Dear Marion,

Thank you for your letter. The breadth of your interests leaves
me breathless. From Mother Courage into the Superbowl in a single
leap! Concerning Mutter Courage, when I read about her many years ago,
I had serious esthetic reservations. Sorry, but she's not my type
of girl. She would have no use at all for, wouldn't know what to think
of Tamino and Pamina. As for the Superbowl, do I incriminate myself
if I admit that I don't know where it is, or what's in it? I suspect
I've missed the best part of life.

The Nantucket comedy is evolving in dizzying directions. Mr. George
Pucci, their new lawyer, was eager to get to business right away.
On Friday he e-mailed me to the effect that he had "a good conversation"
with the Building Inspector Bernie Bartlett, yielding ideas that he
wished to discuss with me in a telephone conference we scheduled
for Monday morning.  I've been there before. Forty years ago, when
I was suing the Mass Eye and Ear Infirmary, their lawyers wanted to
bamboozle me with exchanges "off the record." I wouldn't. Nothing is
off the record was the mantra with which I avoided all manner of traps.
With the same purpose, I sent to Mr. Pucci a letter, which I'll 
forward to you. I had no written reply, but it was a terse, tense
and somewhat annoyed Mr. Pucci who telephoned at 10:30 a.m. this 
morning. No bamboozling, nothing but a very brief message: Tell Mr.
Gordon to pick up the plumbing permit and to schedule an inspection.
It's o.k.  for you to be there. At first Mr. Gordon thought it would
be better if I didn't come. He's out to get me, I said, and if I'm
there you won't be in the middle. Maybe, Mr. Gordon said, you should
have the Nantucket lawyer there. The Inspector is a wild Italian.
Liable to fly off in all directions. At this point the courageous
Mr. Gordon seemed a bit fearful. How soon can you come? As soon as
tomorrow, I said, anytime. Telephone me when you have the appointment.
That was in late morning. I haven't heard from Mr. Gordon again.
Probably he'll call in a day or two. But it's also possible that the
Inspector will continue procrastinating. Time will tell.

Klemens brought over three issues of the NY Review of Books, and I 
spent a little while trying to kindle my interest. Everything that
I read left me cold: Authors writing dispassionately about what
they had not experienced, what they did not understand, always for
the primary purpose of publicity. Much of what I read seems to me 
impelled by a desire to be published rather than by a need to
be understood. Or is it all sour grapes with me?

I need to get back to my novel. That's where the action is,
so far as I'm concerned. Will write more in a day or two.

Jochen