The devil and daniel sil.., p.1
The Devil and Daniel Silverman, page 1
Table of Contents
Praise
Other Books by Theodore Roszak
Title Page
Chapter 1 - 12K Net to You
Chapter 2 - Number One Bestseller
Chapter 3 - The Whole World Isn’t San Francisco
Chapter 4 - Our Glass Nose
Chapter 5 - Breakfast with Richard and Syl
Chapter 6 - When Your Peewee Is All Wrong
Chapter 7 - The Ambassador from Sin City
Chapter 8 - The Matriarch
Chapter 9 - Which Holocaust Did You Have in Mind?
Chapter 10 - The Blue Tattoo
Chapter 11 - A Good Word for the Monkeys
Chapter 12 - Video Nirvana
Chapter 13 - They Hate Jumanistic Hews
Chapter 14 - Male and Female Created He Them
Chapter 15 - The Mad Bomber
Chapter 16 - The Troubled Pilgrim
Chapter 17 - Concerning the Reality of Satan
Chapter 18 - The Underworld
Chapter 19 - The North Fork Gay and Lesbian Alliance
Chapter 20 - Murdering Mrs. Bloore
Chapter 21 - The Voice of the Devil
Chapter 22 - Blood
Chapter 23 - Quarantine
Chapter 24 - Arm Us, O Lord, Against the Enemy
Chapter 25 - World to Come
Chapter 26 - “Brilliant—The New York Times”
The Author
About the Type
Copyright Page
More Advance Praise for The Devil and Daniel Silverman
“‘Oh no!’ cried I when The Devil and Daniel Silverman blew into my house as if propelled on the fierce gusts of a mirthful blizzard: ‘Not another book to blurb!’To be polite, however, I read the hilarious first couple of pages, which was like eating of the Evil Apple, and I was hooked. Thank you, Eve! I fell right into the infidel trap of this bawdy novel and couldn’t stop myself from charging headlong through the wild, delightful, learned, and passionate romp that followed. This book is My Favorite Mortal Sin of the Year, right up there with the best and most outrageous works of Philip Roth and Thomas Berger. It’s whacky and wise and very relevant to all the issues of the day: The Scarlet Letter meets Sabbath’s Theater, with echoes of Little Big Man. Or would you believe Portnoy meets Theron Ware? Hey, that may sound like a stretch, but this book is a wonderful stretch by a writer galloping all out at the top of his form. How do I know? The Bible tells me so.”
—John Nichols, Author of The Milagro Beanfield War
“Damn! Here is a novel about America’s culture wars that is disguised as nothing but fun. There is much gaiety in Theodore Roszak’s The Devil and Daniel Silverman—but even more wit.”
—Richard Rodriguez, Essayist for PBS News Hour & Author of Brown: The Last Discovery of America
“The Devil and Daniel Silverman is not only a profound exploration of the political and spiritual schism in contemporary American culture, it is hilarious and one of the best laughs I’ve had in years.”
—Mary Mackey, Author of The Year the Horses Came
Other Books by Theodore Roszak
Non-Fiction
The Dissenting Academy, editor and contributor
The Making of a Counter Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society and its Youthful Opposition
Where The Wasteland Ends: Politics and Transcendence in Postindustrial Society
Masculine/Feminine, editor and contributor with Betty Roszak
Sources, editor and contributor
Unfinished Animal
Person/Planet: The Creative Disintegration of Industrial Society
The Cult of Information: A Neo-Luddite Treatise on High Tech, Artificial Intelligence, and the True Art of Thinking
The Voice of the Earth: An Exploration of Ecopsychology
Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind, editor and contributor
America the Wise: The Longevity Revolution and the True Wealth of Nations
The Gendered Atom: Reflections on the Sexual Psychology of Science
Longevity Revolution: As Boomers Become Elders
Fiction
Pontifex
Bugs
Dreamwatcher
Flicker
The Memoirs of Elizabeth Frankenstein
The Devil and Daniel Silverman is a work of fiction. North Fork Minnesota, Faith College, and the Free Reformed Evangelical Brethren in Christ are intended to be wholly imaginary, as are all characters and incidents related to these places and groups. Similarly, all San Francisco characters and locations are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to real locales or events, is entirely coincidental.
The belief that there is only one truth and that oneself is in possession of it seems to me the deepest root of all evil that is in the world.
—Max Born
1
12K Net to You
“Danny, what’re you, crazy? We can’t turn down money like this.”
“But, Jesus, Hanna, look where this place is.”
“Hell and gone. It’s in hell and gone. Hell and gone is where they pay $12,000 for speakers like you. At Harvard, you pay them to lecture. And Harvard isn’t asking.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t give me hurt feelings. I’m not your mother. I don’t do therapy. I do money. Be realistic. Did you ever get offered half that much any place else? One-third even?”
“No.”
“Right. So what is it, suddenly you don’t need money? You won the lottery?”
“Of course I need the money.”
“So?”
“So, what is this place again? A religious school?”
He could hear his lecture agent getting more aggravated by the minute. When she got tense on the phone, Hanna’s asthma acted up and she began to wheeze down the line like a trapped gopher. He understood her impatience. This was their third New York to San Francisco call this weekend. He had put her off twice, once with “I’ll think about it,” the second time with “I’ll really think about it.” So now what? Was he going to tell her he would really, really think about it?
“It calls itself a small, liberal arts school dedicated to the highest standards of excellence.” She was reading from a brochure. “What’s wrong with that?”
“But Faith College. . . . Sounds religious to me.”
“All right, so it has a church affiliation. Lots of schools do.”
“What church?”
“Reformed something.”
“Reformed what?”
She began to wheeze harder. “Come on, Danny, what d’you know from churches any which way? Free Reformed, it says. Free Reformed Evangelical Brethren in Christ.”
“Jesus!”
“No, just Christ, it says. No Jesus.”
“What is that exactly?”
“How the hell should I know? Theology is not my strong suit. Nor is it yours. Let’s think of it as Protestant something-or-other, which, we both know, means for some reason—who cares?—not Catholic. Then some of these Brethren of Christ, they decided to become also Evangelical. So okay. Then a couple of the Evangelical Brethren wanted—who knows why?—to get Reformed. Then some of the Reformed Evangelical Brethren went across the street and became Free. That’s how it goes among the godly folk, right? Bicker, bicker, bicker.”
“But why do they want me to speak? I mean me? Why? And for so much?”
“I should do what, tell them you’re not good enough? I should tell them you want less?”
“No, but for a religious school—”
“Forget the religion. The dean here, Swenson his name is, he says the school is ‘developing an experimental Religious Humanism Program.’ That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
“What does it mean?”
“Questions like that we refer to the great god Whoda?”
“Whoda?”
“Whoda fuck cares, Danny? You arrive, you give the chosen Free Reformed people here forty-five minutes of whatever you have around, you eat the rubber chicken, you make small talk about religious humanism or human religiousism or what the hell, you keep a big smile on your puss, you glance at your watch—oops, sorry! time to go, you leave.”
“I can lecture on whatever?”
“Whatever.”
“Anything at all?”
“Sure. No dirty words.”
“Oh-ho! No dirty words. You see?”
“It’s a church school, for God’s sake. I didn’t know you used dirty words in your lectures.”
“Well, I don’t, but—”
“Well, okay, what’s the issue? And no sex, I should think.”
“No sex?”
“Come on, Danny. Give them that long, boring thing on the Jewish writers, all the big names, blah-blah-blah. That’s religious.”
“You think that would be okay?”
“Sure. Of course. Only you know—”
“Only what?”
She took a breath, she wheezed, she coughed. “Make it maybe a little not so much Jewish.”
“Ah! This is an anti-Semit place.”
“Not at all. Just make it not so Jewish it couldn’t be, you know, semi-Christian.”
“Or maybe not Jewish at all, is that it?”
“No, no, no, no. A little Jewish is okay. That’s why Swenson says he wants you, because you are a ‘leading Jewish humanist voice.’ Which even I didn’t know—so congratulations. He thinks that’s what they need up there in Minn
esota in these troubled times.”
“Jewish humanist? Me?”
“Look, go and lecture on whatever you want. It’s in and out.”
“In and out?”
“In and out.”
“You’re sure?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“No extras?”
“No extras. Forty-five minutes, twelve thousand bucks. Hey, presto! Gone.”
“Twelve thousand net? To me?”
“12K net to you.”
“Plus expenses?”
“Plus expenses, of course. Airfare. You stay at the school. The Founder’s Suite. Sounds elegant, no?”
“Why not a first class hotel?”
“In North Fork, Minnesota? Be reasonable. The place must be all barns and silos.”
“And you get? ...”
“I get the usual twenty percent. In your case, the unusual twenty percent.”
“So let’s see, altogether they’re paying? ...”
“If it makes any difference, I’d say about 15-16 thou just to get you in and out, an author whose last book sold, need I remind you, 3,216 copies? Did I get that right? No, I’m sorry, it says here 3,217.”
Stooping to sales figures was hitting below the belt, but he let it pass. “And you’re sure they’ve got this kind of money?”
“Schools like this have to have the money. How else do they get even some putz to go to northern Minnesota in January? They’re depositing fifty percent.”
“You think I’m just some putz?”
“You? No! You are a very important putz, in the opinion of yours truly, your loving kuzineh. But think how you’ll feel when I tell the next person who calls ‘Mr. Silverman’s last fee was $12,000?’ That gives us some leverage, eh, kiddo?”
“And it definitely has to be January?”
“What else? It’s a New Year’s millennial thing. ‘Welcome to a New Century,’ it says. ‘We are proud to present the First Annual New Year’s Day Lecture on Religious Humanism in America.’ Doesn’t sound like it could be in April.”
“I don’t know, Hanna. I should talk to Marty. Marty won’t like it. Can I bring Marty along?”
“Danny, it’s a religious school, for God’s sake.”
“Meaning?”
“What if Marty decides to wear his sequin chemise to dinner?”
“Come on! He wouldn’t.”
“He did in Rio.”
“That was Rio.”
“And that was the end of the United States Information Agency for you, sweety pie. A steady 2500 smackers a year—gone. If you want me to book for you, no Marty.”
“Rio was fun and games. Marty’s an actor. He was acting like an actor. It was Carnival, for God’s sake.”
“And this is Minnesota and there’s no carnival in sight. Perhaps you see the difference?”
“So I can bring Marty if—”
“This we have discussed, Danny.”
“I can bring Marty—“
“No.”
“But—”
“Danny. No.”
“Marty won’t like it. I’d have to be away New Year’s Eve. We always spend New Year’s Eve together.”
“Marty will like the 12K. That makes up for lots of togetherness. He can buy a whole new wardrobe next time he wants to play the Queen of Sheba.”
“New Year’s Eve we always kiss at midnight.”
“Spare me.”
“Well, it matters.”
“It matters worth twelve grand to kiss Marty? Give me a break. Kiss him twice before you leave.”
“It keeps us together for the next year.”
“12 Gs will do more to keep you together. How many Madeleines would Marty have to bake to make that much?”
“Well. ...”
“Suppose I get them to spring for first class airfare?”
“I assumed they were paying first class.”
“Oh, please! When did anybody ever pay first class for you?”
“Well. ...”
“I’ll get first class.”
“Well, if you get first class—”
“I’ll get first class. Danny, this Swenson, he really wants you. Doesn’t that mean something?”
He knew already he wouldn’t be able to say no, even if he had to fly economy with his feet in his pockets. Hanna was, after all—distantly, remotely, but still intimidatingly—family: his father’s sister-in-law’s cousin. The way the Silvermans counted kin, this was almost a blood relative. A feisty divorcée left high and dry by her beast of a husband, Hanna had set up late in life as a small-change lecture agent. That was shortly before Silverman’s first novel got reviewed in The New York Times. “Please let me represent you,” Hanna pleaded when the review appeared, and as a favor to his father, Silverman agreed. Hanna proved to be surprisingly good. She had that kind of persistence that women regard as flattering and men regard as flirtatious. Of course, in those days Hanna’s cousin-much-removed was highly representable. It wasn’t her fault that the market for Daniel Silverman had since gone through the floor. Six non-sellers in a row had somewhat diminished the effective demand. Nevertheless, though she was now earning well from other clients, she was a good, loyal woman who had stuck by him through thin and thinner, often skipping her own fee when the earnings shrank to microscopic. “What we have on the plate here,” she had said after his last $250 outing, “is a crumb so small, I can’t cut a piece off. So keep the whole thing, dear. Buy yourself a nice lunch. Someday you win the Pulitzer Prize, you’ll pay me back.” She meant well, but she had him in a position where she could guilt-trip him with the greatest of ease. This was the first gig she had found for him in eight months, the first that paid decent money in over three years. After so much nickel-and-dime lecturing, what choice did he have?
Two days later Hanna called to report she had gotten first class. “Plus which,” she added with more professional pride than she could contain, “so you shouldn’t lose any sleep over it, they’re fronting the whole twelve thousand. I told them ‘Mr. Silverman does not do business on any other basis.’ So they agreed. Which proves this is the boonies, right? That’s money in the bank, boychik. All you gotta do is say yes.”
He said yes.
Hanna had other news. “You’re not the first.”
“First what?”
“First in the big Minnesota humanist lecture series here. I’ve been asking around. Gore Vidal, he was first.”
