«I believe that the stuff has some merits or I wouldn't publish it. But I live, I live, with an absolutely continuous sense of failure. I am always defeated, always. Every book is the wreck of a perfect idea. The years pass and one has only one life. If one has a thing at all one must do it and keep on and on and on trying to do it better. And an aspect of this is that any artist has to decide how fast to work. I do not believe that I would improve if I wrote less. The only result of that would be that there would be less of whatever there is. And less of me. I could be wrong, but I judge this and stand by the judgment. Do you understand?»
«Yes.»
«Also I enjoy it. For me writing is a natural product of joie de vivre. Why not? Why shouldn't I be happy if I can?»
«Why indeed.»
«An alternative would be to do what you do. Finish nothing, publish nothing, nourish a continual grudge against the world, and live with an unrealized idea of perfection which makes you feel superior to those who try and fail.»
«How clearly you put it.»
«Bradley, don't be cross, our friendship has suffered because I'm successful and you aren't, I mean in a worldly way. I'm afraid that's true, isn't it?»
«Yep.»
«Believe me, I'm not trying to make you angry, I'm in a quite instinctive way defending myself against you. Unless I do this reasonably effectively I shall feel deep resentment and I don't want to feel deep resentment. Isn't that sound psychology?»
«No doubt.»
«Bradley, we simply mustn't be enemies. I don't only mean it would be nice not to be, I also mean it would be fatal to be. We could destroy each other. Bradley, do say something, for God's sake.»
«You do like melodrama,» I said. «I couldn't destroy anybody. I feel old and stupid. All I care about is getting my book written. There is a book, I care about that absolutely. The rest is rubble. I'm sorry I upset Rachel. I think I'd better leave London for a while. I need a change.»
«Oh stop being so self-absorbed and quiet. Shout and wave your arms about! Curse me, question me. We must come closer to each other, otherwise we're lost. Most friendships are a sort of frozen and undeveloping semi-hostility. We've got to fight if we're going to love. Don't be cold with me.»
I said, «I don't believe you about you and Christian.»
«You're jealous.»
«You're wanting to make me shout and wave my arms, but I won't. Even if you aren't making love to Christian, your 'friendship,' as you call it, must hurt Rachel.»
«My marriage is a very strong organism. Any wife has moments of jealousy. But Rachel knows she's the only one. When you have slept beside a woman for years and years and years she becomes part of you, separation isn't possible. Wishful-thinking outsiders often tend to underestimate the strength of a marriage.»
«I dare say.»
«Bradley, let's meet again soon and talk properly, not about these nervy things, but about literature, like we used to. I'm going to write a critical reassessment of Meredith. I'd love to know what you think.»
«Meredith! Yes.»
«What Christian would call your motivation is dark to me.»
«Don't take refuge in irony. God, I seem to be wooing you all the time now! Wake up, you're going along in a
