194
PARTISAN REVIEW
ing an emphasis on the first syllable, with the
a
more or less approxi–
mating the first
a
in
arrogant.
When it came to emphasis, Mr. Phillips
and I were in agreement. But for Mr. Phillips the
a
was closer to the
a
in
jar.
About this he would brook no argument. Even after I realized
that I could give him what he wanted by simply saying "aren't," time
and again the new
a
would trip me up. Rather than risk frustrating him
further, I began resorting to the pronoun
she
whenever possible. Some–
times I skipped a sentence entirely. Once I skipped a whole paragraph.
When it came to most names that could reasonably be seen as beyond
my ken, Mr. Phillips proved to be less intransigent. A pass or two and
then he would leave me to my own devices. But when it came to names
that he felt might betray my ignorance to a knowledgeable listener, he
was unrelenting. Nothing would appease him-not even my rearing up
one afternoon and announcing that I was fifty-five and too old to
change my ways. Like any good teacher, he didn't hold this outburst
against me. In return for the time I was giving him, he was seeing to my
education.
The desk chair was small, the light only adequate, and the room's
temperature, even in winter, was stifling. Time can pass very slowly
when you're reading aloud. Such reading can be exhausting, but listen–
ing can be no less taxing. Rarely did we go past our allotted hour.
Always Mr. Phillips seemed to know when it was time to call a halt.
Before leaving I would mark my place in pencil. Never in pen. Any writ–
ten material we finished was deposited on the rug in front of the typing
table. Anything awaiting another reader was placed on top of the orig–
inal heap.
"See you next Tuesday," I would promise on my way out.
If
Edith
was in the apartment, she would stop me in the hallway and we'd talk.
Once in a while I'd have to change the day or the hour. Occasionally I'd
have to skip a week. Sometimes I would return and be able to pick up
exactly where I'd left off, but sometimes great progress had been made
in my absence and Mr. Phillips-troubled by a phrase or idea that
sounded entirely too familiar-would ask if there was another mark,
farther along. Invariably there was.
After my book on Mary McCarthy came out, it was harder to keep
to my Tuesday schedule, but I did not say goodbye, as I'd always
planned to. For one thing, I had no new project. For another, I didn't
quite know how to tell Mr. Phillips I was leaving. Over the course of the
next two years we covered a lot of ground . We read manuscripts up for
consideration at
Partisan Review.
We read at least three memoirs. We
read book reviews, art criticism, political commentary, and editorials
