Estate / Collection: The Jean Vounder-Davis Collection of Raymond Chandler

STEINBECK, JOHN

Autograph letter signed to Raymond Chandler. Seville: 23 April 1954. A two-page letter in ink on lined sheets, signed in full "John Steinbeck," the letter acknowledging Chandler’s writing talents. Usual folds, fine; Offered with Chandler's retained copy of his response to Steinbeck, two typed pages carbon copy pages, dated February 1955.

A marvelous mid-century literary association between contemporaneous writers: John Steinbeck, author of The Grapes of Wrath (1939) and Raymond Chandler, author of The Big Sleep (1939). Steinbeck here writes Chandler from Spain, "Of course I have read your books as they came out and loved them, but recently in Gibraltar I came across a volume with four of your novels in it ... This time I read them closely noticing details I may have missed before. I knew there was superb descriptions and mood but I don't think I knew how consistently(?) excellent." Steinbeck continues "you write Southern California as no one else does ... I wish you would write the book of [the] Hollywood-picture industry." Steinbeck describes how Chandler would be in a unique position to write this difficult story that blends Hollywood artifice with American attitudes and offers an example. In closing Steinbeck writes how he would like to meet Chandler and "again let me congratulate you on putting [out] much more unique books than any one else in your field does. It is a pleasure to read good writing."

In his response, Chandler apologizes to Steinbeck for his delay in replying as "Two weeks before Christmas my wife died, and not suddenly. It was a long drawn-out affair, and I guess I had used up most of my vital force for a long time in trying to endure the idea of living without her..." Chandler admits a lack of interest in the Hollywood novel and suggests James Gould Cozzens may be a candidate. The closing of Chandler's letter is excellent: "Let me say rather bluntly that I am not particularly fond of writers ... there is something wrong with a trade in which the most distinguished performers are usually personally detestable as perverts, hopeless neurotics, or nasty little egoists ... One of the most dreadful experiences in life is to read a book, admire it, reread it and come to almost live with it, and then meet the author. May I add that I have no such dread of meeting the author of THE GRAPES OF WRATH."