Perhaps the least known but most personal book on the Louise Brooks Bookshelf of essential reading is Dear Stinkpot: Letters from Louise Brooks, by Jan Wahl. As fans and devotees of Brooks should know, Wahl and Brooks were longtime friends, and correspondents. (The title, by the way, comes from Brooks’ nickname for the author.) This 200 page collection of letters from the actress to the author, with helpings of Wahl’s commentary, was originally published in softcover by Bear Manor Press in 2010. A hardback edition was published by Bear Manor in 2016. Whichever edition you get, either is recommended… but let me add this small anecdote: Some years back, I was speaking with film historian Kevin Brownlow, who knew and interviewed Brooks back in the 1960s. Brownlow mentioned that he had not read Dear Stinkpot. I offered to send him one, and did so. Sometime later, Brownlow told me how interesting he found Wahl’s book. So-much-so, he indexed it!
The text on the back of the book serves as an excellent summation: “Louise Brooks and Jan Wahl had a special, roller-coaster relationship lasting twenty-odd years. He met the legendary star when he was a student; it turned out each of them hoped to be a writer. This intense friendship continued by letter and in person. The letters from Louise reveal much of her inner personality – her insights and anecdotes make fascinating, compelling reading.” It’s true. Samuel Bernstein, the author of Lulu, a novel about Louise Brooks, called Dear Stinkpot, “”
Dear Stinkpot is a goldmine of information — what nuggets turn-up. For example, I have long felt that Brooks carried the shame of her 1924 dismissal from the Denishawn Dance Company for at least part of her life. Brooks viewed herself as a dancer first and foremost, and her dismissal from the Denishawn Dance Company by Ruth St. Denis — an artist she admired, was a cause of personal shame. Brooks rebounded of course, and found work with the George White Scandals and Ziegfeld Follies before moving on to a successful career in the movies. But still, I think, she never really let go of that early humiliation. I say this because Brooks, to some degree, continued to follow the careers of Ruth St. Denis and Ted Shawn. They were in her thoughts, and Brooks likely desired some sort of closure, or at least understanding. In a 1964 letter to Wahl included in Dear Stinkpot, Brooks mentioned that she once attended one of Shawn’s classes in 1926, two years after she was dismissed, and while she was making pictures for Paramount on Long Island. Who knew?
The craft of writing, as well as books, authors, and the actress’ current reading, are the dominant topics in Dear Stinkpot. There are, for instance, a handful of letters regarding Vladimir Nabokov. Wahl had taken classes with the Russian émigré at Cornell University and was an advocate of his fiction, including Lolita. At the time, Brooks was working on a never published essay titled “Girl Child in Films.” The actress read Nabokov’s then (in)famous novel — and disliked it, at first. Eventually, however, Brooks changed her mind about “Naby’s” fiction. She came to appreciate his use of language and sense of satire. Brooks even hoped Wahl might be able to pass along to Nabokov her 1951 autobiographical short story, “Naked on My Goat.” Brooks described it as her own version of Lolita.
As with Nabokov, Brooks at first disliked then came to appreciate the work of another contemporary writer. “The dialogue in Beckett is marvelous,” she would write in one letter. Other writers, including Hemingway, take her punches, as would F. Scott Fitzgerald for other reasons. There is admiration for earlier authors like Thackery and Dickens. There are gossipy anecdotes about the Algonquin Roundtable writers who hung out in her Ziegfeld Follies dressing room. And there is a consideration of Leslie Fiedler’s once seminal Love and Death in the American Novel.
Despite a continuous exchange of letters, it wasn’t easy being Brooks’ friend. She wrote, “The MAD AT BROOKS CLUB is a seething kettle.” The first letter in this collection begins, “If you care to be my pen pal, I’ll thank you not to write on both sides of that thin paper.” In later letters, Brooks’ pointedly challenges Wahl’s early efforts at getting published, knocks his literary heroes, and occasionally comes off somewhat snarky. Apologies would follow, as would Brooks’ homemade fudge.
But along with the challenges were the rewards. Brooks could be witty, whimsical, profound, and endearing. And fascinating. What movie lover (and Wahl was that, as well as a collector of vintage films) wouldn’t want to receive letters detailing meeting Jean Harlow, how Lillian Gish acted with her hair, personal observations of Chaplin, Garbo, Buster Keaton and Clara Bow, critiques of films and film makers, critiques of film historians, and the admission that her favorite actor was Ronald Colman. Only occasionally would Brooks reference her own work, her now immortal performance as Lulu in G.W. Pabst’s Pandora’s Box, and her still highly regarded roles in Diary of a Lost Girl, Beggars of Life and other films.
There were other epistolary discussions. About her finances: CBS founder William S. Paley gave her a monthly allowance, in remembrance of their brief affair decades earlier. About religion: Brooks converted to Catholicism for nearly a decade and read various mystical texts including works about Saint Teresa of Ávila. And about dance: especially Isadora Duncan. Brooks saw the legendary dancer perform, most likely in the early 1920’s when she was still a teenage member of the Denishawn Dance Company. In the early 1960’s, Brooks was considering the subject of dance while working on a never finished essay on women and movement. One of Brooks’ singular observations was regarding Duncan’s large flopping breasts.
Wahl has written about his friendship with Brooks in earlier articles scattered in various newspapers and magazines. There is also a substantial piece about the actress in Wahl’s engaging book of autobiographical essays, Through a Lens Darkly (BearManor Media, 2008). However, Wahl’s 2009 book, Dear Stinkpot: Letters from Louise Brooks, is the most detailed and telling portrait yet of their friendship. The story of their friendship as revealed through these letters — and in Wahl’s worthwhile commentary interspersed throughout — is the story of two writers developing their craft. It is a revealing look at the later years of one of the remarkable personalities of the 20th century.
My interest in Louise Brooks brought Wahl to my attention, and me, apparently, to him. (Wahl was not on the internet, so how he heard about me and the Louise Brooks Society I don’t really know. I think someone told him about me and the LBS – and that someone may well have been a niece from Atlanta, Georgia, with whom I was briefly acquainted.) Shortly before Dear Stinkpot‘s release in early 2010, Wahl sent me an autographed copy – the first he signed – of his then new book. It is something I will always treasure. Later on, I wrote an article about Dear Stinkpot – a book which I love and have read two or three times – for the Huffington Post. That piece and another I wrote about an earlier Wahl book, Through a Lens Darkly, appear in my 2019 book, Louise Brooks: The Persistent Star.
Over the years, I had the pleasure of exchanging a few letters with Wahl. And, we spoke on the phone a few times, with Wahl regaling me with stories of his friendship with Brooks, a few of which will never see print…. The last time we spoke, Wahl called to ask my opinion of the worth of an Edward Steichen portrait of Louise Brooks which he owned. He wanted it to find a good home. Back in 2013, I wrote a blog post about that phone call with Wahl, and am including an edited version of it here.
“I just got off the phone with Jan Wahl, the celebrated children’s book author and longtime friend of Louise Brooks. We talked about many things, including books, old theaters, the movies — both classic and contemporary, and of course Brooks herself. This is the first time Jan and I have spoken on the phone, though we have exchanged letters and books. Jan recounted a number of stories about Brooks, some of which were included in his books and other writings, and some of which I had never heard before (and wouldn’t dare repeat). Jan has known and befriended many interesting and famous people over the years. For several months, he worked with noted filmmaker Carl Theodor Dreyer during the filming of Ordet (The Word), and later turned experience that into a fascinating book from the University Press of Kentucky. He was also for a time the personal secretary to Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen), the celebrated novelist and short story writer. In the course of our 30 minute conversation, Wahl also recounted anecdotes of encounters with the likes of artist Jasper Johns, sculptor Alexander Calder, and photographer Edward Steichen.”
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Jan Wahl (1931 – 2019) is an interesting figure in his own right. He received a B.A. from Cornell University in 1953, where he took classes from Vladimir Nabokov. He did his graduate studies at the University of Copenhagen (as a Fulbright scholar, 1953-1954), and the University of Michigan (M.A., 1958), where he won the Avery Hopwood Prize in Short Story Fiction for Seven Old Maids.
Wahl is the author of more than 100 books, many of which have been translated into other languages. He began authoring and publishing children’s books in 1964, achieving artistic and commercial success with Pleasant Fieldmouse (1964, illustrated by Maurice Sendak), Cobweb Castle (1968, illustrated by Edward Gorey – another fan of Brooks), The Norman Rockwell Storybook (1969, illustrated by Norman Rockwell), Grandmother Told Me (1972, illustrated by Mercer Mayer), Humphrey’s Bear (1988, illustrated by William Joyce), and others. One of his books for young adults is Youth’s Magic Horn: Seven Stories (1978), which is dedicated to Louise Brooks, “with love and thanks.”
Another book of interest to fans of Louise Brooks is Wahl’s Through a Lens Darkly, which was published by Bear Manor in 2009. On its cover, the book describes itself as “Adventures with Louise Brooks, Lillian Gish, Dolores Del Rio, Jackie Coogan, Leni Riefinstahl, Rita Hayworth, Robert Mitchum, Mae West, Carl Th. Dreyer, Isak Dinesen & Others.” Along with a chapter recounting his nearly 20 year friendship with Brooks, Wahl also tells of the time he nearly killed Greta Garbo, and what it was like to work with the legendary Danish director Carl Dreyer, Wahl also details the his encounters with lesser-known personalities like animators Hugh Harman and Rudy Ising, and legendary dancers Paul Swan and Ruth St. Denis.
I reviewed Through a Lens Darkly for the old examiner.com news site in 2009. Some of what I said then I’ll include here. “Jan Wahl has led a charmed, almost storybook life. He has followed his interests and passions with zeal. He has gone places and done things most of us only dream of. Part of his good fortune has to do with his talents as a writer, his artistic sensibility and appreciation for great and fine things. Some of it has to do with being in the right place at the right time. But then, chance favors the prepared mind. [Wahl] has also been a life-long film buff. His interest in and passion for the movies have brought him into contact with a number of greats – as fan and enthusiast, as a writer, and as a film collector. Those encounters, and more, are related in an enjoyable new book of essays….”
“The chapter titles tell the story: “Conrad Veidt Slept Under the Bed” (about the author’s youthful adoration of the actor), “Gloria Swanson Wore a Funny Hat,” “The Day I Almost Killed Garbo” (a commonplace anecdote with mystical overtones), “Glamour Pusses Up Close: Mae West, Marlene Dietrich, Dolores Del Rio and Rita Hayworth,” and “Postcards from Leni.” The latter relates Wahl’s consideration of and correspondence with the German filmmaker, Leni Riefenstahl.
Of special interest are two chapters, “A Cup of Coffee for Carl Th. Dreyer” and “Quick Comet in the Sky: Louise Brooks.” The first tells the story of how Wahl came to work for and befriend Carl Th. Dreyer, the great Danish director whose few works include two masterpieces, The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) and Vampyr (1932). Wahl recounts his participation in the making of Dreyer’s second from last film, Ordet, in 1955.
Wahl enjoyed — and at times probably didn’t enjoy — a 20 year friendship with the legendary silent film star, Louise Brooks. Wahl writes, ‘I feel lucky to have known her. Yet she was not easy to know. Without a doubt, she was the most complex, most baffling, the brightest person I have known. She may have shared intelligent and sparkling insights, but she could be fiercely angry and sharp tongued. Then, just perhaps, apologetic. If I look at her movies, mostly Beggars of Life, Pandora’s Box, Diary of a Lost Girl or Prix de Beaute, I marvel at what she suggested onscreen – despite a disappointing life.’
In the book’s most sustained chapter, Wahl details how he came to know the actress while a student in Copenhagen in the 1950’s. A telling photograph shows Brooks, James Card and Wahl at the Danish Film Museum in 1957.
Over the next two decades, Wahl received more than 100 letters from “Brooksie” or “Loulou” – as well as the occasional “excellent homemade fudge.” Those letters (which would certainly make a great book) reveal Brooks’ intense isolation, her coming to terms with her past, and her struggle to become a writer. It was a dream the older Brooks and the young Wahl shared.
Early on, Wahl helped Brooks with her own writing. And over the years, through their correspondence and meetings, the young fan became the fallen star’s champion. Nevertheless, in Through a Lens Darkly, Wahl tells sobering stories of Brooks’ later years.”
Not long after my 2009 review, Wahl turned his collection of letters into a book, Dear Stinkpot. I was thrilled. I was also pleased when I received a letter from Wahl thanking me for my review. He liked it, and sometime after, his publisher, Bear Manor, issued a flier promoting Through a Lens Darkly which included blurbs from science fiction great Ray Bradbury, actress Julie Harris, and your truly. I was honored.
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