s flying into Rome to make a spaghetti Western. Part of his payment for the movie is a new Ferrari. Call it surreal, call it expressionistic, but it’s not a surprise that Fellini’s segment would take place in a kind of heightened reality, where even the Rome airport seems to be merely a film set.  

I interpreted Toby Dammit to be a satirical commentary on celebrity, specifically modern film celebrity. Everyone wants something from Toby; everyone acts as though everything he says is vitally important. While in reality, he’s an alcoholic actor who is terrifyingly close to a nervous breakdown. Maybe Fellini is saying “Film actors are normal people, we should treat them like normal people.” 

Fellini shows us the parts of film celebrity that are ancillary to the work itself. We don’t see Toby on the set of his new movie, instead we see Toby on a TV talk show, and at an awards show. These are the obligations of the modern film celebrity. In addition to performing on the film set, Toby also has to perform in front of the camera at these events as well.  

Stamp, nattily attired in jaunty black scarf and purple velvet pants, nails the part, even with his black hair dyed blonde, and he captures the duality of Toby: he always looks as though he’s either about to drive off into the night with a supermodel on each arm, or pass out at his table from too much Johnnie Walker red label.  

At the awards show, the producers beseech Toby to offer a short speech, “Something from Shakespeare. But short.” He offers the “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” soliloquy from Macbeth. It ends with the famous line about life: “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Toby stops, never finishing the last two words of the speech, as he talks about his own personal problems before crawling back to his seat.  

Because Toby cannot accept love when it is offered to him by the woman who whispers in his ear at the awards show, he instead chooses the path of self-destruction. When Toby obtains his gorgeous Ferrari after the awards show, we know he’s on the road to oblivion. The Ferrari, by the way, was custom built for the film. Originally a 1963 racing Ferrari 330 chassis, the body was modified, but modeled after the 1964 Ferrari 275 P. Fitting with the vibe of the whole movie, the car is both sexy and alluring, but also sinister and dangerous.  

Spirits of the Dead is a movie that really needs to be seen to be experienced. Love it or hate it, it’s a visual treat of 1960’s European cinema.