remained fond. It’s probable that it was Christopher himself who behaved badly, not any of the guests; he must have been in one of his ugly sulking moods and made a scene with Caskey, later––perhaps bringing up old grudges and threatening to leave. If so, Caskey, who 1 Referring to an earlier party (April 27–28) Christopher writes [on May 6]:
“All sorts of people came down for the weekend, and I was cheerful and it
‘went’ very well. But afterwards I felt––well, sort of disturbed in my inmost nest. It was hard to settle down on the eggs again. (The eggs, this week, were a rather stupid review I did of a book on Katherine Mansfield.)” [Sylvia Berkman, Katherine Mansfield: A Critical Study for Tomorrow, reprinted in Exhumations.]
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never gave way to threats, would have answered: okay, suit yourself.
Caskey’s attitude was negative, almost neutral. He would never have urged Christopher to leave him. Neither would the Masselinks or the Beesleys or Jim Charlton. They merely stood ready to help, if needed––which was, indeed, all that Christopher expected of them.
He had had quite enough attempted interference in his life, already, from Peggy Kiskadden and others. Early in May, he had written a letter to Jim––“a cry for help”––and then burned it.
And yet, Christopher was open to interference––by the right
person. And that person proved to be, astonishingly enough, Speed Lamkin. Speed could influence Christopher because Christopher didn’t take him, or his concern for Christopher’s future, seriously. It all seemed camp––yet, of course, camp itself must have, according to Christopher’s definition, an underlying seriousness. What was one to make of this niggery, flirty, shrewd, frivolous, perceptive young person? Did he mean anything he said? Even when he was talking obsessively about himself, boasting of all the things he would accomplish in the world, he couldn’t help giggling. And now he had made Christopher one of his projects. Christopher had to leave Billy––with whom, however, Speed was on the best of terms––and come to live at the foundation and put his future in Speed’s hands. If he did that, Speed guaranteed to make him a Success, the success he ought always to have been. (Speed was unimpressed by Christopher’s literary career to date. Christopher had never been properly appreciated, Speed said, because he hadn’t known how to promote
himself.)
As I shall have to keep repeating, the power of this extraordinary tempter was in his absurdity––combined, of course, with intelligence and considerable sex appeal. An aspect of Speed’s camp was to let it be supposed by everybody at the foundation that he and Christopher were having an affair. Well, weren’t they? No––not exactly. But they were clowning an affair, and the clowning sometimes became nearly realistic. Occasionally, it climaxed with the two of them naked in bed together; tickling, biting, groping, laughing, kissing. (I don’t remember that they ever actually had an orgasm.) Or else, embracing in Speed’s parked car, they would imagine a glamorous love life, with a New York apartment and a Bel Air home with two swimming
pools. Certainly, Christopher never seriously considered living with Speed for one instant. But he did enjoy their intimacy, and mentally playing house with him.
I think Speed was already working on his second novel, The Easter Egg Hunt, although it wasn’t published until 1954. They must have talked about this. But Christopher was preoccupied with the
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difficulties he was having with his own novel. And Speed was eager to deal with them––for this would strengthen his influence over Christopher. Speed had already read and greatly admired the first chapter (which would be published next year in New World Writing); now Christopher showed him the rest of the manuscript. Next day, May 29, Speed delivered his verdict: “The refugees are a bore.”
The sentence was like an axe stroke, cutting the novel in half; but the operation was life-giving, not destructive. Because, as Christopher now saw, the novel had been two novels, self-destructively, chokingly intertwined––the story of Stephen, Elizabeth, Sarah and Jane was one novel; the story of Sarah and the refugees was the other. They would never form a whole. (It now seems that the second will never be written.)
Nobody had condemned the refugees before. The Beesleys were
probably dubious about them but hadn’t wanted to upset
Christopher by upsetting the applecart. Speed with his ruthlessness had disregarded Christopher’s feelings and expressed his own.
Christopher could never be grateful enough to him. And how
quickly everything now fell into place! The large thin notebook has an entry for June 1 which shows that, after a series of discussions with Speed and the Beesleys, the main outlines of the novel in its final form have already been decided on.
Yet the revised manuscript of The World in the Evening didn’t go off to the publishers until November 30, 1953!
Meanwhile the Beesleys had been working on Christopher’s behalf in a quite different area.
As has been recorded, neither of them liked the Speed Lamkin–
Gus Field play based on Sally Bowles. Now, while they were driving together to visit John van Druten at his ranch in the Coachella Valley, Alec got the idea that John should be persuaded to take on the project.
Dodie writes (August 25, 1975): “I have such a vivid memory of Alec (by arrangement) putting his head out of John’s swimming pool and saying, ‘Why not make a play out of Sally Bowles’––and then diving down again, leaving me to get John going.”
(Dodie’s letter was written to correct my misremembered or,
rather, invented version of the facts in my introduction to The Berlin of Sally Bowles,[*] published in 1975.)
Once John’s inventiveness had been challenged, the rest was
predictable. John quickly produced a first draft. And now the news
[* Mr. Norris Changes Trains and Goodbye to Berlin reissued in one volume by the Hogarth Press.]
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was told to Christopher. On May 28, John, Starcke and Christopher had supper together and John read his play aloud. It was then still called Sally Bowles.
I have no memory whatsoever of the impression made on
Christopher by that first reading. I think he disliked the character of Christopher Isherwood from the beginning and never changed his opinion. I think he also objected to most of the speeches about the persecution of the Jews which John had written in, and to several of John’s jokes. But what mattered to him chiefly was that this play would almost certainly be performed and would probably make
money. And, already, he saw the glitter of footlights ahead of him and felt the thrill of escaping into the New York theatrical world.
Christopher was obviously the person who had to tell Speed
Lamkin and Gus Field––since it was he, after all, who had to accept the responsibility of deciding to authorize John van Druten’s play and reject theirs. Speed could not have behaved better. He assured Christopher that he quite understood the situation. In Christopher’s place, he would jump at this chance. He was happy for Christopher and knew that the play would be a terrific hit. As for Gus, he would explain everything to him. It would be easier, Speed said, for him to do it himself than for Christopher to do it.
So Christopher felt more warmly toward Speed than ever––as did the Beesleys, partly perhaps because they were suffering from slight guilt. They invited Speed to their house, several times, with Christopher. And Speed charmed them; he had nice southern