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FITZGERALD, Zelda. Nine autograph letters signed (one "Zelda," the rest "Zelda Fitzgerald") to Paul C. McLendon; written from her mother's home in Montgomery, Alabama, 24 May 1946 to 10 March 1947. Together 39 pages, 4to, mostly in pencil. [With]: A mimeographed religious statement signed by Zelda Fitzgerald, 1 page, 4to, dated 24 November 1946; a telegram from her to McLendon; a typed letter signed from the literary agent Harold Ober to her, 1 page, 4to, 26 June 1946.

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FITZGERALD, Zelda. Nine autograph letters signed (one "Zelda," the rest "Zelda Fitzgerald") to Paul C. McLendon; written from her mother's home in Montgomery, Alabama, 24 May 1946 to 10 March 1947. Together 39 pages, 4to, mostly in pencil. [With]: A mimeographed religious statement signed by Zelda Fitzgerald, 1 page, 4to, dated 24 November 1946; a telegram from her to McLendon; a typed letter signed from the literary agent Harold Ober to her, 1 page, 4to, 26 June 1946.

"THE WEARY WORLD IS STREAKED WITH AUTUMN RAIN"

An interesting, if not absorbing, series of letters written -- at times in a beautifully mad style -- toward the end of her life (she died in a fire on 10 March 1948) to a young man who had sent her manuscripts of his writings for criticism. In the correspondence Zelda Fitzgerald critiques McLendon work, talks of and gives advice on creative writing, voices her religious and spiritual beliefs, and gives news of her own life, and of her daughter Scottie, etc. 24 May 1946: "...This is a fine sense of plot: a quality which I envy you as my own stories are so thematically top-heavy -- most editors would't buy them. I would rewrite my favorite story twice more if necessary and send it to Harper's Magazine. Both Sherwood Anderson and John Dos Passos have a compelling sense of tragedy-haunted, dark-throated lands which will give you inspiration..." [1 July 1946]: "...At first, most writers just keep on pasteing the rejection slips in their memory-books and stamping white horses and go on saving for a rabbit's-foot, a great public yearn for his philosophy and a neighborhood where there are no children. Controversial issues with vagrant animals, the radio-oblivious and infant-prerogative drove my husband [F. Scott Fitzgerald] half-crazy and I suppose you will suffer likewise as dreams and aspirations bring you dyspepsia and insomnia, stoop shoulders and incommensurate vitamin-reflex..." [5 November 1946]: "...You will...find me singularly unconversant with contemporary letters and even less master of the classics than yourself; probably I do know a great deal about the technical approach to writing, painting & dancing and have served an arduous novitiate in all..." [18 November 1946]: "The weary world is streaked with autumn rain and the swooning beatitudes are gone...I will surely -- even ominously -- come to see you after Christmas. That is a splendid time to visit amidst the skeletons of time and weather and one can happily immerse oneself in the [immensity?] of ideas. We'll discuss the way things ought to be with little reference to ought save memories of salvation...I have sent for [a copy of] Save Me the Waltz [her novel published in 1932]: it will probably take Scribner's some time to find it..." (9)
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