“There is only one way to eat an elephant: a bite at a time.” … Desmond Tutu
I recently happened upon a literary “elephant” and have started taking bites. MacKinlay Kantor, native Iowan (Webster City), joins other writers I’ve gone deep on – Hamlin Garland, Edna Ferber, and Frederick Manfred. Although I’ve not yet savored the full Kantor menu, it’s fair to say I’m now chewing, having worked my way through numerous mouthfuls.
In addition to his Iowa roots, Kantor is of interest for several reasons. Like other favorite authors, he has range and versatility: journalist, novelist, poet, screenwriter, children’s writer, etc. He’s not been “overstudied” since I have minimal interest in going where a crowd has already gathered. Furthermore, there’s sufficient material to sift through. In his seven-plus decades, Kantor authored 43 books.
Perhaps of greatest significance, Kantor had a colorful personality and a life story commensurate with his literary output. I recall a Garland reference once made by one of his scholars, (paraphrasing), Garland might be worthy of study more for what he did and who he knew than for his literary output. Kantor may fall into the same category, it’s too early to tell.
Like Garland, who socialized with many literary greats, and Ferber, part of the renowned Algonquin Roundtable, Kantor, quoting from his grandson’s biography, “hobnobbed with a stunning array of the rich, famous and brilliant, among them Grant Wood, Gregory Peck, Stephen Vincent Benet, and James Cagney. He drank with Ernest Hemingway, mentored crime novelist John D. MacDonald, (… and) ‘discovered’ Oscar-winning actor and folk singer Burl Ives.”
If I promise not to bore you by focusing too narrowly, consider feasting with me on Kantor’s life and times. AND on his diverse literary works. Our meal begins here and will play out over several years, perhaps longer, since some books are, ahem, voluminous. For example, “Spirit Lake” a novel about white pioneers and the Dakota Nation in northwest Iowa, is 957 pages; “Andersonville” a novel about the infamous Civil War prison, runs 730 pages. While I’ve read a half-dozen Kantor books, I’ve not yet worked through these heavy ones, the term “heavy” serving multiple purposes.
A thumbnail sketch of Kantor’s life. Born in 1904 in Webster City, Kantor’s father abandoned the family about this time. His mother, editor of the local daily newspaper, encouraged her son’s writing and hired him as a newspaper reporter. His interest in the Civil War, the subject of many Kantor books, started as a child encountering his hometown’s Civil War veterans. Kantor’s first novel was published when he was only 24.
Fourteen books later, in 1945, Kantor published a 268-page novel in free verse, entitled “Glory for Me”. According to the dust jacket, “It is seldom in time of war that an author can write a book which expresses the feeling that motivates fighting men. Why did it happen this way, why is it ending this way – what are we now that it’s done, now that we’re home? Indeed, are we home, or are we in a boardinghouse of confusion and wretchedly defeated purposes and understandings?”
As a stand-alone work, “Glory” isn’t ranked among Kantor’s finest or better-known works. It was written under contract for Samuel Goldwyn and was quickly transformed into "The Best Years of Our Lives," among the greatest movies of postwar Hollywood. The film, about three U.S. servicemen re-adjusting to society after World War II, received seven Academy Awards, including Best Picture.
I conclude with several sentences from a previous Kantor novel, “The Noise of Their Wings,” which preceded “Glory” by eight years: “Marian’s mouth stiffened and thinned. ‘Some people,’ she said, ‘put in the best years of their lives. Still, they don’t get anything out of it.’”
Was Kantor anticipating his movie title by a decade? (The same “best years…” phrase also surfaces in the movie.) I’m chewing on this. Anticipate occasional Kantor morsels in future columns.