Showing posts with label road to publication. Show all posts
Showing posts with label road to publication. Show all posts

Saturday, 18 March 2017

A Big, Bloody Problem

"The story of how Dubliners came to be printed is a fascinating tale of artistic frustration and persistence despite years of dismissal." (Sean Hutchinson)




James Joyce courtesy 



In university I wrote an essay about James Joyce's short story collection Dubliners.  I assumed that the publication was snapped up by a publisher when Joyce first wrote it early in the 20th Century. How wrong I was!

Back in 1904, Joyce, a starving "artist", was teaching English at the Berlitz School in Trieste, now part of Italy.  He wrote a collection of three stories ("The Sisters", "Eveline", and "After the Race") which were printed in a weekly publication called The Irish Homestead.  In the meantime, Joyce composed nine more stories, with the intent of publishing an anthology, which he sent to publisher Grant Richards.

Richards promptly drew up a contract which he mailed to Joyce and sent the manuscript to the printer.  In the meantime, the printer, who at the time was just as libel as the publisher for the content of the publication, pointed out that Joyce's collection of stories contained obscenities.  The story "Counterparts" talked about male and female anatomy while "Grace" contained the line:  "Then he has a bloody big bowl of cabbage before him on the table and a bloody big spoon like a shovel.'

Joyce protested that the word bloody was used numerous times in his collection, but Richards remained firm.  In 1906, the writer resubmitted the stories, this time with the offensive anatomy vocabulary removed as well as the word "bloody".  Joyce included the note:  "I think that I have injured these stories by these deletions but I sincerely trust that you will recognize that I have tried to meet your wishes and scruples fairly."

After months of waiting, Joyce was still rejected by Richards.  He temporarily retained a lawyer to sue Richards for breach of contract but was talked out of the suit.  In the meantime, he turned his efforts to his other collection Chamber Music which was published in 1907 thinking the milestone might gain him more clout with publishers, but such was not the case.  Dubliners was promptly rejected by four other publishers in late 1907 and early 1908.

In the meantime Dublin publisher Maunsel & Co. expressed interest to read the manuscript for Dubliners but by this point Joyce was so gun shy it too him a year to work up the courage to submit it.  In 1909. Maunsel drew up a contract for Joyce.  But that obscenity word reared its ugly head again.  Upon further inspection, the Maunsel publisher, Roberts, was disturbed by slanderous remarks in about the recently deceased King Edward VII in "Ivy Day in the Committee Room".  Roberts postponed the publication of Dubliners once again.  

Joyce refocussed his efforts by investing in a new cinema to be opened in Dublin until financial difficulties forced him to withdraw in July of 1910.  Returning to his short story collection, he made some requested changes to it, but refused to take out the reference to King Edward VII.  Roberts, equally stubborn, refused to publish the work.  The daring Joyce wrote a letter to King George V asking him if he objected to the "Ivy Day" reference to his dead father.  Joyce was surprised when he received a reply, albeit from the king's secretary, which stated:  "It is inconsistent with rule for His Majesty to express his opinion in such cases."  It seemed like the opinion was unanimous:  everyone had left Joyce "hanging out to dry".

A downtrodden Joyce, not to be defeated, wrote a publication history of his precious Dubliners which was published by a few Irish newspapers, which included the King Edward VII reference.  It was like a tree falling in the forest:  no one heard.  Joyce was forced to confront his publisher Roberts face to face, a meeting in which publisher compared the writer to The Giant's Causeway, massive stone cliffs in Northern Ireland.  Roberts explained that the collection was decidedly anti-Irish and told Joyce to replace place names in "Counterparts" with fictitious ones, upon other demands.

The altered version finally made it to the printer where it was mysteriously destroyed, but not before Joyce obtained a copy "by ruse".  Joyce later discovered that one of Maunsel & Co's biggest clients, Lady Aberdeen, was the head of the Irish Vigilance Committee, and could very likely have acted as a thorn in his side.  In exile once again, he composed a poem about the whole fiasco called "Gas from a Burner (http://andromeda.rutgers.edu/~ehrlich/699/GASBURN") .  The dejected writer hightailed it out of Dublin, never to return.

Joyce turned his attention towards Ulysses and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.  Finally in December of 1913, he received a letter from the original publisher, Richards, who expressed interest in the short story collection.  Eight years after the original contract was signed for Dubliners, Richards offered him a second one.  The stipulation, however, stated that Joyce would not receive royalties on the first 500 copies sold.  Secondly, Joyce would have to purchase at least 120 copies himself.  Publication went ahead in 1914, a full nine years after Joyce first penned the stories.

Dubliners sold 499 copies.  Joyce received no royalties.  But the cloud had a silver lining.  In 1916, Dubliners was picked up by an American publisher, pushing his notoriety.  It was Joyce's 1922 masterpiece, Ulysses, however, that gave him worldwide acclaim.  Dubliners would prove to be an enduring work, however; a Canadian university student would write a paper about it in 1990.




James Joyce chatting with Shakespeare & Co Bookstore owner in Paris circa 1922 courtesy http://media.gettyimages.com/photos/author-james-joyce-chatting-with-shakespeare-co-bookstore-owner-picture-id72403313.

Sunday, 21 October 2012

The Journey That Saved Curious George

It was a manuscript called "The Adventures of Fifi" based on the life of a little monkey.  Not even a world war would stop its publication.  It had a long journey to America:  a 133-kilometre bike ride, a long train ride, and two long boat rides.  But it made it in one piece and now is available for everyone to enjoy as Curious George.



Hans Augusto Reyersbach, born and raised in Hamburg, Germany, loved to draw.  He would sketch the animals at the zoo and the horses in the park.  He fought in World War I and returned to his hometown.  In the mid-1920's, he moved to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil where he donned a large yellow hat and sailed up and down the Amazon River, sketching and photographing monkeys and other wildlife. 




An acquaintance of Hans' named Margarete Waldstein also grew up in Hamburg.  She, too, dreamed of being an artist, attending Germany's famous Bauhaus School.  In 1935, she followed Hans to Rio de Janeiro where the two spent months sketching and photographing.  Later that year, they married.

In 1936, the young couple moved back to Europe, this time to Paris, France.  They were both Jewish and wanted to avoid Germany due to Hitler's anti-Semetic laws.  They set up a cozy home in an apartment at the Terrass Hotel.  The couple would sketch the fishermen on the River Seine, the booksellers on the quay and the animals at the zoo.







Paris is where the Reyersbach's started writing their children's books.  The late 1930's was a difficult time to get a book published:  typesetters had joined the army, paper was scarce and the laws were strict (propaganda).  Nevertheless, the artists-turned-authors managed to get an advance from a Paris Publisher for three manuscripts including "The Adventures of Fifi".

However, while their manuscript was being typed, World War II was brewing.  News spread quickly that the Nazis were "goosestepping" their way across France.  Paris filled with refugees from the north:  Belgian farm carts and horses passed Dutch cars with mattresses tied to the roofs; taxis, trucks and green city busses whizzed by the Reyersbach's window.  It was time for the couple to join the ranks of the two million refugees.



Family flees Paris circa 1940 courtesy http://cdn.theatlantic.com.



Hans made several trips to government agencies to get their passports in order.  THUMP!  THUMP!  He also tried to purchase train tickets out of the French capital but the trains were no longer running.  Hans purchased a tandem bicycle, but he and Margarete tried to pedal it on Paris' cobblestone streets but "sans succes".  He returned the bike, bought spare bicycle parts for 1600 francs, and assembled two separate bikes.  He also bought four large baskets, two to hold bread, cheese and meat, and two to hold clothes and their precious manuscripts.


Finally, the Reyersbach's were ready for their journey.  Under the drone of the German scout planes, they left the Terrass Hotel and pedalled through the streets of Paris, part of the largest motorized evacuation in history.  As rain pattered their bicycles, Hans was relieved that their manuscript was clean and dry under his winter coat inside one of the baskets.  The first day, they rode 48 kilometres.  A gracious farmer's wife offered them shelter in her house on that first night.  On the second day, they rode 26 kilometres and were offered a spot to rest their weary limbs in a farmer's stable.  On the third day, they pedalled 32 kilometres.  They reached Etampes, France not a moment too soon for it was bombed only two days later. 



The map outlining the Reyersbach's flight from Nazi-occupied France courtesy https://www.amazon.com/Journey-That-Saved-Curious-George/dp/0547417462.




At Orleans, they boarded a train with their bicycles which steamed south to Bayonne as they stretched their weary limbs.  They disembarked at Bayonne and remounted their bikes bound for Hendaye.  There, they caught a second train, this one headed through Spain to Portugal.  Hans sold their "bicyclettes" for 650 francs at the train station, money that would come in handy soon.

At Lisbon, they bought tickets for a trans-Atlantic passage to South America.  One official thought Hans might be a spy, given his attire and his briefcase.  However, all was well once he opened the case and revealed his "livre pour les enfants".  The Reyersbach's boarded a ship named "Angola" which safely took them across the Atlantic to Brazil.  They waited two months for their papers to be in order.  THUMP!  THUMP! 

Finally, in October of 1940, four months after they pedalled out of wartime Paris, they sailed into peacetime New York, with the Statue of Liberty in full view.  Only a year later, the former Fifi landed on American bookshelves as Curious George.  And the Reyersbach's became the Rey's.  What a journey for the little monkey and the man with the yellow hat!





Original cover courtesy http://upload.wikimedia.org.

Source:  The Journey that Saved Curious George by Louise Borden.