Books

Letters to Monsieur Printemps

The unpublished memoirs of Tom Sharpe

A patchwork life

Over the next few months, Catalonia Today has the privilege of publishing the 24 autobiographical letters that the comic writer wrote to an imaginary researcher

I write about the real world not the idealistic, romantic and sentimental world where men and women have deep conversations

In 1997, Tom Sharpe was work­ing on a novel about the in­ef­fa­ble as­sis­tant lec­turer Henry Wilt. He had writ­ten 50,000 words and had en­joyed doing so, a sure sign that the book had legs. But it had now been months that work on WILT 4 (which would fi­nally be pub­lished with the title “Wilt in Nowhere”) had stalled. He couldn’t get the plot right and he couldn’t find the hu­mor­ous sit­u­a­tions that would move the story for­ward. He was, as a re­sult, be­com­ing frus­trated and irate. He was so des­per­ate that he went as far as to say, “I don’t want any­thing more to do with Wilt. Wilt is dead!”

Each morn­ing Tom tried to con­tinue with his new novel, write some let­ters, or jot down some thoughts in his diary. He wanted to bring his mem­o­ries to­gether, to leave a record of the events that had shaped his life.

At the start of 1998, Tom began to write “Let­ters to Mon­sieur Print­emps”, an un­fin­ished au­to­bi­o­graph­i­cal text that has never been pub­lished. This led him to talk to Car­men Bal­cells, the owner of the lit­er­ary agency that rep­re­sented him: “Car­men Bal­cells likes me and, more amaz­ingly, ad­mires me. She still wants me to write my au­to­bi­og­ra­phy” (diary, Jan­u­ary 28, 1998). Want­ing to avoid a clichéd au­to­bi­og­ra­phy and in­spired by a French ex­pert on his work, Chris­t­ian Dal­zon, he cre­ated the fig­ure of Eu­gene Print­emps, who sent him a long ques­tion­naire. Tom al­ways en­joyed writ­ing and re­ceiv­ing let­ters and so he de­cided to an­swer the ques­tions by let­ter. In the course of 24 let­ters, he dealt with such mat­ters as his books’ plots, his lit­er­ary in­flu­ences, his first sex­ual ex­pe­ri­ence, his time in South Africa and Cam­bridge, and his pho­bias.

To­wards the end of that year, Tom woke up one night and began to write, in­spired by a word flut­ter­ing in his head: patch­work. It was an­other au­to­bi­o­graph­i­cal book: “A Patch­work Life”. Again, it was an un­sys­tem­atic au­to­bi­og­ra­phy: a life made up of pieces, cut­tings, and frag­ments. He would later make an­other at­tempt, which he barely started, called “A Stranger to Him­self. Tom Sharpe’s Au­to­bi­og­ra­phy”. He com­bined these au­to­bi­o­graph­i­cal texts with his diary: “One rea­son I write such bor­ing di­aries, apart from lazi­ness and self-ob­ses­sion, is I don’t want to hurt friends or any­one I don’t have a gen­uine griev­ance against” (Jan­u­ary 30, 2001). These texts re­laxed him when he couldn’t make head­way with his new book. They might also have been an es­cape or a pre­text for ex­plor­ing his inner self.

They were a way of ex­er­cis­ing his mem­ory and his think­ing, and they some­times helped him to rec­on­cile him­self with his past, al­though on other oc­ca­sions they brought back painful rec­ol­lec­tions or raised ques­tions that were im­pos­si­ble to an­swer.

Tom wrote, “I have no in­ten­tion of be­gin­ning with my birth and very early child­hood be­cause I have no mem­ory of it. In any case, bi­ogra­phies and au­to­bi­ogra­phies which start at the be­gin­ning and go on chrono­log­i­cally to some sort of end, ei­ther death or in the case of au­to­bi­ogra­phies, to some end cho­sen by the writer have al­ways bored me. In­stead, I want to cre­ate a patch­work quilt, as it were, of mem­o­ries, of events, of por­traits of peo­ple I have known and found in­ter­est­ing in some way or other. Per­haps it would be bet­ter to de­scribe the process as that of cre­at­ing a jig­saw puz­zle with­out any clues as to the pic­ture it will con­jure up in the imag­i­na­tions, any con­sis­tent pic­ture at any rate of any­one suf­fi­ciently in­ter­ested to read the book. I think this is the most hon­est way be­cause my own view is con­fused and in­con­sis­tent and mem­ory is often faulty. I will do my best to re­call what re­ally hap­pened but I know all too well that what I vi­su­alise as the truth is based on hearsay or my ten­dency to ex­ag­ger­ate some sto­ries un­in­ten­tion­ally or at best to make them more in­ter­est­ing to my lis­ten­ers or read­ers. I shall do my damnedest to avoid that trap but I can­not promise it will suc­ceed. Old men make good their for­get­ful­ness by em­broi­der­ing the past. I hope to steer clear of that ten­dency. Above all, I will try to do so.” (De­cem­ber 15, 2002)

books tom sharpe’s mem­oirs

Where do I get my crazy plots?

Dear Monsieur Printemps,

Thank you for writing. I must admit I was a bit taken aback by the compliments you let fly and completely bowled over by the questions you’ve asked but, being a modestly arrogant person or, possibly more correctly because modesty is the most extreme form of arrogance, an arrogantly modest man, I will try to answer them. Impossible to do in one letter because you’ve asked so many but you’ll just have to be patient and I’ll write and answer them all when I have time, though not necessarily in the order you’ve asked them. I’m certainly not going to start with Number 1. Let’s go to Number 11: where do I get my crazy plots from?

Well, I question your use of the word ’crazy’. Read any newspaper, watch any news on TV, listen to the radio or to people talking in a bar or a bus, and you’ll see. Life, Monsieur Printemps, from life. A guy comes home from work and beats his wife to pulp because he doesn’t like his eggs sunny side up and reckons his wife knows he only likes scrambled eggs. Then, while she’s repairing her face, he reads Chicken Little to his four year old daughter as a bed time story. Finally, when she’s asleep, he dresses up as a Hefner Bunny girl and gets his wife to sodomize him with a wooden dildo he’s made on a lathe in his workshop. And that isn’t ’crazy’? Happens somewhere every day. Sure, it’s horrible but it’s real. Or something equally absurd. Yes, I know your existential philosophers invented the concept of absurdity but only as a concept. The real absurdities are what real people truly think and really do.

Take another example: the President of the most powerful country on earth, ’Blow Job ’ Billy, ie. President Clinton who can press a button and deluge the world with H bombs and radioactive fall-out and he gets his kicks having his penis sucked by bimbos and then lying through his teeth under oath when he knows he could lose his Presidency for perjury. And you reckon that isn’t crazy? You can go from one end of the social spectrum to the other and you’ll find everyone’s crazy to some extent.

And even when people don’t actually do things they have incredible fantasies. Mind-blowing ones. Walk the streets of any city and consider what thoughts the people you pass have in the heads. All right, perhaps the majority are worried about what soap powder to buy or if they’re going to keep their jobs or if their husbands have got a mistress, but there are some you will pass who have other far more bizarre and crazy thoughts. Religious sects that go in for mass suicide because they really do believe there’s a spaceship riding the tail of a comet and they’ve got to die to get a ticket to heaven on it.

No, I write about the real world, not the idealistic, romantic and sentimental world where men and women have deep conversations about the meaning of life and whether they are suited to one another and……blah, blah, blah. I’m not saying such relationships don’t exist or that such books aren’t admirable. You’re asking me about my crazy plots and I’m giving you part of the answer. The second part is that I write in such a way that people, some people, burst out laughing involuntarily. One man kicked the door of the bathroom down because he thought his wife who was screaming her head off with laughter was having a heart attack or some sort of fit when all she was doing was reading The Wilt Alternative.

Finally I enjoy my own books, if they’re good and make me laugh. If not I don’t publish the damned things. Goodness only knows how many bad books I’ve written past the half way mark only to ditch them. I write and write and write, and if I get lift off into real craziness, I keep the verbal throttle at full bore and I stick with it until I’ve got a book. If it dies on me, I ditch. I hope that answers Question 11.

Collected works

In September 2015, Dr. Montserrat Verdaguer, the executor of Tom Sharpe’s estate, donated approximately 1,200 books from the writer’s personal library to the University of Girona, along with numerous original manuscripts and typescripts. These included letters, diaries and notebooks containing personal reflections, variants of several literary works and even some unpublished plays. The books were organised, and an initial cataloguing of the scattered materials was carried out by the ’Barri Vell’ Library of the University, leading to the creation of the Tom Sharpe bibliographic collection within this institution. At present, the Tom Sharpe Chair of Literature is dedicated to cataloguing and organising this material to support researchers interested in exploring the life and works of the writer.

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