Kaleidoscope; Christopher Isherwood

. Christopher Isherwood is known as a master craftsman of the novel. His books for the most part are largely autobiographical, and one of them formed the basis for

the prize-winning play and film, I Am a Camera. Mr. Isherwood was born in Cheshire, England. He attended Cambridge but left before graduation, and for two semesters following his graduation studied medicine. It was at this stage of his life that his first novel was published all the conspirators. From 1929 until 1933, he lived in Berlin, and it was out of this period that the stories of I Am a Camera were born. He also published Mr. Norris and Goodbye to Berlin, which formed the basis for the stories of the basis of the play I Am a Camera. With his lifelong friend, W. H. Auden, whom he met when they were both youngsters at school together, he has written one travel book, Journey to a War, which recounted their experiences in China during the period of the Japanese invasion, and he's also collaborated

with Mr. Auden on three plays. Mr. Isherwood has also had a deep interest in Vendanta, and with his friend and teacher, Swami Prabhabananda, he has translated it from the Sanskrit several classic works of Hindu philosophy, including the Bhagavad Gita. Mr. Isherwood lives in Santa Monica. He came to America in 1939, became an American citizen in 1946, and during his years in Southern California, he has written for the movies and has published several novels. Among them, Prater Violet, the world in the evening, and most recently, down there on a visit. He's also published a book of his travels in South America, entitled The Kunder and the Cows. Now, he does a good deal of lecturing at colleges. Mr. Isherwood, much of your work is autobiographical. One of your books, The Lions and the Shadows is

autobiographical. The Berlin Stories are autobiographical. And much of this is partially fictionalized. As you look back now, trying to recall the real past and the fictional past, did they become intertwined? Oh, very much so. I find that I chiefly remember what I've written rather than what happened. Do you prefer what you've written to what actually happened? Oh, well, yes, obviously. In a way, it's much tidier. You see, after all, one exercises one's imagination in order to tidy life up. There are always far too many characters in life. And the same thing has happened several times in a kind of imperfect form. It almost happens, but not quite as it should. So then you try to make it happen once properly. How does this affect the present? Well, of course, new material is raw material is being created all the time. But you have no control over this as you do over the past

as you fictionalize it. Oh, no, you have no control over it. All you can do is to keep a diary, which I always do. And this gradually becomes a quarry, a mine, out of which you extract new materials. Travel has been a very important part of your life, less so in recent years than in the earlier years. But you were born into a traveling family. Your father was an army officer. And during the earliest part of your life, you traveled a great deal that you not. Yes, quite a bit. And if World War I, in which he was killed, hadn't broken out, we should actually have gone to India, I believe. The regiment was going to be sent there. But it was sent to France instead. But you did go to school, of course, in England, and there met W. H. Auden. You were what, 14 at the time? Oh, no, much younger than that. Much younger than that. I was about nine. That was my very first school, where I mean, the first school that I was sent away to, to board at. It's very complicated in England.

The terminology is different from here, as you know. Yes. This first school, which ranges from 7 to 14 approximately, 9 to 14, is called a preparatory school. And then you go until 18, up to college age, to what here would be called a high school or a prep school in the sense of the exclusive schools of the East. But we call it in England a public school, which is anything but, because some of them are quite expensive to get into. What first brought you and Auden together? Well, it wasn't that we were such tremendous buddies at school, but during his teens, he came to see me, and he'd written all this poetry. In fact, I was very surprised, because I didn't think of him at all as a poet. He was

very aggressive and rather physical kind of little boy. And he had a certain amount of interest in science, particularly in mining. He loved to go on great hikes with his brothers. One of whom, incidentally, was quite a climber, went a considerable way up Everest, in one of the expeditions. Were you interested in writing at this time, at this early age? Oh, yes. I was interested in writing ever since I can remember. Can you recall why this was so? Well, I think it was very largely due to my father and mother. My father, although he was an army officer, was extremely artistic and literary. And I got the idea at a very early age of writing as a form of play, as a form of musing oneself. And the stories that my father told and the things that I wrote down and the games that I had with my friends were all really part of the same thing. It might be translated

into action, or it might be written down on paper. And I think that was a very good preparation for a writer, because one should not be too serious about oneself as a writer. One should be serious about one's work, in the sense of taking every possible amount of pains over it, certainly. In lions and shadows, you speak of this part of your life and your preparation to go to Cambridge. But at that time, you're going to Cambridge to study history, were you not? Yes, well, I kind of had to, because unfortunately, I'd gotten a history scholarship. I didn't want to go on studying history. I wasn't really interested in history, but they wouldn't let me switch. So that's why I had to study history. But you were engaged in some writing, even at this time, then, were you not? Oh, yes, I wrote an intuminable novel, which was no sooner finished than I realized how very bad

it was. My brother has it still somewhere. This was not published then. Never know. And then was the first novel published. That was in 1928, when I was 24. But I wrote it a good bit earlier than that when I was around 20, 21, and then rewrote it later just before it was published. So it was being written while you were at Cambridge then, is that right? Well, the sort of beginnings of it were then, yes. And immediately afterwards. Again in lions and shadows, you tell about the influences upon you at that stage of your life of your friends, friends, some of whom have become equally famous with you in the years since. One in particular, you've heard who was charmer in the novel. You used fictional names in the novel, not real names. Yes, I think that was rather unfortunate that I used fictional names. It's really very silly. But it was done because one individual objected to having the real name given. And so I thought, well, then I have to have all fictional names.

Yes. This particular person that you refer to as charmers, you tell stories of how you had a kind of, in a sense, a secret language between you, that much of which was surrealistic. That's curious that in many years later, a reviewer said of you, that in your plays with Odin, that they had a surrealistic quality to them that was not present in your novels. Is there a kind of surrealism about your own imagination as you came out of these formative years and thought about life? Well, I think it's a kind of surrealism that a great many people practice in one way or another. You see, it's all really part of making private worlds escape mechanisms or whatever you want to call them. And that's why when I was young, like many other people, I was fascinated. And indeed, still am by science fiction. Because this is another kind of universe that you get out into. The only trouble with science

fiction is that science keeps catching up with it and turning it into truth. And so that's rather a bore. But really, this kind of surrealism that we practiced was to make a kind of phantom Cambridge exist side by side with the real Cambridge that we were studying at. And yes, certainly some of that was carried over into the plays. That's quite true. What was the real world that you were escaping from? And why did you not like the real world? Well, of course, I always bristle slightly. I know that I use the word escape myself just now. But I bristle slightly at the idea that I'm escaping necessarily. I don't see why one shouldn't have a fantasy world and a real world and quite enjoy both of them. It's just that it makes some way to go in the evenings, as you might say, or it's like

having an extra room in your house. When you left Cambridge and you left without graduating, again, lions and cowards, lions and shadows tells the story of how you intentionally failed your exam. Yes, that's right. Why was this? Well, I was terribly afraid. I saw myself going down a kind of river that I didn't want to go down, a river of no return, into an academic life. I felt that I was fated to become a university professor. And of course, the irony of it is that without any degree or anything now, I am a university professor. And you enjoy it. I love it. Yes, it's one of my most favorite hobbies teaching. But I'm very glad I didn't do it then. And when I got away from it, I plunged into the literary and musical Bohemia of London. I got a job as secretary to a string quartet and had a marvelous time meeting

all kinds of artists and writers and musicians and people. And that was one of the happiest times of my life. Why was this because of the associations themselves? Yes, and the kind of life that these people led and their conversation and the amusing studio parties and the general ambience, the rather happy-go-lucky life with not very much money of this string quartet and traveling around with them to concerts. I loved all that. Was this a great contrast to the life you would know up to that point? Oh, well, yes, you see, I'd really been in school and college up to that point. I'd been very sequestered in that way. And then I, my family would describe as they say in England up a middle class. And while they were amusing people, they were still not the kind of gypsies that I longed to be with. It was like running away and joining the circus.

Is that why you ultimately ran away to Berlin? Or was that quite accidental? Well, that was very accidental. Orden went to Berlin. For the most serious reasons, it was in order to brush up his German because he was going to teach. And I went and stayed with him in Berlin and took such a liking to living there that I decided to support myself there by giving English lessons which I did. What was attractive about Berlin in these pre-Hitler days? I think I was attracted, as young people, often are, by the great sense of crisis going on in the city. You see, all of this period, Berlin and most of the major German cities were violently disturbed. There was a tremendous lot of political gang warfare going on. There was a great sense of instability, a feeling that at any moment there might be a revolution of some kind. As a matter of fact, a great many of the journalists, who were very wise

after the event, didn't anticipate the Nazi triumph. They thought that a communist revolution was much more likely. Or perhaps a push from the extreme right, the Stahlhelm or something of this kind. And this held for you a certain kind of excitement? I was tremendously fascinated by that. All the time in London, I had never really been conscious of Europe or of the world where these things go on. And it changed my whole feeling about life, which up to that time had been concerned more with life on the family and group level. Suddenly, I saw the international life and all its ramifications. It was of course a very sinister and unhappy and tragic city, and many people were starving. And I think

only a young person would have had the vitality and, in a way, the heartlessness to feel so at home there. You know, later on, one would have become overwhelmed with depression by this situation. You did become one of your friends as described in honorary refugee in 1933. I believe you left Berlin then. Did you not begin the truck? Yes, I left Berlin. What were your feelings and your reasons for leaving at that time? Well, of course, a great number of my friends were either imprisoned or in exile. I knew a great number of Jews and they had all left over about to leave. I felt too that I wouldn't be able to stay there very much longer anyway. You see, the foreign journalists were investigating

the truth about the early Nazi atrocities in the first SA barracks and these establishments. And we all, many of us, helped them find out information. And then they passed it onto their newspapers and so these things were published. And this was, I think, beginning to make me person a non-gratter with the Nazi-dominated police. Nothing very dramatic happened. They came one day around and questioned my landlady but probably sooner or later my permit to stay would have been taken away. Several of the journalists were made to leave too. When you left, you did not return to England but rather traveled through Europe for several years. Why didn't you return to England? Had this international outlook which you had gained in Berlin affected your desire to return to your home? Well, you know, I really must

say frankly that time I wasn't very enthusiastic about England. I've lived there very little you know since I was grown up. I like to travel in other countries much better. I love England far more since the war. I think it's immensely improved in every way. I'm sure you mean more than in material ways. Oh, I don't mean in material ways at all. I mean in the whole atmosphere of the city of London, the attitude of people. I think they've become much more friendly. The whole nation has become much more cosmopolitan. London in my opinion is a far more important cultural center now than it ever was before the war. Why did you and Orden choose to come to America?

Well, we saw it on the way back from China when we went on this journey. It appealed to us very much. I'd always been very curious about it and I'd always said that I wanted to come and live there sooner or later. You know, in those days, not nearly as many people from England had been to America. One didn't constantly meet people who'd been over here. And I was filled with curiosity. And of course, I also had some friends already over in the States. Were you seeking friends at that time, a home, a place to work, freedom? I really never can answer those kind of questions. I don't run my life at all. Obviously part of me runs it. But I do things very impulsively. Some quite trivial reason arises and then

off one goes. What was the impulse that sent you to Southern California? Oh, well, that was fairly purposive because I wanted to see Gerald Heard again who I'd known in England and to meet Huxley and talk to him. Had the interest in Vedanta preceded your trip to Southern California? No. But what had interested me very much, what had come upon me very strongly during the preceding two years was the realization that I was and really always had been a pacifist. And I wanted very much to discuss this with Heard and also with Huxley, who as you know, had written two books about this and it was of great concern to me because I wanted to get my ideas on the subject straightened out. And it was only through meeting them again or rather through meeting

Heard again that I met this Hindu monk Prabhavananda and that's how I became interested in Vedanta. What was the thing which most attracted you to Hindu philosophy? Was it the element of pacifism? Oh, no. No, it was the man. It was this particular man. Yes. The fact that I realized that he was absolutely sincere and on the level, not a crook, not crazy, not a hypocrite. And you've done me. And you've sought others' work, quite obviously. Yes, I had a great prejudice in that respect. And this? Of course, I might very easily have gotten over this prejudice by meeting a Catholic priest or a rabbi or a Zen monk or anybody else who liked a name. It just happened to be Prabhavananda. And so as long as I was going to accept him, I accepted his philosophy too. And in the years since you have found the satisfaction you were seeking in this philosophy?

Yes, emphatically. Suddenly I have. And I've always been in touch with him since those days. Which means that I've known him now for about 23 years. One of your friends, Bertold Virtell, has written about you in a magazine, written specifically about one of your books, Prater Violet, which he says that he probably was one of the principal characters. And he says of you that you had to fight greed and hatred within yourself. And we're seeking refuge in religion. Now, is this a quotation from your own books or something which he says of you? I think it's something that he says. But after all, don't we all fight greed and hatred from morning to night? I mean within ourselves? Yes. And you have found in Vedanta a refuge from greed and hatred then? Well, that's putting it very strongly. I found a kind of lifeline that if I hold onto it I don't

become completely submerged. That's the most I would claim. But that's a great deal. Since you have been in Southern California who've done some work in the movies, you first did work in the movies in London before you came to California. And you describe yourself as a youngster as an invaderate film fan. Is there any relationship between your settling in Hollywood and this love of films from an early the early years? Oh well, I obviously did have a great feeling of the glamour of Hollywood. And you know in those days there was still a little left when I first came out here. In 39 it was a little bit like it had been. It was the end of the great period. It thrilled me as to meet movie stars certainly. Why was this? Well just as it would thrill me to meet certain writers you know I mean I was they fascinated me. I longed to meet

Garbo and Chaplin and I did. I also oddly enough very much wanted to meet Mickey Rooney and I never have. Some of that glamour I suppose has disappeared with the years now both internally and externally. But do you find Hollywood now a fruitful place in which to do your writing? Oh well it's almost perfect. But then I live under very special circumstances. I live in a nice house out overlooking the bay in Santa Monica. I lead this kind of suburban life. When I want to come to a big city of course I come to San Francisco or New York or London or somewhere. Los Angeles isn't a city. It's just an enormous sprawl. But it's a very very good place to live in. If you live in the parts which are smug free. And I have a lot of friends there. I find it very good for work yet. As you look back over the years of your writing Mr. Isherwood which individuals stand out

in your mind as those who seem to have had the greatest influence upon the directions what you've taken. A well undoubtedly EM Forster. DH Lawrence whom I never knew. Proust whom I obviously didn't know and Henry James. Is there a reason why you've selected these particular four? Well that would be a very long matter to go into but they all supply from my point of view certain elements in the total thing that I'm trying to do. Another very important figure whom I did know was Virginia Wolf. I admire her more and more. I've been rereading her lady. I think to the lighthouse and Mrs. Dalloway are wonderful. Those are the ones I like best. You refer to the thing you are trying

to do. What is the thing you are trying to do? Well if I could tell you that it would mean that I'd done it in a way. This is something that I don't think the writer knows as precisely as that because it's like trying to catch a pony in a field you're always closing in on this thing and then it runs somewhere else. With each successive novel do you have the feeling that you're getting closer? Well that might be famous last words but I do feel that the book I'm writing now interests me more than anything else that I've done yet. Has that not always been the case with each book? No. Sometimes there's been a sense of a battle which is already lost but you go on fighting. I knew a long time before I finished the world in the evening that something was wrong with it.

You can tell. And you don't have the same sense about the one you're working on now? Not yet. But then this is in a rather early stage so I'm not sure. I'm very optimistic at the moment. Mr. Ashu would have enjoyed very much this chance to chat with you and we hope when you finish this book you'll have the the sense of what you're seeking but not have the feeling that you are finished that will continue. Now thank you so very much. Thank you. You have just seen kaleidoscope.

Your host James Day, General Manager of KQED in San Francisco. Our guest was author Christopher Isherwood. This is NET, National Educational Television.