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PARTISAN REVIEW
known as a scholar and critic, and has clout and will be able to help him
get a job. No. Canterbury wanted me to be the director. Finally, 1
agreed. Canterbury wrote a brilliant prospectus, and then became amaz–
ingly casual about the prospect of writing anymore. Upon graduation he
left for West Virginia (his home state) where he made a name for him–
self in politics.
It
was as if, like Miles Davis, he'd turned his back on the
audience-which was me. Canterbury had to escape individual distinc–
tion, in my eyes, to achieve the personal. Before he left for West Vir–
ginia, I asked if he would try to find a certain kind of old handmade
tool, an adze, and bring it to me when he visited California. About six
months later, he visited California and presented me with a handmade
adze from West Virginia-the tool used to make the coffin in
As I
Lay
Dying.
I was very touched. Nothing remained of our former relation–
ship of professor and student. We had become purely friends.
When I was writing my novel
The Men 's Club,
it occurred to me that
Canterbury was the right name for one of the characters in my novel.
The character looked nothing like the real Canterbury, and his person–
ality couldn't be more different, but my friend, the real Canterbury, was
shocked. How could I have done this to him? "So that's what you think
about me," he said. He went on and on reminding me of what [ had
done to him.
J
couldn't tell if he were serious or joking.
Usually, when writing about myself, I will disguise the people I talk
about and never use their real names. Occasionally, when [ want to say
something innocuous or affectionate, [' II ask permission to use their real
name. One of my writer friends, also a former student, found it mysteri–
ously impossible not to use real names when writing about herself,
though it could make no difference to the quality or the sales of her
book. She simply couldn't bring herself to change the names. As a result,
people were hurt and family relations were irreparably damaged. There
is something horrific about seeing your name in print. For some of us,
it's almost as disturbing as a photograph. Even when writing only about
myself, I'm very reluctant to use my name in a sentence, [do it only when
I have no choice.
It
gives me the creeps to write "Leonard" or "Lenny."
1 think I know why my student couldn't help using real names despite
the consequences for her family relations. rrom my experience when
writing about myself, the moment 1 begin making up names for the real
people in my life, there seems to be a loss of seriousness, and then I can't
get rid of the feeling and everything begins
to
seem like a lie even if
everything-except for a few names-is entirely true. The impulse
toward truth is built into our existence just as the shape of our eyes is
built into our genes, and the truth, like murder, wants out. Of course
