![]() ![]() Even in a hotel room he managed to create the same down-to-earth atmosphere of his books. The lights of Broadway danced up and down while we talked. That is how I feel sometimes, about all these letters of confused and begging people writing me: ‘What shall I do?’ Why should they think a writer can guide their life?ĭreiser does not believe in the soul. More and more people heard about his power and they came from everywhere, crowded into his palace, crowded around him, pressed around him, begging, pleading, pushing, and finally by their massive pressure, suffocating him. More and more people came bringing objects for him to turn into gold. He told me a story: There was a legend about a king who could turn anything he touched into gold. I respect you as a writer and I wanted to know you, that is all. He received so many letters that he had to have a secretary.Īnd you, you have nothing to ask of me, you mean you just came to see me, not to ask anything of me? He told me that so many people write to him as to a confessor, to tell him all their troubles, and ask for advice, believing that a novelist should know how to direct their destiny. We talked about many things, writers, books. He had a slow voice, and a chuckling laughter, faded blue eyes and freckled hands.ĭinner was served by hotel waiters. ![]() There were many books about, and a desk covered with papers.ĭreiser was pink-skinned, tall, like a farmer. It was an impersonal place, with a big window overlooking Broadway. I went to visit Theodore Dreiser at the Hotel Ansonia. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |