Dear Cyndy,

Thank you for your letter. I find your questions stimulating, -
and provocative of unorthodox opinions. In the past several days, 
I've filed in the computer many new pages of Chapter 49. As I
write, I understand my writing as literary improvisation, in
its humble way analogous to musical improvisation in which 
accomplished musicians indulge themselves and their audiences.
The improvisation in my writing results from the circumstance
that no publisher wants even to look at my work; therefore
there's no need to lay out a progression of chapters or to
define the limits of a book. Improvisation has its advantages
and its drawbacks. It largely eliminates formal constraints
on the elaborations of ideas and images. The definitions of
chapter and verse, on the other hand have not only esthetic
but also conceptual value. Boundaries have significances which
both detract from and add to the meanings of that which they
define.

At this point my fantasies of Katenus being ambushed, of Mengs
forfeitting his professorship on the altar of some "truth" are
just that: fantasies, which must wait to be realized - or squashed -
when the narrative has been readied to the point where they might
become applicable. This evening I can't look that far ahead.
Next, I will be listening with Charlotte as Joachim finally
confesses to her the unhappiness of his childhood in the home
of his foster parents, Pastor and Mrs Emanuel Klutz in a western
Maryland village, Middletown, (Mittendorf). The pathos and irony:
that Charlotte is an astute listener who refrains from commentary
on Joachim's accounts of the childhood agonies with which she has
a mere modicum of sympathy, - but permits him to deceive himself
with the belief that he has been "understood" by her, that
Charlotte shares his sentiments, - which she does not, a
circumstance which proves to be the prelude to a troubled marriage.
Clearly, I have a lengthy story yet to spin.

That Mengs' espousal of Katenus' "philosophy" should lead to
the loss of his professorship is not at all inconsistent with
my understanding of "academic freedom", a concept that seems
tenable to me only within narrow limits. Consider my own view
that in comparison with Charles Darwin's intellectual trickery,
the creation myth of Genesis is "true" as a monumental work of
art: do you think that the liberties of "academic freedom" are
sufficiently generous that I would be permitted to explain
my (existentialist) theory that subjective truth, if it is
to be gleaned at all, must be reflected in the mirror of
myth and fiction and poetry, but that purportedly "objective"
truths invariably prove to be politically sanctioned dogma
which is inevitably eroded by the tides of fashion, permitted,
in other words, to explain why I consider Darwinism such
unsatisfactory poetry?

My iconoclasm most likely will offend you. Please accept
preemptively my apologies. I have been writing a great deal.
Obviously my own verbiage has gone to my head. In addition
to bringing chapter 49 to about 20 pages, I have, after a
ten year hiatus, resumed translating chapter 2. I've also
resolved as I proceed with the German text, to prepare
concurrently versions in English.

This afternoon Margaret and I took Nathaniel to the bus
for New Haven at South Station. He seemed to be in good
spirits. Having declared after his Eroica concert that he
didn't know whether he would again make such an effort,
he is now talking about summer performances in Rockport's
Shalin Liu Performance Center and in Harvard's Paine Hall,
as well as a European concert tour with his orchestra.
It doesn't hurt to think big, - but what will become of
these dreams remains to be seen.

Before we all fly too close to the sun, we had better come
down to earth, which in this instance means bidding you
and Ned, Good Night.

Jochen