Saul Bellow (1915–2005)
Author of Herzog
About the Author
Saul Bellow was born in Lachine, Quebec, Canada on June 10, 1915. He attended the University of Chicago, received a Bachelor's degree in sociology and anthropology from Northwestern University in 1937, and did graduate work at the University of Wisconsin. He taught at several universities including show more the University of Minnesota, Princeton University, the University of Chicago, New York University, and Boston University. His first novel, Dangling Man, was published in 1944. His other works include The Victim, Seize the Day, Henderson the Rain King, Mosby's Memoirs and Other Stories, To Jerusalem and Back: A Personal Account, Him with His Foot in His Mouth and Other Stories, More Die of Heartbreak, and Something to Remember Me By. He received numerous awards including the 1975 Pulitzer Prize for Humboldt's Gift, the 1976 Nobel Prize in Literature, and three National Book Awards for fiction for The Adventures of Augie March in 1954, Herzog in 1964, and Mr. Sammler's Planet in 1970. Also a playwright, he wrote The Last Analysis and three short plays, collectively entitled Under the Weather, which were produced on Broadway in 1966. He died on April 5, 2005. (Bowker Author Biography) show less
Image credit: Saul Bellow in France on September 29, 1982
Series
Works by Saul Bellow
Novels, 1944-1953 : The Dangling Man; The Victim; The Adventures of Augie March (2003) — Author — 365 copies, 2 reviews
Novels 1956-1964: Seize the Day, Henderson the Rain King, Herzog (2007) — Author — 281 copies, 2 reviews
Bellow: Novels 1970-1982: Mr. Sammler's Planet / Humboldt's Gift / The Dean's December (Library of America) (2010) — Author — 136 copies
New World Writing - Number 12 — Contributor — 7 copies
Best-in-Books: Great American Short Novels - Lost Horizon / Red Pony / Third Man / Single Pebble / Light in the Piazza / Seize the Day (1966) 4 copies
הסיפורים הנבחרים 4 copies
A Father-to-Be 3 copies
Kirjailijan työ : Saul Bellow, William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, Boris Pasternak, Kurt Vonnegut (1985) 3 copies
Romanzi 2: 1960-2000 (Herzog; Mr. Sammler's Planet; Humboldt's Gift; A Theft; The Bellarosa Connection; Something to Rmember Me by; Ravelstein) (2008) — Author — 3 copies
Romanzi 3 copies
Romanzi 1: 1944-1959 (Danglng Man; The Victim; The Adventures of Augie March; Seize the Day; Henderson the Rain King) (2007) 3 copies
The Arts & the Public 3 copies
2002 2 copies
Presença de mulher 2 copies
What Kind of Day Did You Have? 2 copies
הרצוג 2 copies
Recent American fiction; a lecture presented under the auspices of the Gertrude Clarke Whittall Poetry and Literature Fu (2012) 2 copies
Das Opfer Roman 1 copy
Conex Bellarosa 1 copy
℗L'℗uomo in bilico 1 copy
The Adventures Of Augie March (Everyman's Library Classics) by Saul Bellow (21-Sep-1995) Hardcover 1 copy
Saul Bellow MOSBY'S MEMOIRS AND OTHER STORIES Viking Press 1968 1st Edition [Hardcover] unknown 1 copy
Le opere 1 copy
רוולסטין 1 copy
Trăiește-ți clipa 1 copy
ממשות 1 copy
Recent American Fiction. 1 copy
Heros 1 copy
Presunto innocente 1 copy
לירושלים ובחזרה: דיווח אישי 1 copy
BEL Acosado 1 copy
The Noble Savage 3 1 copy
כוכבו של מר סאמלר 1 copy
Jugar a perdre 1 copy
Book Name Not Visible 1 copy
Ne muoiono più di crepacuore 1 copy
Agarra o dia 1 copy
The Noble Savage 2 — Editor — 1 copy
Eine silberne Schale. Erzählung. Aus dem Amerikanischen übertragen von Walter Hasenclever. Nachbemerkung von Utz Riese. (1983) 1 copy
Orange Souffle / The Wrecker 1 copy
Oběť 1 copy
Άρπαξε τη μέρα 1 copy
תפוס את היום 1 copy
הנדרסון מלך הגשם 1 copy
Associated Works
Literature: An Introduction to Fiction, Poetry, and Drama (1995) — Translator, some editions — 1,017 copies, 7 reviews
The World of the Short Story: A 20th Century Collection (1986) — Contributor — 513 copies, 4 reviews
Writers on Writing: Collected Essays from the New York Times (2001) — Contributor — 482 copies, 5 reviews
The Norton Anthology of American Literature, Volume 2: 1865 to Present (1979) — Contributor, some editions — 137 copies
Published and Perished: Memoria, Eulogies, and Remembrances of American Writers (2002) — Contributor — 41 copies, 1 review
The Second Gates of Paradise: The Anthology of Erotic Short Fiction (1997) — Contributor — 38 copies
Fifty Years of the American Short Story from the O. Henry Awards 1919-1970 (1970) — Contributor — 17 copies, 1 review
New World Writing: Sixth Mentor Selection - A New Adventure in Modern Reading (1954) — Contributor — 12 copies
Literary imagination, ancient and modern : essays in honor of David Grene (1999) — Contributor — 9 copies
Fifty Years of the American Short Story from the O. Henry Awards 1919-1970, Volume 1 (1970) — Contributor — 3 copies
32 Współczesne Opowiadania Amerykańskie - Tom I — Contributor — 1 copy
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Legal name
- Bellows, Solomon
- Birthdate
- 1915-06-10
- Date of death
- 2005-04-05
- Gender
- male
- Education
- University of Chicago [1939]
Northwestern University [1937]
University of Wisconsin - Occupations
- writer
- Organizations
- U.S. Merchant Marines
- Awards and honors
- Nobel Prize (Literature, 1976)
PEN/Malamud Award (1989)
National Medal of Arts (1988)
Croix de Chavalier des Arts et Lettres (France)
American Academy of Arts and Letters Academy Award ( [1952])
Man Booker International Prize Finalist (2005) (show all 10)
Jefferson Lecture (1977)
Emerson-Thoreau Medal (1977)
Chicago Literary Hall of Fame (2010)
American Academy of Arts and Letters (Literature ∙ 1958) - Relationships
- Bellow, Adam (son)
Bellow, Alexandra (wife)
Botsford, Keith (colleague)
Tarcov, Edith (friend)
Howland, Bette (protégée) - Short biography
- Saul Bellow est un écrivain et universitaire américain.
Il est né en 1915, à Lachine, une banlieue industrielle de Montréal, le 10 juin 1915. Ses parents ont émigré deux ans auparavant de la Russie du tsar, de Saint-Pétersbourg. Le père de Saul, Abraham Bellow – le « gentilhomme » évoqué dans le roman le plus autobiographique, Herzog –, après avoir fait faillite comme boulanger, exerce plusieurs petits métiers.
Enfant, Saul Bellow grandit dans un quartier miséreux de Montréal, au contact de la communauté juive. Lorsqu'il a neuf ans, la famille Bellow émigre de nouveau et s'installe dans un quartier polonais du West Side de Chicago.
Saul a une enfance rêveuse et solitaire – studieuse aussi, car il est très tôt attiré par les choses de l'esprit. L'influence juive est prépondérante; il suit d'ailleurs un enseignement talmudique.
Étudiant brillant, il fréquente l'université de Chicago, puis la Northwestern University où il étudie l'anthropologie et la sociologie. Jeune écrivain, pour gagner sa vie, il collabore quelque temps à l'Encyclopaedia Britannica tout en enseignant dans un collège de Chicago. Pendant la Seconde Guerre mondiale, il sert dans la marine marchande; dès la fin du conflit, il s'installe à New York.
Au confluent de trois cultures - américaine, russe et yiddish -, Saul Bellow se veut un moraliste, un chroniqueur de son siècle et un découvreur d'idées nouvelles. Cet humaniste est peut-être l'écrivain américain qui récapitule le mieux l'expérience des immigrants ou fils d'immigrants à la découverte de leur Amérique, en porte-à-faux dans leur pays et dans leur époque : de cette instabilité, de ce désarroi du moi, il a fait le thème de toute son œuvre, laquelle atteint rapidement une audience internationale et est couronnée du prix Nobel en 1976. - Nationality
- Canada (birth)
USA (naturalised) - Birthplace
- Lachine, Montreal, Quebec, Canada
- Places of residence
- Chicago, Illinois, USA
- Place of death
- Brookline, Massachusetts, USA
- Burial location
- Morningside Cemetery, Brattleboro, Vermont, USA
- Map Location
- Canada
Members
Discussions
One Book One Chicago Fall 2011 in Chicagoans (August 2011)
The Adventures of Augie March - eromsted in Review Discussions (December 2009)
Reviews
A Jewish intellectual rages in unsent letters at the shortcomings of his acquaintances and his peers as a method of remaining calm and sane during his brutal second divorce. I wasn’t always enraptured with the novel, for what I thought was going to be a metafictional deconstruction of the modern world turned out instead to be a realistic psychological novel. But I only got mildly irritated in places, never truly vexed, for the details churning in poor Herzog’s mind were colorful and show more fascinating. I enjoyed them in a voyeuristic manner, for I always suspect that Bellow, like Roth, was drawing on his own disastrous experiences with women. If nothing else, I made me feel smug with how I have lived my life.
Malcolm Hillgartner adapted his booming American voice to a variety of female, Jewish, and even African American accents well enough to be believable without being stereotypical. show less
Malcolm Hillgartner adapted his booming American voice to a variety of female, Jewish, and even African American accents well enough to be believable without being stereotypical. show less
A brilliant commentary from forty years ago about how elites have manipulated the societies they dominate. In communist Bucharest, the government has carefully calculated to what degree its citizens should be exposed to pain and coercion by doing its best to anaesthetize familial, old world and Christian sensibilities. In eighties Chicago, American capitalist culture has designated a pleasure principal which is achieving the same dissociating milieu, and which is fine if you manage to show more succeed but devastating just as much, or even more so, to those who have no hope of doing so.
This conundrum presses in on the dean during a sudden visit to Caeucescu's Romania to attend the last illness of his mother-in-law. At the same time he must follow a court case in Chicago, about which he has written articles for Harper's. These articles have emphasised corruption in the city and, tellingly, the resultant savagery, despair and sheer rottenness there; and they have upset the University, the fashionable law fraternity, the county and city overlords.
A great novel, darker than any of Bellow's I've read before. You have to remain grateful that writers like this had the intellectual fire-power to deliver such challenging fiction, and to do it so well. show less
This conundrum presses in on the dean during a sudden visit to Caeucescu's Romania to attend the last illness of his mother-in-law. At the same time he must follow a court case in Chicago, about which he has written articles for Harper's. These articles have emphasised corruption in the city and, tellingly, the resultant savagery, despair and sheer rottenness there; and they have upset the University, the fashionable law fraternity, the county and city overlords.
A great novel, darker than any of Bellow's I've read before. You have to remain grateful that writers like this had the intellectual fire-power to deliver such challenging fiction, and to do it so well. show less
It's amazing to me that people argued about Great American Novels as recently as 2003, fifty years after Augie March settled the question. It even starts with "I am an American" and ends with "America"! How can it not be the GAM?!
I'll never tire of this book, the only modern inheritor of the picaresque tradition and the first since Huck Finn. It's different from everything else I've read by Bellow, consciously visceral and eclectic, a multisensory kaleidoscope of the American century. It's a show more goddamn long novel but somehow the creativity never lapses and the voice never wavers and never sounds writerly, despite being intensely literary as in this streetcar trip:
It was stiff cold weather, the ground hard, the weeds standing broken in the frost, the river giving off vapor and the trains leghorn shots of steam into the broad blue Wisconsin-humored sky, the brass handgrip of the straw seats finger-polished, the crusty straw golden, the olive and brown of coats in their folds gold too...
Or this description of the coalyard manager Happy Kellerman:
He was a beer saufer; droopy, small, a humorist, wry, drawn, weak, his tone nosy and quinchy, his pants in creases under his paunch; his nose curved up and presented offended and timorous nostrils, and he had round, disingenuous eyes in which he showed he was strongly defended.
Bellow is brilliant at punctuation; his sentences move not like rivers but like traffic, interruptedly, with trams and big shots' cars and stumblebums syncopating the flow. The novel is profoundly planted in the picaresque tradition: in its rambling plot, of course, the story of an American trying on everything for size, but also in its assertion of the primacy of the real, the tangible, the sensual world:
Everyone tried to create a world he can live in , and what he can't use he often can't see. But the real world is already created, and if your fabrication doesn't correspond, then even if you feel noble and insist on there being something better than what people call reality, that better something needn't try to exceed what, in its actuality, since we know it so little, may be very surprising. If a happy state of things, surprising; if miserable or tragic, no worse than what we invent.
This is the reality-preferring, the reality-delighting, creed of the picaresque. It's an ironic inversion of Hamlet's spiritualist finger-wagging to Horatio. The world has more in it — more actual people, more dreams — than are dreamt of in your philosophy — turning the "philosophy" from the original "science" to the modern, hand-waving sense. Of "people generally": "they dug for unreality more than treasure, unreality being their last great hope because then they could doubt what they knew about themselves was true." This from the most hard-headed character in the novel, Mimi, who embodies resilience and pragmatism.
And the language here is such a treat, such a multifarious delight, it adds up to an alternate, better, reality of its own. Bellow stacks nouns like a gourmet burger chef: "...if I chose to be a lawyer, I wouldn't need to be a mere ambulance chaser, shyster, or birdseed wiseguy and conniver in two-bit cases." And he knows the power of the monosyllable: "blue gas stink in this hot brute shit of a street". Language is tactile, pungent, impinging on the ear: a band "began to pound and smite" and shortly after "clashed, drummed and brayed". These verbs are of the construction trade or the military, and they describe Bellow's tactile technique in this book.
The overriding theme of Augie's life (until he runs out of paper) is his clientism, his being serially adopted in his fatherlessness, his dependence on others as he gropes for his own identity: "Admitted that I always tried to elicit what I hoped for; how did people, however, seldom fail to supply it so mysteriously?" This is something I identify with — maybe in part 'cause of my race and gender, but even within the world of the story, and my world, Augie's and my caromings seem fortunate. But to what extent do Augie and I over-appreciate our dependence on others, our status as objects of fate? The novel take Heraclitus' "fate is character" for its leitmotif. To what extent is that true? Less and less I think so.
But I'll always love this book. It's a humongous beating heart of human sympathy, of love and trying to make things better. It's weird and sad (like at the end of chapter 4 when they commit Georgie to the institution — I cried) and full of dead-ends and wrong turns and schemes and capers. Rereading it caused me to fall five books behind schedule for my 2022 reading goal, and I don't regret a single second. show less
I'll never tire of this book, the only modern inheritor of the picaresque tradition and the first since Huck Finn. It's different from everything else I've read by Bellow, consciously visceral and eclectic, a multisensory kaleidoscope of the American century. It's a show more goddamn long novel but somehow the creativity never lapses and the voice never wavers and never sounds writerly, despite being intensely literary as in this streetcar trip:
It was stiff cold weather, the ground hard, the weeds standing broken in the frost, the river giving off vapor and the trains leghorn shots of steam into the broad blue Wisconsin-humored sky, the brass handgrip of the straw seats finger-polished, the crusty straw golden, the olive and brown of coats in their folds gold too...
Or this description of the coalyard manager Happy Kellerman:
He was a beer saufer; droopy, small, a humorist, wry, drawn, weak, his tone nosy and quinchy, his pants in creases under his paunch; his nose curved up and presented offended and timorous nostrils, and he had round, disingenuous eyes in which he showed he was strongly defended.
Bellow is brilliant at punctuation; his sentences move not like rivers but like traffic, interruptedly, with trams and big shots' cars and stumblebums syncopating the flow. The novel is profoundly planted in the picaresque tradition: in its rambling plot, of course, the story of an American trying on everything for size, but also in its assertion of the primacy of the real, the tangible, the sensual world:
Everyone tried to create a world he can live in , and what he can't use he often can't see. But the real world is already created, and if your fabrication doesn't correspond, then even if you feel noble and insist on there being something better than what people call reality, that better something needn't try to exceed what, in its actuality, since we know it so little, may be very surprising. If a happy state of things, surprising; if miserable or tragic, no worse than what we invent.
This is the reality-preferring, the reality-delighting, creed of the picaresque. It's an ironic inversion of Hamlet's spiritualist finger-wagging to Horatio. The world has more in it — more actual people, more dreams — than are dreamt of in your philosophy — turning the "philosophy" from the original "science" to the modern, hand-waving sense. Of "people generally": "they dug for unreality more than treasure, unreality being their last great hope because then they could doubt what they knew about themselves was true." This from the most hard-headed character in the novel, Mimi, who embodies resilience and pragmatism.
And the language here is such a treat, such a multifarious delight, it adds up to an alternate, better, reality of its own. Bellow stacks nouns like a gourmet burger chef: "...if I chose to be a lawyer, I wouldn't need to be a mere ambulance chaser, shyster, or birdseed wiseguy and conniver in two-bit cases." And he knows the power of the monosyllable: "blue gas stink in this hot brute shit of a street". Language is tactile, pungent, impinging on the ear: a band "began to pound and smite" and shortly after "clashed, drummed and brayed". These verbs are of the construction trade or the military, and they describe Bellow's tactile technique in this book.
The overriding theme of Augie's life (until he runs out of paper) is his clientism, his being serially adopted in his fatherlessness, his dependence on others as he gropes for his own identity: "Admitted that I always tried to elicit what I hoped for; how did people, however, seldom fail to supply it so mysteriously?" This is something I identify with — maybe in part 'cause of my race and gender, but even within the world of the story, and my world, Augie's and my caromings seem fortunate. But to what extent do Augie and I over-appreciate our dependence on others, our status as objects of fate? The novel take Heraclitus' "fate is character" for its leitmotif. To what extent is that true? Less and less I think so.
But I'll always love this book. It's a humongous beating heart of human sympathy, of love and trying to make things better. It's weird and sad (like at the end of chapter 4 when they commit Georgie to the institution — I cried) and full of dead-ends and wrong turns and schemes and capers. Rereading it caused me to fall five books behind schedule for my 2022 reading goal, and I don't regret a single second. show less
I remember reading "Henderson the Rain King" and then "Ravelstein" perhaps in my first or second year of university, and thinking they were pedantic and overly contrived. I hadn't read anything by him in the intervening ten years or so. Then, on a fluke, I picked up "Herzog" wondering if I might have learned how to appreciate Bellow. To make a long story short, I read it in a few days, and finished it thinking that it may be one of the greatest American novels of the last fifty years.
Bellow show more once said "People don't realize how much they are in the grip of ideas. We live among ideas much more than we live in nature." Bellow's Moses Herzog - both the protagonist and the novel he inhabits - are brilliantly illustrative of this. He is a scholar of nineteenth-century intellectual history whose interests run from Hegel to "the state of nature in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century English and French political philosophy," the title of his only published book. Herzog brims, intensely and relentlessly, with ideas; they are how Moses relates to his world. Unable to articulate his ideas in any other way beside letter-writing, Moses does this endlessly, composing letters to President Eisenhower, his dog, his mother, and the long-dead philosophers that have consumed a lifetime's worth of attention. He never sends them.
After two failed marriages, the second of which ended with his best friend Valentine Gersbach living with his wife, and a current love affair with a woman named Ramona which is in ambiguous standing, Moses decides to escape. But he can't. Everywhere he goes, he is confronted with the world's ugliness: while waiting to talk to his divorce lawyer, he overhears cases of prostitution and child abuse, he is haunted by the life that Valentine and his ex-wife are living, and is tempted to take a few Old World Russian rubles and a handgun from the desk of his dead father. At the end of the novel, Moses achieves a kind of catharsis in which he finds that he no longer needs to write any letters, and in which the sentimentalist might hold some faint hope that Ramona might successfully enter his life. Knowing Moses, I wouldn't hold my breath, but I was surprised at the degree to which I was hoping that he would find an undiluted happiness which wouldn't have to suffer his constant hyperscrutiny.
This is a book about all the Big Subjects: writing, memory, displacement both physical and intellectual, love and its discontents, and philosophy. It seems that not even the novel itself can contain its subjects or all of its size. "Herzog" asks a lot of its readers, but I found its rewards to be numerous. If you have never read Bellow before, I would suggest that you read the first fifty pages. If you dislike it, don't bother with the rest: he never eases up and the tone doesn't change. However, don't make the same mistake I made, reading a couple of his books in college and then failing to return to him for a decade. Bellow, at least for me, was one of those writers that I needed to be at a certain age to fully appreciate. show less
Bellow show more once said "People don't realize how much they are in the grip of ideas. We live among ideas much more than we live in nature." Bellow's Moses Herzog - both the protagonist and the novel he inhabits - are brilliantly illustrative of this. He is a scholar of nineteenth-century intellectual history whose interests run from Hegel to "the state of nature in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century English and French political philosophy," the title of his only published book. Herzog brims, intensely and relentlessly, with ideas; they are how Moses relates to his world. Unable to articulate his ideas in any other way beside letter-writing, Moses does this endlessly, composing letters to President Eisenhower, his dog, his mother, and the long-dead philosophers that have consumed a lifetime's worth of attention. He never sends them.
After two failed marriages, the second of which ended with his best friend Valentine Gersbach living with his wife, and a current love affair with a woman named Ramona which is in ambiguous standing, Moses decides to escape. But he can't. Everywhere he goes, he is confronted with the world's ugliness: while waiting to talk to his divorce lawyer, he overhears cases of prostitution and child abuse, he is haunted by the life that Valentine and his ex-wife are living, and is tempted to take a few Old World Russian rubles and a handgun from the desk of his dead father. At the end of the novel, Moses achieves a kind of catharsis in which he finds that he no longer needs to write any letters, and in which the sentimentalist might hold some faint hope that Ramona might successfully enter his life. Knowing Moses, I wouldn't hold my breath, but I was surprised at the degree to which I was hoping that he would find an undiluted happiness which wouldn't have to suffer his constant hyperscrutiny.
This is a book about all the Big Subjects: writing, memory, displacement both physical and intellectual, love and its discontents, and philosophy. It seems that not even the novel itself can contain its subjects or all of its size. "Herzog" asks a lot of its readers, but I found its rewards to be numerous. If you have never read Bellow before, I would suggest that you read the first fifty pages. If you dislike it, don't bother with the rest: he never eases up and the tone doesn't change. However, don't make the same mistake I made, reading a couple of his books in college and then failing to return to him for a decade. Bellow, at least for me, was one of those writers that I needed to be at a certain age to fully appreciate. show less
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bound (1)
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Statistics
- Works
- 143
- Also by
- 58
- Members
- 33,869
- Popularity
- #565
- Rating
- 3.7
- Reviews
- 431
- ISBNs
- 942
- Languages
- 26
- Favorited
- 132
