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Three of Koning's novels have been made into films: The Revolutionary (starring Jon Voight, Robert Duvall, and Seymour Cassel), Death of a School Boy (made in Germany), and A Walk with Love and Death. It was the latter that had interested me, because John Huston wound up directing that film, in which he cast his 15-year old daughter Anjelica in her first movie. A young producer named Carter DeHaven III brought the script, written by Dale Wasserman (who had written Man of La Mancha) to Huston's attention. And in my book, I wrote about it this way:
Eventually Wasserman left the set and Koningsberger arrived. The novelist wound up writing an article about his experience, saying "It was my good fortune as a writer that Huston is a man who believes in books...He wanted to film a novel—not the movements of people in a story, but the idea of the book." Now, fast forward to when my book was published and I started receiving mail from many of the people I had interviewed and from readers who wanted to comment on one thing or another. Of all the mail I read, none brought a quicker response than the one dated 11/22/89 which said:
I am the Hans Koningsberger who wrote A Walk with Love and Death—I long since abbreviated my name as it was always misspelled. You don't do that, but what do you mean, 'Wasserman had found an obscure novel..., 'he hadn't found anything, my agent sent it out, and Walk, which had had three reprints and a paperback before the movie, and translations in five languages (French is finally coming this year!), was and is my best-selling (I hate the word) novel and there was nothing obscure about it. Did the adjective come from W. who was (and maybe is) a thief (and a hack)? The Hustons took me three years to research and write. It was a very long (804 pages) and detailed book, and here I got a letter from someone commenting on a single word! He didn't even include a further comment about everything else that I wrote. This is how I answered Hans Koning: Dear Mr. Koning,Reading your letter I felt probably similar to the way you reacted to my book. I spent three years, worked as hard as I could to get the story straight, interviewed countless people who told me contradictory things, wrote a very long chapter on A Walk With Love and Death which had to be edited down to the dozen pages as it now appears, and have been disappointed that most critics focus on John's womanizing rather than look at the bigger picture I tried to draw. Then, when I finally hear from someone inside the book the only comment is on an adjective! Yes, I can understand your immediate reaction, and I can see by your letter that you were in agreement with Huston about Wasserman (in what ways was he a thief?). But what about everything else I wrote, especially about the movie based on your novel? Was everything misinformed? I'm as sensitive as you are, as most writers, when it comes to this. I apologize for allowing Wasserman's assessment of your book to leak into mine and I will do what I can to change it for any future printings. But tell me, Mr. Koning, what did you think of the rest of my book? Three days after I sent my reply I heard from Koning.
I stand—absolutely, shamefacedly—corrected. I can but say by way of measly alibi that I looked up WALK first and did not get beyond that "obscure" when I wrote to you, and that this abject and vain behavior was caused by the trauma which WALK left me with, though we are twenty years later. I am now reading your book and am very impressed. I got to know JH well and if I may I will write you more when I have finished the book and have a moment to think quietly. But I already know that it is a fine book. Having never read any of Koningsberger/Koning's other books, I went to a used bookstore in Hollywood and stumbled on a number of them, all first editions and in pristine condition. I bought them all and wrote to Koning asking if he wouldn't mind signing them, adding that I'd also be interested if he wrote something about how the book made it into print. It was a lot to ask, but I was paying for the postage, and the return postage, and he agreed. Off went the books, and back they came, and besides signing them all, he wrote some interesting things in six of the books which made me glad I asked. It's really a lesson in collecting. If an author ever writes to you, about anything, take advantage of the opening. I did, and listed below is what he inscribed in these books.
A Walk with Love and Death (1961): to Larry, with best wishes! (one 'obscure novel'!) I Know What I'm Doing (1964): This was my last one for S&S (where Bob Gotlieb had lured me to when he learned I had a fight w. Knopf). Some splendid reviews—marred by a $100,000 suit from a woman who claimed it was about her (the S&S lawyer, Ephraim Canton, finally bought her off for$1500) (Jane Fonda was to play the girl in a movie, but the agents messed that one up)The Revolutionary (1967): Henry Robbins was now at Farrar, Straus, and begged me to come over there—and let him make up for the Knopf mess, when he had failed to stand up to Alfred in time. But this was a difficult book and he still did not have the clout he had years later (when John Irving profited from it)—an editor's support is crucial in a house, and an editor who is too young, too shy, too anything, is deadly for your book! The Kleber Flight (1981): I'm still very happy w. (proud of) this book. It was just now sold to a French publisher—A long drama about this w. re. New Yorker—I must tell you about this if I (ever) get to meet you—please sell it to the movies for me. P.S. (The subject matter was what was foremost on my mind at the time. But it's a novel, not a piece of propaganda. Nor is it 'downbeat,' as assholes like C. Lehman-Haupt think!) Acts of Faith (1986): This is, right now (July '94) still my last published novel in the U.S. I've written two more since, published in Europe, but not yet here, where first one publisher, then the next one, went down the drain with my books. But they'll get published. Some day!—We must keep at it. Not only did he inscribe all these books, but we continued to write to each other. He invited me to attend a book party for his latest book (which I couldn't make) and he told me about how proud he was that the French were publishing the novels that he couldn't get published in the U.S. I continued to see his byline in The Atlantic Monthly and The New Yorker and enjoyed reading his work. But more than anything I might write in praise of his work, nothing has probably satisfied him as much as the word I was able to change in The Hustons. When the paperback came out, the word obscure was no longer there. I needed to find a seven-letter replacement. It now reads: "Wasserman had found a curious novel of young, fated love set in 1358..." Maybe curious isn't the right word either, but it certainly describes how I wound up becoming a pen pal with Hans Koning, once known as Koningsberger.
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LAWRENCE GROBEL is a freelance writer and a contributing editor at Playboy and at Movieline's Hollywood Life. He has written nine books, including Conversations with Capote, Conversations with Brando, The Hustons, and The Art of the Interview, a subject he teaches at UCLA. He cowrote Montel William's Climbing Higher. His latest book is Al Pacino: In Conversation with Lawrence Grobel. Pacino's foreword to that book can be read at www.lawrencegrobel.com |
