THE SHORES OF BOHEMIA : A CAPE COD STORY, 1910-1960
By John Taylor Williams
Farrar, Straus and Giroux. 343 pages. $35. ISBN 978-0-374-26275-4
UPPER BOHEMIA : A MEMOIR
By Hayden Herrera
Simon & Schuster. 248 pages. $17.99. ISBN 978-1-9821-0529-7
Reviewed by Jim Burns
Bohemia, they say, is always yesterday. People like to look back
nostalgically to a time when life was full of promise, there were
more interesting characters around, money didn’t seem to matter as
much, and it was possible to survive on very little. Or so it
seemed. And there may be some truth in it. It costs a lot to be poor
these days and rising property and other prices have effectively
driven young would-be writers and artists from city centres.
Greenwich Village, Montparnasse, Soho have all been gentrified. But
there are various reasons for the decline of the bohemian spirit.
The American poet Edward Field pointed out that “It was Andy Warhol
who declared the end of bohemianism with his camp emphasis on
celebrity. Suddenly, becoming successful and famous became the goal
of creative artists and the bohemian ideal was finished”.
There is probably significance in the fact that John Taylor Williams
has chosen to focus his exploration of bohemianism around Cape Cod
on the years between 1910 and 1960. A handy fifty year framework,
but it also emphasises that, after 1960, things started to change in
terms of the sort of people who began to move into the area. And how
developments took place that reflected the tastes and interests of
the newcomers, rather than those of the bohemians.
Cape Cod is on the Atlantic Coast of the United States and place
names such as Falmouth and Barnstaple reflect how it was one of the
earliest English settlements in America. I’m not intending to
provide a detailed guide to the area and, from the point of view of
The Shores of Bohemia the
three locations that John Taylor Williams deals with are Truro,
Wellfleet and Provincetown. The latter is probably the best-known
because of its associations with artistic activities. Jig Cook and
the Provincetown Players, famous in the history of American theatre,
especially for their involvements with Eugene O’Neill, were active
there. And, on a personal note, I was aware of Provincetown as a
place where writers and artists congregated. I recall picking up one
or two copies of The
Provincetown Review around 1960 or so.
The magazine, edited by William V. Ward, got into trouble when it
published a story by Hubert Selby in its third issue. Ward was taken
to court and charged with circulating obscene material. It should be
noted that Cape Cod had a local population largely made up of
Portuguese fisherfolk, who were Catholics, and descendants of the
original settlers who were Protestants. They may have sometimes
fallen out with each other, but they could come together in their
distrust of the “outsiders”. The writers and artists rallied around
Ward and money was raised for his defence. Expert witnesses like
Norman Podhoretz, Allen Tate, and Stanley Kunitz came forward to
testify to the literary qualities of the story. They didn’t impress
the judge, however, and Ward was found guilty and fined. An
entertaining account of the episode by Dan Wakefield was published
in the February, 1962, issue of the slick New York magazine
Nugget.
All that occurred at the end of the period Williams is dealing with,
and he doesn’t refer to it, but I thought it worthwhile bringing it
in as an example of how there could sometimes be friction between
locals and “outsiders”, some of whom had actually lived in the area
for several years, though others tended to be summer visitors only.
Not everyone could withstand the rigours of the harsh winters along
the Atlantic coastline, nor the isolation.
So, let’s go back to where Williams starts his story. He chronicles
the influx of artists as beginning from around the time that Charles
Hawthorne set up his Cape Cod School of Art in Provincetown in 1899.
He had previously worked with William Merritt Chase at a Long Island
painting school, and when he moved to Cape Cod some of his students
followed him. They included Marsden Hartley, Charles Demuth, and
Edward Hopper. Norman Rockwell, who was already living in
Provincetown, joined them. Williams quotes an aphorism by Hawthorne
that sums up his teaching practice: “Painting is just getting one
spot of colour in relation to another spot……Let colour make form, do
not make form and colour it”. Williams says that Hans Hofmann, who
had an influential later art school in Provincetown, agreed with
Hawthorne “that colour was the key to great painting”.
It’s suggested that, along with Hawthorne, one of the people
responsible for “luring” many Greenwich Village writers and artists
to Provincetown was Mary Heaton Vorse. There were, she pointed out,
old warehouses and empty cottages which could be rented or even
bought cheaply. Vorse had travelled widely in Europe, spoke French,
Italian and German, and had lived on Cape Cod since 1907. She was a
radical in her politics and a great supporter of the rights of trade
unionists, covering numerous strikes and related activities as a
labour reporter. She was also familiar with the bohemians of
Greenwich Village. Dee Garrison, Vorse’s biographer, said of her:
“As the respected older-warrior of the pre-1912 Village, Mary Vorse
served as a model for the younger men and women enlisting in the
ongoing revolt”. That
revolt was not only political but artistic and exemplified by the
1913 Armory Show which displayed well over 1,000 works by European
and American artists. It brought movements such as Fauvism, Cubism
and Futurism to the attention of American painters and sculptors.
Williams provides an interesting and useful survey of the social,
political and artistic ferment of the years leading up to America’s
entry into the First World War. It was a time of experimentation in
living, so the possibilities of creating a new society, even if only
on a small scale, on Cape Cod appealed to many of the Greenwich
Village bohemians. They were appalled by the way in which increasing
industrialisation had ravaged the country and created slums in major
cities and corruption in politics. People like John Reed, Max
Eastman and Floyd Dell campaigned against injustices in
The Masses, at least
until the government closed it down in 1917 because of its
opposition to American involvement in the European conflict.
In Provincetown they could be largely free from police
harassment and indulge in affairs and unconventional behaviour. I
lost count of the liaisons as people swapped partners, ran off with
someone else’s husband or wife, or just had one-night stands.
And the post-war years didn’t see a let-up in the bed-hopping
and extra-marital activities. The so-called Jazz Age encouraged
people to loosen up, drink a lot, and often behave outrageously.
Frankly, I got a little tired with tales of infidelity, and was more
interested in reading about characters like Harry Kemp and Terry
Carlin. Kemp, the “Tramp Poet”, as he was known, lived In a shack on
the dunes, and his work was popular in the 1920s. He’d designed a
scheme for a League of Bohemian Republics which would unite and
overthrow both capitalism and communism. It was a fanciful idea and
never likely to come to fruition. Kemp later declined into
alcoholism and died in 1960. But he had written novels, poetry and
autobiographical material before the alcohol got the better of him.
His Tramping on Life is
about his experiences hoboing around America.
I’ve hunted for years for a copy of his novel,
Love Among the Cape Enders,
but have never been able to afford to buy it when one becomes
available. As for Terry Carlin, perhaps his main claim to fame is
that he provided the basis for Larry Slade, a disillusioned one-time
anarchist, who sits drinking and philosophising in Eugene O’Neill’s
great play, The Iceman Cometh.
He doesn’t appear to have been productive as a writer himself though
he did contribute to Benjamin Tucker’s magazine,
Liberty, and to Hippolyte
Havel’s Revolt. Havel was
the inspiration for the character of Hugo Kalmar in O’Neill’s play.
In the 1930s there was what might be called a “radicalisation of
bohemia” as the effects of the Depression, coupled with the rising
tide of fascism in Europe, began to affect the lives of the
bohemians. Friendships fell apart as people identified themselves as
socialists, Stalinists, and Trotskyists.
Williams has a shaky summary of the Spanish Civil War in
which he says that George Orwell served in the communist-controlled
International Brigades. He didn’t, and fought with the independent
POUM (Workers’ Party of Marxist Unification) militia which had no
connection with the Brigades. The POUM were looked on as Trotskyists
by the communists and were eventually suppressed by the Stalinists.
And the book Orwell wrote about the Communist Party’s “sinister
behaviour” in Spain was
Homage to Catalonia and not
Animal Farm.
Among the bohemians who had arrived in the 1930s was Jack Phillips,
a Harvard graduate from an affluent family, though he politically
aligned himself with the Stalinist wing of the Communist Party.
Williams describes him as “preternaturally handsome and charming,
and women found him irresistible, although all but the last of his
five wives abandoned the marriage”. The first of the wives was
Elizabeth “Libby” Blair, who Phillips met in Paris, where she was
studying with Fernand Legér, and married. It might be worth noting
that Libby eventually also married five times.
While they were together Jack and Libby had two daughters, Blair and
Hayden. Hayden Herrera’s
Upper Bohemia is a graphic and often touching memoir of what it
was like growing up with parents who were often never there,
and if they were had little time for their children: “To follow
their own desire was a moral imperative. Repression, sacrifice, and
compromise were cowardly”, Hayden says, and “For my mother and her
friends, defying all norms of proper behaviour was fashionable.
Conformism was beneath contempt”.
It says something for Herrera’s strength of character that
she grew up to be a noted art historian, critic, and biographer.
Philips, who became a self-taught established architect, was still
active around Cape Cod when things began to return to normal after
1945. New faces were seen in Provincetown, Truro and Wellfleet.
Weldon Kees, a significant poet and critic who later disappeared in
mysterious circumstances, opened a gallery in Provincetown and ran a
series of discussions under the title, “Forum 49”, in which subjects
such as “What is an Artist” and “French Art v. American Art” were
debated. New York was taking over from Paris as the centre of the
art world, and there were new movements in poetry, jazz, and other
areas that pointed to a general resurgence of artistic activity.
The politics of the Thirties, which had bitterly divided the
community, were in decline, but there was a reckoning to be paid.
Some Cape Cod residents were caught up in the HUAC investigations
and questioned by the FBI. Williams mentions cinematographer Boris
Kaufman who, because of having been born in Russia and with two
brothers still living there, “had trouble finding work until Elia
Kazan hired him in 1954 to film
On the Waterfront, for
which he won an award for cinematography”.
Williams also refers to Steve Nelson, a dedicated communist and
one-time member of the International Brigades during the Spanish
Civil War. He had moved to Truro because other veterans of that
conflict, and members of the Communist Party, lived in the area.
Williams refers to Nelson’s role as a “party enforcer in the
International Brigades culling out anarchists and socialists”. His
“oral biography”, Steve
Nelson: American Radical (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1981)
is worth reading for its vivid account of union organising, war in
Spain, and life as a Communist Party activist.
Some members of the group described as the New York Intellectuals
could also be seen around Cape Cod, including Mary McCarthy and
Edmund Wilson. McCarthy’s novel,
A Charmed Life, is set in
what can be identified as Wellfleet, and includes fictionalised
portraits of Wilson and others. McCarthy’s characters were often
shown in an unflattering light, and her descriptions of the person
supposedly based on Wilson (she had once been married to him) were
less than kind. She also satirised the artist and writer Mary Meigs
who appears in the book as Dolly Lamb, “an untalented painter and
do-gooder”. It seemed to many people cruel and unnecessary. Williams
puts it this way:
“Always lurking in this highly charged bohemian circle was an
underlying tension based on either dangerous liaisons or unsettled
intellectual battles”. McCarthy
had additionally “targeted” the composer Gardner Jencks and his wife
Ruth, supposedly friends of hers, which caused their son to say: “I
guess she thought her duty was to her art and not to her friends”.
There’s no doubt that Cape Cod started to show signs of change as
the Fifties progressed. There had always been well-to-do people
among the bohemians, and they sometimes nursed ambitions to become
writers and artists. But many of the latest arrivals weren’t of that
frame-of-mind. Williams quotes Edmund Wilson reflecting on what was
happening: “The technocrats make a striking contrast with the old
Jig Cook Provincetown…….They were all writers and painters who were
working and freely exchanging ideas; but these people are mostly
attached to the government or some university…..They are accountable
to some institution”.
And Alfred Kazin noted of Joan’s Beach, once the playground of the
bohemians; “The great beach was replaced every afternoon by the
great society. Every year Joan’s weathered old beach sank more
abjectly into the sand while around it rose the mercilessly stylised
avant-garde house of a wealthy Leninist from Philadelphia”.
Kazin was getting a dig in
at Jack Phillips who had designed the house for Luke Wilson, a
wealthy communist sympathiser who fled to Rome when questions were
asked about his activities and affiliations.
Wilson closes his account in 1960. He could have extended it beyond
that date, I’m sure, but there’s no doubt that there were noticeable
changes after 1960 or so which altered the structure of bohemia. I
came across a wonderful comment some years ago by someone who had
worked for the old BBC Third programme in the 1950s and before it
was disastrously changed to Radio 3 with music predominating. He
said the organisation was in those days “full of bohemians disguised
as bourgeoisie. Now it’s full of bourgeoisie disguised as
bohemians”. It says a lot about what was happening in society
generally, and not just in America. The expansion of higher
education, and the development of arts associations and the like,
increasingly led to the sort of “institutionalisation” Edmund Wilson
was referring to.
There are so many interesting people named in
The Shores of Bohemia
that I would have liked to write about. Daniel Aaron, who was one of
the “organisation men” referred to by Wilson, but who wrote the
informative Writers on the
Left: Episodes in American Literary Communism. Robert Nathan,
author of the novel, Portrait
of Jennie, which was adapted into a haunting film starring
Joseph Cotton and Jennifer Jones. Edwin O’Connor and his novel,
The Last Hurrah, about
the politics of Catholic Boston. The splendid poet Frank O’Hara.
They all deserve greater attention than I can give them.
Others like the radical novelist and critic Waldo Frank who had
broken with the Communist Party in 1937 over their treatment of
Trotsky, and the well-known Norman Mailer, were in and out of
Provincetown.. Many writers, but there were plenty of painters, not
all of them necessarily internationally known. Edward Hopper was
famous, but is said to have been a sometimes violent heavy drinker
who lived on Cape Cod. The lesser-known Ross Moffett is mentioned by
Williams and there is, in fact, a photo of him in the book. It
wasn’t all that long ago that I obtained a copy of Moffett’s little
book, Art in Narrow Streets:
The First Thirty-Three Years of the Provincetown Art Association
1914-1947 in which the text is sprinkled with pictures of old
Provincetown. Moffett was old enough to have studied at Charles
Hawthorne’s Cape Cod School.
There were the usual oddballs among the bohemians, including the
heavy-drinking Frank Shay. He had served in the American Army during
the First World War and, Williams says, they (meaning Shay and Harry
Kemp) “returned to Provincetown as men who now required a great deal
of alcohol to forget”. In fact, it’s unlikely that Kemp ever saw
military service. His biography,
Harry Kemp: The Last Bohemian
by William Brevda makes no mention of it.
He didn’t need an
excuse to get drunk.
Shay had owned the Parnassus, a bookstore in Greenwich Village, and
when he closed it down loaded the stock into a “rented wooden-sided
station wagon” and set off to sell the books in towns around Cape
Cod. The vehicle had a logo, “Parnassus on Wheels”, which was the
title of a Christopher Morley novel about a travelling bookshop
first published in 1917. It,
and a follow-up title, The
Haunted Bookshop, were popular in their day, though it’s
doubtful if they’re widely read now. Morley also had a hit with his
novel, Kitty Foyle, which
was turned into a film starring Ginger Rogers and Dennis Morgan. The
screenplay was by Dalton Trumbo, with additional dialogue by Donald
Ogden Stewart. Both were later blacklisted when Hollywood purged its
communists.
There’s a passage in Morley’s
Parnassus on Wheels that has always amused me: “The world is
full of great writers about literature, he said, but they’re all
selfish and aristocratic. Addison, Lamb, Hazlitt, Emerson, Lowell –
take any one you choose – they all conceive the love of books as a
rare and perfect mystery for the few – a thing of the secluded study
where they can sit
alone at night with a candle, and a cigar, and a glass of port on
the table and a spaniel on the hearthrug”. I’ve met more than a few
people who seemed to think that literature is their private preserve
and the rest of us shouldn’t lay our grubby hands on it.
Williams’s final chapter, “Eden’s End”, says that “The old bohemian
Cape began to vanish like Camelot, as did the original world of
fishing and farming that had provided the beloved context for
bohemian creativity”. And he adds: “Through all their political
partisanship, artistic creation, lovemaking and drinking, a
generation that cared so deeply about the bohemian ethos was
evaporating”. People placed “a much greater emphasis on monetary
success, even if they identified themselves as painters, writers, or
architects”.
The Shores of Bohemia
has much to recommend it, even if sometimes the names tumble over
each other. I occasionally lost track of who was related to who,
slept with who, fought with who, was an alcoholic (quite a few,
according to Williams), and so on. And the photos are disappointing,
printed as they are in black and white on the page and not always
very clearly. It’s a problem with Hayden Herrera’s book, too.
Still, Williams does have
useful notes and a bibliography. Together both books evoke a time
when bohemianism had a point beyond merely making copy for publicity
purposes.
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