LAST DITCH OF DEMOCRACY - Majority Rights

thousands I was not interested in its being a novelist. But the book must
be good or I wouldn’t be more convinced of the fact AFTER having
translated it, than I was before. Of course, my act was impractical so far
as you are concerned. I haven’t the ghost of an idea how I am to get the
manuscript to America or get it published. Pea has never made a cent
out of the original. Well neither had Joyce nor Eliot when I started
trying to git someone to print ’em.
What’s it like ? Well if Tom Hardy had been born a lot later, and lived in
the hills up back of Lunigiana, which is down along the coast here, and
if Hardy hadn’t writ what ole Fordie used to call that “sort of small town
paper journalese,” and if a lot of other things, includin’ temperament,
had been different, and so forth ... that might have been something like
Pea’s writin’—which I repeat is good writing—and was back in 1921
when Moscardino was printed. Moscardino is the name of the kid who
is tellin’ about his granpop, a nickname, like Buck.
As soon as the barriers are down I shall be sendin’ a copy along for the
enlightenment of the American public.
In the meantime, if any one wants to learn how to write Italian let ’em
read the first chapter of Forastiero, or the couple of pages on the bloke
who had been 20 years in jail. This is just announcin’ that Italy has a
writer, and it is some time since I told anybody that ANY country on
earth had a writer. Like Confucius, knocked ’round and done all sorts of
jobs. Writes like a man who could make a good piece of mahogany
furniture.
I sent in a hurry call from the Siena music week, but I reckon it was too
late, not time to get retransmittal, but I wanted the clean and decent
Americans to hear the Vivaldi Oratorio Juditha Triumphans; which
makes ole pop Handel look like a cold poached egg what somebody
dropped on the pavement.