29 August (1939): James Agee to Father James Flye

In a letter to his lifelong friend and mentor, Father James Flye, Rufus James Agee draws a distinction between profane words and profane language and speaks to the difficulty of writing under contract.

[Monks Farm, Stockton, N.J.]
Wednesday 29 August [1939]

Dear Father:

This won’t or shouldn’t be much of a letter, but knowing I must be at work and that I am poorer in answerings in ratio to length of time deferred, I do want to do a little, no matter how cheap, short and dead-minded it is. Above all please forgive the deadness, for my only way through is to try and ignore it myself—or rather flatly recognize it and do nothing about it…

The offending words or phrases you write of: on the whole question I am not by any means fully sure of myself but I realize I must quite essentially disagree with you on these. Though many of my agreements could seem almost identical. I think for instance I dislike most levels of foulmouthedness quite as intensely as you do. One difference is, I feel it is possible to be quite as foul mouthed using a euphemism or an aseptic or so called scientific word as the word in general vulgar or forbidden use. My hatred is not of the words any more than of the acts; it is of those who misuse them, and of the ways they are misused. But again: I feel no word can be quite as dirty as the word sexual intercourse where it is used wrongly. It is not a restoration of words themselves I care for but a restoration of attitudes or “philosophy” of which all words are gruesomely accurate betrayals. I have been and am still guilty of a variable and at times very coarse taste or judgment, but I can’t remember having groogled or leered or smirked since I was in the cheap-irony stage at about fifteen. I feel just as chary and suspicious of my over-frequent use in writing of the name of God or of William Blake. Well, I’ll shut up.

Of J. T. Adams writing on children my feelings are mixed, between some agreement and surprise and still undiluted dislike of the man himself or rather of his kind; so that some of my feeling is “What right have you to any such attitude or liking?” As I would feel if he praised Ulysses or put in a favorable word for God. If I were a beautiful child I’d want my choice of whose eyes were on me. I agree with Tate except in certain respects: (a) I think human beings might do exceedingly well to learn from animals and hope to come half-way up to them, rather than exert themselves in distinguishing themselves from them; (b) much ‘useless’ knowledge seems to me as choking and paralyzing as most of the ‘useful’ knowledge. But I know in what terms he is meaning ‘useful’ and ‘useless’ and I certainly agree.

I’m sorry to be writing by hand. The noise of a typewriter would unbalance what little brain I have right now.

…I don’t dare to specify what I’m starting to write. I feel too insecure in it even as I am. I can say this much, though. I’m beginning a thing which I mistrust; and am going under contract for it (which I abominate) and am thereby deferring work I would prefer to do; because it is the only way I can get money to live and do anything of work I can call my own. I therefore feel cold, sick, vindictive, powerless and guilty against the world and between the wish to take vengeance on myself and on Harpers and ‘the world,’ and the wish to do the best I can, and feelings of hopeless coldness and incompetence, I can’t even feel much anger, far less anything better. This may change. I hope it does, for I am drawing in to a dead point. I’d be very glad of a person I could trust (and afford) to do mental surgery on me, and far more glad to grow up and need no such pother. Meanwhile I am thirty and have missed irretrievably all the trains I should have caught.

Much love to you.

From Letters of James Agee to Father Flye. New York: Bantam, 1963. 218 pp.

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