{"id":121556,"date":"2018-02-14T13:00:13","date_gmt":"2018-02-14T18:00:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=121556"},"modified":"2018-02-14T13:08:43","modified_gmt":"2018-02-14T18:08:43","slug":"watching-screwball-comedies-harry-mathews","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/02\/14\/watching-screwball-comedies-harry-mathews\/","title":{"rendered":"Watching Screwball Comedies with Harry Mathews"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Harry Mathews.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Harry Mathews began publishing in\u00a0<\/em>The Paris Review\u00a0in 1962, with an excerpt from his first novel,\u00a0<\/em>The Conversions<\/a>. After that, he gave us \u00adpoems, translations, and more fiction, much of it composed according to occult mathematical formulas of his own devising. From 1989 until 2003, Harry served as our Paris editor. In 2007, our publisher, Susannah Hunnewell, interviewed Harry for our Art of Fiction series<\/a>. As she wrote in her introduction, \u201cAfter forty-five years of congenital allergy to convention, he rightfully belongs to the experimentalist tradition of Kafka, Beckett, and Joyce, even though his classical, witty style has won him comparisons to Nabokov<\/a>, Jane Austen, and Evelyn Waugh<\/a>. Yet while he enjoys the attention of thousands of cultishly enthusiastic French readers, Mathews remains relatively unknown in his native land and language.\u201d Harry died\u00a0last year just as our Spring issue, with an\u00a0excerpt from his final novel<\/a>,\u00a0was going to press. \u2014The Paris Review<\/em><\/p>\n

Harry Mathews, who died a year ago, on January 25, was born on Valentine\u2019s Day. This is the first time his friends (including those in Key West, who, during the winter, often got to see Harry and his beloved wife, Marie) have had to be without him. About the time he turned eighty, maybe a bit earlier, he had to stop bicycling. He did this grudgingly, berating some of us for our concern (expressed as he was about to cycle off after certain \u2026 let\u2019s just say wine-centric<\/em> dinners). His good friend James Merrill<\/a> was the person who\u2019d urged the Mathewses to leave wintry New York and come enjoy the sun in Key West. (Merrill, on his own bicycle, was always a delightful sight as he sped toward you wearing his shirt, shorts,\u00a0argyle\u00a0socks, and sandals.) Not that Harry needed to imitate Merrill or his other close friend John Ashbery<\/a> at all: his sense of style was singular, as was Harry. But how did I become dear friends with a person who had specially sewn compartments in his shirt pockets for his cigars? How did my husband and I appear, year after year, on New Year\u2019s Eve to be poured as much champagne as we wished (forget that \u201cwishing upon a star\u201d nonsense; this was excellent champagne) and to watch a screwball comedy that would be midway through at midnight? He shushed\u00a0us if we so much as whispered to the person sitting next to us. In the background, we\u2019d hear fireworks, the screams, the ubiquitous unmuffled motorcycles, more piercing screams, and soon, very soon, the sirens, as the TV volume was adjusted upward to a near-deafening level. In Key West, certain individuals get the idea that they might, say, blow up a pier to celebrate the New Year. (Or, at the very least, set their neighbor\u2019s garbage can on fire.)<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

But I don\u2019t want to suggest that we were strangely dressed, hedonistic, alcohol-dowsing creatures with no more imagination than to mark the end of the old, in with the new by watching Rudy Vallee. Harry was all imagination. Imagination and detail. He swung between those personal polarities like a watch used to hypnotize, and in a way, he did hypnotize you. Let me say right away that he knew a lot. Please just google Oulipo<\/em>\u00a0to get a general sense of the society he belonged to, in which, almost until his death, he remained the only<\/em> American member. He knew about everything from poetic form to opera to Byzantine coins\u2014though if you brought up those coins, he\u2019d suspect you were about to turn ironic and would question you: When and how did you become interested in Byzantine coins? He knew the Latin name of the plant you liked in his garden. He once stunned Rust Hills by instantly answering one of Rust\u2019s many questions. As the\u00a0carful of people was returning from a lower key to Key West, a beautiful sunset spread across the sky. Harry exclaimed, \u201cOh, it\u2019s like coming into Venice!\u201d And my husband said, \u201cMore like coming into Mestre.\u201d Somehow the word propaganda<\/em> was used\u2014you think I was keenly focusing on this?\u2014and Rust, who loved information and specialized in mumbling questions to himself, asked, \u201cWhere does that word,\u00a0propaganda<\/em>, come from?\u201d Harry said, \u201cIt originates with the Uffici per la Propagazione della Fede, which was set up by the Vatican under the Counter-Reformation to propagate the faith. It still occupies a building in Rome designed by Borromini.\u201d Harry might also have known how to change a tire\u2014he loved process, and when he cooked certain things, he wore an enormous ticking timer on a string around his neck\u2014but I don\u2019t know about that. Though, after his mother\u2019s death, he drove her truly enormous car through the narrow streets of Key West until the car itself died. There\u2019s one stretch of Simonton Street I never pass without thinking of the sight my husband and I saw one night, after we\u2019d parted from Harry and his wife and friends: that enormous car, that cruise-ship-size car, coming down the opposite side of the street with the interior light on, the faces of Harry and John Ashbery, a second\u2019s bright hologram flash of merriment. And then they were gone.<\/p>\n

At this point, Harry might wonder why I\u2019ve been mentioning vehicles: cars, bicycles, motorcycles. Is this what someone would be thinking about when remembering Harry Mathews? But I mention earth, the vehicles of earth, only as a point of departure to the air. What about all those planes\u2014the big airlines, the private jets, the Navy test planes that fly over Key West with such bursts of sound that everyone knows to simply stop speaking until they pass (though sometimes the first words of the overeager person who had the floor get garbled in the plane\u2019s fading roar)? Harry would simply raise a finger, and everyone would stop speaking. (He studied music at Harvard, so it\u2019s probably fine to think of the obvious: Harry as a conductor.) I don\u2019t think he originated the raised finger, but he did it better than anyone. And his facial expression was so clear. It didn\u2019t involve the conventional\u00a0eye roll;\u00a0the obnoxious noise was too usual to surprise anyone. His expression never varied. It said, Wait, this will pass. It suggested that he was in control. The ever so slightly raised eyebrows let you<\/em> know that he<\/em> knew the conversation could pick up right where it left off. Being reasonable wasn\u2019t always optimal, but in some cases, well, what can you do? His expression sort of metaphorically replaced a period with an exclamation point. Whereas I think his amazing fiction often implied just the opposite.<\/p>\n

Happy birthday, Harry, from those of us here on the ground, looking upward.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ann Beattie\u2019s short story \u201cRuckersville<\/a>\u201d appears in our Fall issue<\/a>. She is the author, most recently, of\u00a0<\/em>The Accomplished Guest. Read her Art of Fiction<\/a> interview.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  Harry Mathews began publishing in\u00a0The Paris Review\u00a0in 1962, with an excerpt from his first novel,\u00a0The Conversions. After that, he gave us \u00adpoems, translations, and more fiction, much of it composed according to occult mathematical formulas of his own devising. From 1989 until 2003, Harry served as our Paris editor. In 2007, our publisher, Susannah […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":579,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[27],"tags":[1392,1886,8600,5816,5234,5753,6017,11051,14340,32926,32927,26935,32928],"class_list":["post-121556","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-in-memoriam","tag-ann-beattie","tag-florida","tag-harry-mathews","tag-james-merrill","tag-john-ashbery","tag-key-west","tag-new-years-eve","tag-oulipo","tag-propaganda","tag-rudy-vallee","tag-rust-hills","tag-the-conversions","tag-tlooth"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWatching Screwball Comedies with Harry Mathews<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"An intimate remembrance of Harry Mathews, who was born on Valentine\u2019s Day: his humor, his encyclopedic mind, and his enormous car.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/02\/14\/watching-screwball-comedies-harry-mathews\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Watching Screwball Comedies with Harry Mathews by Ann Beattie\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"February 14, 2018 \u2013   Harry Mathews began publishing in\u00a0The Paris Review\u00a0in 1962, with an excerpt from his first novel,\u00a0The Conversions. 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