Posted on Sun, May. 22, 2005

Philly.com



Can a storyteller sell the scholars? A Pulitzer winner in 1952, still productive at 90, Herman Wouk may yet convert his critics.



Inquirer Book Critic

Like all sophisticated sorts, young writers have never needed a local hook to get excited by what they're reading.

Even so, the literary moment that changed the life of Herman Wouk, the reclusive Pulitzer Prize-winning author of The Caine Mutiny and other enduring novels, who turns 90 Friday, stands out as extra exotic.

The native New Yorker, whose distinguished World War II Navy career included eight Pacific invasions, four campaign stars, and promotion to second-in-command of a minesweeper, found himself in Auckland, New Zealand, in 1943. His ship, the USS Zane, had collided with a reef and needed propeller repairs.

Browsing in a secondhand bookstore, Wouk bought a bunch of novels and soon found himself mesmerized by Don Quixote, "the key to my entire career."

"I read it for the first time at 29," he later explained, "and that was when I decided I should try to write novels."

Critics for whom Wouk has always been a discordant note - not Bellow, not Malamud, not Roth, not Potok - might read the anecdote against him.

So the windy Winds of War began with the windmills of Sancho Panza! And the tawdry fantasies in Marjorie Morningstar, that cautionary tale of a Barnard College Bovary, should properly be pondered as a stab at dreaming the impossible dream!

But as Hoover Fellow Arnold Beichman argued last year in a new edition of his against-the-grain study, Herman Wouk: The Novelist as Social Historian (Transaction, $24.95), the marginalizing of this still-productive writer - his latest novel, A Hole in Texas, came out last spring and arrives this month in paperback - bears political as well as literary hallmarks.

Wouk's career may be understandably remote to readers who already view Dave Eggers as an elder statesman. A moment, then, for the long view of a man who made the cover of Time nearly 50 years ago (Sept. 5, 1955), an adoring Marjorie Morningstar beaming at him from behind.

Born in 1915 in the Bronx, Wouk graduated at 19 from Columbia University, where secular philosopher Irwin Edman balanced the Orthodox wisdom that Wouk - an observant Orthodox Jew to this day - took from his rabbi grandfather from Minsk.

After college, Wouk became a "gag man" for radio comedians, including that most literary of the bunch, Fred Allen. He joined the Navy in 1941, and began writing fiction after his Auckland epiphany.

Aurora Dawn, his now rarely read first novel about the world of radio advertising, appeared in 1947, followed by his second novel, City Boy (1948), about a Bronx kid growing up.

But it was The Caine Mutiny, winner of the 1952 Pulitzer Prize and later a classic movie starring Humphrey Bogart, that lifted Wouk to fame. The story of Capt. Queeg, a neurotic Navy commander whose incompetence triggers a complex tale in which honor, loyalty and responsibility play out in unexpected ways, it first suggested Wouk's conservative impulses - respect for authority, pride in the Navy, distaste for vulgarity.

That estranged critics for whom a war novel meant antiwar novel on the order of such later books as Joseph Heller's Catch-22 and Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five. Then, to make matters worse, came Marjorie Morningstar (1955), the first novel on Jewish American themes to become a mainstream best-seller. That one irritated 1950s New York Jewish intellectuals.

At the time, the Partisan Review crowd eagerly sought to emphasize its admission into America's great literary and cultural traditions. New York's Jewish intellectuals didn't want to stand by and watch America gawk at a Jewish American beauty's struggle through a world of vulgar, assimilationist values before giving up her acting aspirations for life as a suburban housewife.

If a later generation's iconic phrase for love at first sound-bite became "You had me at 'Hello!'," you could sum up the rift between Wouk and the Jewish literary establishment as, "You lost me at Bloomingdale's."

The success of Youngblood Hawke (1962), Wouk's partly autobiographical 878-page novel of a Thomas Wolfelike writer who takes New York by storm, confirmed its author as a writer to be grouped with such fellow Jewish horsemen of the best-seller list as Irving Stone and Irving Wallace, even if Wouk might have preferred to see his pedigree marked as Cervantes to Dickens to Tolstoy to Wouk to (with foresight) John Irving to Tom Wolfe.

Thus, by the time Wouk published the World War II epics for which younger (we mean middle-aged) readers know him best - the more than 1,900 pages of The Winds of War (1971) and War and Remembrance (1978) - his literary portrait seemed ossified: popular novelist, epic storyteller and entertainer, made-for-TV guy (both those books became huge multi-part TV events).

Wouk's four subsequent novels - Inside/Out (1985) (about a Jewish presidential adviser), The Hope (1993) and The Glory (1994) (historical novels about modern Israel), and last year's A Hole in Texas (a lively tale of politics and physics rooted in the "Super Collider" project killed by Congress) - have done little to change that.

Yet Beichman, who studied the novelist's private papers stored at Columbia University, maintains that a writer who collaborated on a musical with Kurt Weill, who drew fan mail from Anthony Burgess, who corresponded with Nietzsche biographer Walter Kaufmann, and who admired a tony writer like Anthony Powell, can't be dismissed so easily as a nincompoop popularizer.

For Beichman, Wouk's religious faith, longtime anti-Marxism, devotion to Israel, and respect for heroism go a long way toward explaining his low status among literary scholars, especially when added to his stylistic emphasis on action, scene-setting and narrative drive.

Beichman may be right. Wouk's traditionalist rejection of deep Freudian approaches to character, his refusal to follow his protagonists "into the land of Nod" (as he once put it) to mine their motivations, now fits well with the cinematic bent of much literary fiction.

If Wouk lacks Bellow's pointillist wit, Malamud's moral ambiguity, or Roth's bold boundary-testing, he retains that outsized reportorial ambition that Beichman identifies with Balzac, who once wrote, wearily, "I have carried an entire society in my head."

In an odd review years ago of The Winds of War, scholar Pearl K. Bell decried the book's "sentimentality" and "soap-opera crudities," then confessed she couldn't put it down. Perhaps as life in the 21st century continues to resemble emotional soap opera more than the coolly modernist constructs of mid-20th-century literary luminaries, Herman Wouk will yet have his day with the professors.


Contact book critic Carlin Romano at 215-854-5615 or cromano@phillynews.com. Read his recent work at http://go.philly.com/carlinromano.