I remember Saul Bellow

Update, July 25: You can now hear Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti’s podcast in MP3.

I remember riding the trolley to Saul Bellow‘s office at Boston University—my alma mater—on an autumn day with my heart aflutter. I remember my wool gray skirt and ivory silk blouse that I wore; the weather sunny and crisp; a good autumn day. Gosh, I even remember my t-strap shoes that I wore, and that I still wear.

The year was 1996. I was a young editor, fresh from Godine, and had just started a small press, Lumen Editions, and now I wanted a Nobel Prize winner to serve on my board of directors, pro bono. As Lumen’s editorial director, I’d decided I had nothing to lose by cold-calling Bellow and everything to gain. We needed a good board of directors to help make careful editorial decisions, and I suspected that Saul would take his time. And so I invited myself to his office.

I remember Saul Bellow with a cravat about his neck, which he always seemed to wear, a nice one of silk and taupe colored; his handsome face so full of light that he practically emanated the very name of my press, Lumen. At the time it seemed to me a virtual impossibility that someone so full of light—as I felt I myself was during those days–could say no to me. I remember two people in the room when I arrived, and although I don’t know who the other was, I do know that it wasn’t a student. That this other person simply left us to our own devices, was graciously dismissed, in a way that only Bellow could accomplish without making you or anyone feel disregarded. He was a gentle man—not just a gentleman, but truly gentle.

Tea

We sipped tea. I remember Saul Bellow sitting comfortably in his leather chair that creaked when he sat up. I remember the wall-to-wall books in his Boston University office, and how the room had more of a library feeling with its dim light and the lamp on his desk. I remember drinking tea and the taste of Assam in my mouth–how this was our first “editorial meeting.”

Along with literature, and perhaps not so coincidentally, Saul loved and understood women. When I first met him, he noticed my looks more than my substance, and I was not sure how to take this. I remember noticing what a handsome man he was, how his charm and appeal seeped from his very being. Even at his age, he was handsome and a deft flirt, unsurprisingly popular with women. Bellow was such a gentle man, and I felt that anything he could do would be okay with me; for his or such brilliance, one could tolerate a lot, which is not to say that one “tolerated” Bellow as a person–only that it seemed reasonable to put up with more than the usual.

Wasn’t I young, he asked, to be doing all this by myself? I bragged about my small staff and advisors. How I wanted him to be one of the latter!

The Yes

Luckily Bellow liked the looks of Lumen books, too, and he would go on to enjoy their contents as well. I remember him saying unequivocally yes to my request, and how then my own heart skipped a beat when he said it, and how I felt everything about me lift. Bellow had transported me to the realm of some importance just by this simple association; was I socially elevated? I doubt it, but I was honored to be sure. That Bellow, a Nobel Prize winner, cared enough about what I was doing to say Yes gave me the confidence I needed to keep the press going.

Saul Bellow was a great help, like the rest of the board. Among others, the members included Ned Chase, author Tom Pohrt, and from the Atlantic Monthly, fiction editor and senior editor C. Michael Curtis, and Rosamond Purcell. It was a sturdy and diverse board, with Bellow as one of its main pillars.

Bellow would become an invaluable resource over those years (1996-1998 or so) and would often look at manuscripts for which made the first cut. His opinions were always invaluable and insightful, and he knew whereof he spoke. Bellow never steered Lumen in the wrong direction; if anything, he may have saved us from what may have been a few disasters had we decided to run with them. Moreover, he would send manuscripts our way that he felt worthy of publication. Saul’s eye and input were an invaluable resource.

A Truman man

Apart from our work relationship, I also saw Saul Bellow socially from time to time. I remember him at a dinner party and how we sat next to each other. How we all had drinks first and how he spent time talking to me, which seemed to me some miracle. I hardly remember who else was there; all I remember of that night was some conversation about politics, and everyone going around the table, and everyone choosing a favorite president, and everyone, rather predictably at this party, saying JFK until they got to me. I said Harry Truman. Saul smiled at me when it was his turn, right after mine—the last one at this go-around. He, too, said Harry Truman.

I remember how the conversation kept switching from French to English, and how the host’s son was learning his French. I remember Bellow not speaking French. He wanted the night to be all inclusive in case anyone there did not speak French.

Then the conversation drifted, perhaps because nobody wanted to argue with a Noble Prize winner; and besides that, he couldn’t stand the Kennedy affairs and shady connections, a fact he made clear. Truman had done more as president, and in that moment, when I said it first, Saul had a gleam in his eye, for his answer was the same. Not only did we share a taste in literature, but our politics seemed to run parallel.

Deserst with Bellow

I remember that same dinner-party when dessert came around. How I was facing my husband, who was heavy in conversation with somebody else and I felt a pang of jealousy at that moment. Even though likely it was unwarranted, it stung regardless. I remember how Saul Bellow looked at me kindly and said, “I think he’s done, don’t you?” I remember his knowing this was not kosher with me, that I was upset.

Saul and I went on to share from the same plate, a dessert and a piece of pie. Perhaps it was the wine, but it seemed perfectly natural to be sharing dessert with a Noble Prize winner. I felt—or more to the point he allowed me to feel—on equal footing; never was he a snob with me. Saul went out of his way to make me comfortable in his presence and succeeded. I remember that night in all of its detail and how blessed I felt to just know this man. This was no form of idol worship—I just felt honored and grateful for his kind attention.

I cannot say I knew Saul as well as some, or as well as I would have liked to. I can say that I knew him well enough. During those all-too fleeting years, he was always a kind man with whom I always share a cup of tea; who always held an open invitation for a visit; whose editorial guidance never led me down the wrong road, and whose opinion counted. I remember that most of the time, we agreed on which books we should publish, whether from agents or over the transom.

“Another human being who will understand me”

What I remember most about Saul Bellow is his gentle, mild and giving nature. Rare traits indeed, and I am lucky to have known him to any degree. Years earlier, asked about his perfect reader, he had told the Paris Review: “I have in mind another human being who will understand me. I count on this. Not on perfect understanding, which is Cartesian, but on approximate understanding, which is Jewish. And on a meeting of sympathies, which is human.” Based on my experiences, at least, the same thoughts could have applied to Saul Bellow’s relations with his friends and associates.

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Moderator’s note: Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti is a former publicity director and editor for David R. Godine, Publisher, and has worked at Conde Nast Publications, The Atlantic Monthly and others, in addition to founding Lumen. She has been widely published and now writes regularly for several publications including the famous Cleveland Blogcritics, Geek2Geek, Boston Globe Arts Section, and she has also written for Publisher’s Weekly, Independent Publisher and others. Visit her Web site.

Enjoy Sadi’s podcasts by pasting her TeleRead audio feed into your podware. And remember, she welcomes feedback.

The “lady” you hear via the present podcast link, by the way, is a robot whose sounds accompany every TeleBlog article, for the benefit of the print impaired. Insist if possible, however, on the real Sadi! Brook no substitutes. I expect that a genuine Ranson-Polizzotti podcast will be along soon.