Genius Page #2

is to put good books

into the hands of readers.

Thank you, Mr. Perkins.

Now, scribner's has agreed

to give you our standard

advance against royalties.

If this is satisfactory,

we can proceed at whatever

pace is comfortable for you.

$500?

No one ever

thought my writing

was worth a dime.

Oh, lord!

Do you mind if

we start tomorrow?

Of course.

I promise to work hard.

Yeah!

Oh, lord!

I can barely...

Oh, mighty. Oh, indeedy.

"Mr. wolfe,

we intend to

publish your book."

No!

Tom!

Oh, my angel, thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you,

my lover, my love.

I'm so...

I'm so happy

for you. Oh!

How much you figure

we have to cut?

I'm guessing

around 300 pages.

It's not the page count

that's important,

it's telling the story.

There it is.

Four years of my life.

My heart bleeds

to see any of it go.

But I guess it's die dog

or eat the hatchet.

You took the words

right out of my mouth.

The last few weeks

working on the book

have been the most

thunderingly thrilling

of my entire woebegone life.

Glad I could amuse you.

You spend your lifetime

in the pages of books,

as we do,

and those characters emerge

that speak to you deep,

to the marrow.

They are your mirrors.

In my time,

I aspired to Sydney carton.

Or Pierre

from the tolstoy.

But I know

that's not who I am,

much as I would have it so.

We are not those characters

we want to be.

We're those characters

we are.

I'm caliban.

That island creature,

monstrous and deformed.

Caliban.

So ugly.

So alien.

Hurt and shunned

into poetry.

What is Manhattan

but an isle full of noises?

"Sounds, and sweet airs

that give delight

and hurt not?"

"Sometimes a thousand

twangling instruments

"will hum about mine ears,

"and sometimes voices

"that, if I then had

waked after long sleep

"will make me sleep again."

I have a thought

about the book, o lost.

I think we should

discuss the title.

I don't know that

it truly captures

the meat of your book.

Here, imagine

you're a reader.

You're wandering

through a bookstore

and lots of books

and you see a book titled

trimalchio in west egg

and you see one

titled the great gatsby.

Which are you

going to pick up?

Gatsby.

That's why Scott changed

his original title.

He knew it needed

a bit more meat.

It's your book,

just give it a think.

Here we are.

My god, Max!

It's a mansion.

It is so nice

to finally meet you,

Mr. wolfe.

Max has told us so much.

Tom! It's tom.

Please.

And nice to meet you.

Every man Jack of you.

Or "girl Jack,"

i should say.

Max has been circumspect

about all these

beautiful daughters.

A bounteous sea

of loveliness.

Max tells us

you're working

on a new book.

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