Editor's Choice June 2005

Golden State

What to read this month

Daniel Fuchs, who died in 1993, at the age of eighty-four, won the accolade few authors wish for: "writer's writer." Although he was hailed by Sean O'Casey, Irving Howe, Mordecai Richler, William Maxwell (his editor at The New Yorker), and John Updike (who has written a considered and characteristically impish introduction to this book), the reading public neglected Fuchs until the reissue, decades after its 1930s publication, of his so-called Williamsburg Trilogy, a series of novels portraying immigrant Jewish life during the Depression, which anticipated the work of Malamud and Bellow. Those novels when first published didn't come close to paying the bills (Fuchs made his living as a "permanent substitute teacher" in Brooklyn), so in 1937, like many other praised but impoverished East Coast writers, he went to Hollywood to write for the movies. Unlike most of his fellow New York literary types, he took to the work, becoming a successful though far from A-list screenwriter (he scripted the film-noir classics Criss Cross and Panic in the Streets, and won an Oscar in 1955 for Love Me or Leave Me). Also unlike his fellows, he understood and admired moviemaking, and he loved the landscape, climate, flora, and way of life in Los Angeles—and he never left. There, in "the immense, brilliantly clean sunshine that hovered over everything," this son of the Williamsburg ghetto delighted in, to quote Updike, "the uncanny cleanliness and health of his growing, tanned children." Fuchs's fictional and nonfictional depictions of Los Angeles and the movie business (written from the 1930s through the late 1980s, mostly for The New Yorker and Commentary) have been assembled with great care and unusual intelligence in this collection. His appraisals are at once lyrical and hard: his ingenuous relish of the jasmine, orange blossoms, and honeysuckle in the soft air of a winter's night in Beverly Hills never diminished, even as he dissected the narcissistic desperation at the heart of the Hollywood enterprise (see especially the title story and his far less successful novella portraying the crack-up of a screen goddess, West of the Rockies, also included here). His scrutiny of Hollywood is as acute as that of Fitzgerald, West, Odets, and Mailer, but unlike those embittered writers who merely sojourned on the coast, Fuchs matter-of-factly, almost ruminatively, took in the "shiny living" and the casual betrayals ("The things that went on, the thieving and conniving. You lived with it"). Budd Schulberg's What Makes Sammy Run? remains the best fictional treatment of the movie business by an insider, but no writer has better conveyed the workaday life of the studios in their heyday, and most important, no writer has more fully revealed the craftsmanship and professionalism—along with the colossal complexity and the torment—of moviemaking. Fuchs grasped that the best creative work in America from the 1930s through the early 1950s was done for the movies. And those same producers he reveals to be thugs were, he also reveals, geniuses and committed artists. Creating works designed to engage and transport an audience "was a tantalizing, almost constantly frustrating pursuit, and the movie people gave themselves over to it with a tenacity that amounted to a kind of devotion." That very pursuit, Fuchs suggests throughout these works, largely accounted for the frenzy and despair he coolly depicts.

California Rising: The Life and Times of Pat Brown, by Ethan Rarick (California). Governors Earl Warren and Pat Brown were the great political figures of California's ebullient era—from the late 1940s to the mid-1960s—when the state consolidated its position as an economic colossus and emerged as the nation's dominant social and cultural trendsetter. More than the soberly effective Warren, the expansive, glad-handing Brown, who held office from 1959 to 1967, personified the sense of limitless possibility that animated the California boom. Around the start of Brown's second term California surpassed New York as the country's most populous state. That event not only shifted the nation's political balance; it also seemed to augur an ever-expanding tax base. Brown's governorship would be defined by exhilarating if headlong growth and free spending: during his tenure the state's population increased by a third, and its budget tripled. He instituted or expanded a host of ambitious social programs. He presided over the burgeoning of the state's higher-education system, already the envy of the world, adding four new colleges and three new universities. He built a thousand miles of freeways. He pushed through the largest state public-works project in American history: the 500-mile network of reservoirs, pumping stations, canals, pipes, and aqueducts that carry almost two billion gallons of water daily from northern California to the south. This sometimes excruciatingly detailed chronicle of Brown's political history admiringly describes the infrastructure and programs, but omits analysis of their ultimate costs (of which Brown's son, Jerry, California's governor in a period of diminished expectations and heightened environmental awareness, would be acutely aware). But Rarick is strong on the intrigues and political battles that shaped Brown's career. Brown ran against three of the most powerful politicians of his time: to become governor he trounced William F. Knowland, the leader of the Senate Republicans (and thereby quashed Knowland's presidential ambitions); he defeated Richard Nixon in 1962 (a humiliation that prompted Nixon's remark to reporters "You won't have Nixon to kick around anymore"); and he was driven out by Ronald Reagan's overwhelming victory in 1966 (which signaled the end of California's era of opulent euphoria and launched the conservative counter-revolution nationwide). Brown's social and political formula—essentially, spend a lot and good things will happen—now seems somewhat crude and unimaginative. But it's uplifting (if not exactly inspiring) in a state where slashed budgets and dysfunctional public institutions now characterize public life. What is inspiring, though, is the spirit of the time and place in which Brown humanely governed. California's glorious run, the product of economic and social forces beyond Sacramento's control, promised and delivered a better life for ordinary people than they could have enjoyed in any other place at any other time in history. Politically Brown embodied the vivacity and sweetness of that brief good life—"the swimming pools and backyard barbecues, the school yards teeming with healthy children, the suburban tracts and freeways, the whole Ozzie and Harriet splendor of it all" (to quote Kevin Starr's evocation). For this reader, Rarick's unintentionally nostalgic account confirms what longtime residents of this most forward-looking state in the Union know in their bones: the Golden State's best days are behind it.

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Benjamin Schwarz is the literary editor and the national editor of The Atlantic. More

His first piece for the magazine, "The Diversity Myth," was a cover story in 1995. Since then he's written articles and reviews on a startling array of subjects from fashion to the American South, from current fiction to the Victorian family, and from international economics to Chinese restaurants. Schwarz oversees and writes a monthly column for "Books and Critics," the magazine's cultural department, which under his editorship has expanded its coverage to include popular culture and manners and mores, as well as books and ideas. He also regularly writes the "leader" for the magazine. Before joining the Atlantic's staff, Schwarz was the executive editor of World Policy Journal, where his chief mission was to bolster the coverage of cultural issues, international economics, and military affairs. For several years he was a foreign policy analyst at the RAND Corporation, where he researched and wrote on American global strategy, counterinsurgency, counterterrorism, and military doctrine. Schwarz was also staff member of the Brookings Institution. Born in 1963, he holds a B.A. and an M.A. in history from Yale, and was a Fulbright scholar at Oxford. He has written for a variety of newspapers and magazines, including The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Los Angeles Times, Foreign Policy, The National Interest, and The Nation. He has lectured at a range of institutions, from the U.S. Air Force Special Operations School to the Center for Social Theory and Comparative History. He won the 1999 National Book Critics Circle award for excellence in book criticism.

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