“We will have ample time to discuss these issues,” Winer said, “and I believe they are well worth an examination in depth. However, there is one more point I wish to speak to now. That is the statement Mr. Krieg made alleging that religion is, of its very nature, dull.”
Once again Winer’s denial of Krieg’s religious title was noted by all.
“For us, Jews and Christians,” Winer continued, “the notion and subject of religion quite naturally takes us back to the Bible.
“Now, how can anyone in his right mind think that the Bible is dull? The stories of Abraham, Moses, David; the prophets; the remarkable women, Ruth, Esther. Fulton Oursler wrote a book about the Bible and called it The Greatest Story Ever Told. And that is what it is: the greatest story ever told. It needs no ‘pizzazz.’ It needs no hype. It needs nothing but understanding and communicating.
“And I will leave you with a question: If the Bible, the primary source of our religion, is the greatest story ever told, why would anyone suggest that it needed, desperately needed, ‘pizzazz’? And I will suggest an answer to that question. The ‘pizzazz’ that allegedly is needed is brought out through gratuitous sex and violence in the most execrable taste imaginable.”
Krieg was on his feet, his complexion a preamble to a seizure. But before he could speak, a student broke in.
“Excuse me, Rabbi”-the student spoke loudly enough to override Krieg’s first syllables-“this is a sort of delicate point, but ‘the greatest story ever told’ and ‘execrable taste’ are apples and oranges.”
“The ‘delicate point’?” Winer inquired.
“P.G. Press books generally sell better than yours.”
The smile almost returned to Krieg’s face.
Winer shrugged. “It is as the man said: No one ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public.”
“For what it’s worth, Rabbi,” said the student, “I think that is a cop-out.”
“Young man. .” Sister Janet began a reproof in a tone familiar to many parochial students of yore.
“It’s all right, Sister,” Winer assured her, “let the young man speak his piece. We want this conference to be as open and honest as possible. You were saying, young man?”
For a moment, the student seemed impressed enough with Winer’s forbearance to possibly withdraw his antagonistic comment. But his next thought was to make his point. “Whatever other reasons we’ve got for writing-altruistic maybe-we want to get published, we want to be circulated and read, we want to sell, we want to make money. I think P.G. Press has a pretty good track record doing just that.”
“Yes,” a hitherto silent student cut in. “Even if we want to communicate some sort of religious message or truth, we want to reach the maximum number of people. P.G. Press does that. I don’t think you’d deny that, Rabbi.”
Winer sighed deeply. “No, my dear young woman, no one could deny that some of the writers under contract to P.G. sell a lot of books-many more than any of the writers on this panel. Some of them appear more regularly on various so-called best-seller lists. What sort of effect they have on the reader is a question we must address in greater depth. Obviously, we have much to discuss in the coming days. It should make for an interesting conference.”
Sister Janet glanced at Krieg to see if he wished to add anything at this time. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head. The beatific plastic smile had returned. No one else on the panel seemed inclined to further comment. Nor were any more hands raised in the audience.
Sister Janet thanked-with relief-everyone, and declared the session concluded.
She then noted that although the schedule called for a movie to be shown after dinner that evening, the name of the film hadn’t been listed.
“Well,” she said, “I think we have a treat for you, especially in light of the nature of this workshop. We have the 1954 British movie, Father Brown. This film stars Alec Guinness as G. K. Chesterton’s very perceptive priest-detective, and Peter Finch as the thief, Flambeau. It also features Joan Greenwood. I think you will all enjoy it very much.”
Judging from the smiles of most everyone in the room, Sister was guilty of understatement.
Koesler was pleased. He had seen the movie, but so very long ago he could scarcely remember it. Mostly he recalled having enjoyed it greatly.
He had read-or thought he had-all of Chesterton’s stories about the adventures of Father Brown. They surely were among the most popular works of the great writer. Yet Chesterton himself had considered them merely avocational. An indication of how lightly he regarded the series was his treatment of the characters. In the first of the series, Flambeau was the villain. But Chesterton liked the character so much that in the sequel he brought Flambeau back as an ally of Father Brown.
Koesler was grateful to anticipate the movie. He was not all that keen about the prospects for dinner.
12
On the one hand, he was very hungry. On the other hand, his appetite diminished markedly when he considered partaking of nourishment with his fellow “faculty” members. The relationship between the writers and the publisher was akin to that of an impending tribal war. Scalps would be taken.
He had never before been on a panel quite like this. Of course he had experienced times when panelists disagreed with each other. That was to be expected, at least occasionally. The unique character of the present panel was that it had been preprogrammed as hopelessly irreconcilable.
And who was to blame? Regan, the absent host? In a way. He should have rejected Krieg’s preconditions, even if it meant starting from scratch in setting up the workshop.
And yet, in the end, all roads led back to Krieg. He was the linchpin around whom this conference was built. The underlying question was why he had insisted on the presence of these specific writers.
So far it was evident that Krieg wanted these writers in his stable. It was also evident he had failed to corral them, at least up to the present. Was this a last-ditch effort? Did he think that a face-to-face meeting would convince them to join him?
If so, that would contribute to the explanation of his response to those questions this afternoon. Was he trying to convince the writers that they were missing a very desirable larger readership by not signing with P.G. Press? If that was the case, thought Koesler, he had failed completely. Would there be still more overtures? Probably.
While he could make some sort of sense of Krieg’s behavior in light of what he appeared to be trying to accomplish, the question that more deeply stumped Koesler was the unexpected intensity of hostility the writers exhibited toward Krieg.
So, all right, each of them had been courted by Krieg to sign with him. If anything, Koesler thought, the normal response to such an overture would be to feel flattered. However, after further thought and some helpful advice, each of them learns more about the intricacies of publishing and feels that he or she would be entrapped and, in a sense, enslaved within P.G. Press. At which point, they would be forced either to prostitute their talent or expend a lot of time and money getting out of the contract.
So each of the writers decides against signing with P.G. What’s the big deal in that, Koesler wondered. Every day, millions of people routinely refuse invitations to join book clubs, accept another credit card, subscribe to an insurance policy, and so on, ad infinitum.
In like manner, the writers refuse Krieg’s offer. Why does this upset them so? Each of these writers is a religious person. Each of them is a traditionally civil person. Why should they react so uncivilly to Krieg?
On second thought, Koesler recalled the hurtful words flung at David Benbow by Augustine in the sacristy this morning. Not all the writers were paragons of civility.