At Bellow’s memorial meeting, held in the Young Men’s Hebrew Association at Lexington Avenue and 92nd Street, two years ago, the main speakers were Ian McEwan, Jeffrey Eugenides, Martin Amis, William Kennedy, and James Wood. Had it not been for an especially vapid speech by some forgettable rabbi, the platform would have been exclusively composed on non-Jews, many of them non-American. How had Bellow managed to exert such an effect on writers almost half his age, from another tradition and another continent? Putting this question to the speakers later on, I received two particularly memorable responses. Ian McEwan related his impression that Bellow, alone among American writers of his generation, had seemed to assimilate the whole European classical inheritance. And Martin Amis vividly remembered something Bellow had once said to him, which is that if you are born in the ghetto, the very conditions compel you to look skyward, and thus to hunger for the universal.
From Christopher Hitchens’s review (2007) of two Library of America collections of Bellow’s fiction. In Arguably this easy is entitled Saul Bellow: The Great Assimilator (pages 62-63).
Though I’d agree with the central premise of McEwan’s position, I’d couple Bellow and Philip Roth as heirs to European classicism.
I like Bellow, like him a lot. But few things literary irritate me more than his crowd of famous, ponderous, self-important English admirers. Hitchens, Amis, McEwan, even Wood, how I wish they would all just shut up about him.
My loathing of Amis, McEwan and Rushdie put me off reading Hitchens, who I’ve only begun to read after his death. I’m reading through Hitchens’s essays with grudging admiration. They do make an odd set of disciples for Bellow.
Hitchens was capable of good writing, though he was often quite lazy. Stay away from his god book: easily the worst book, on any topic, I have ever read.
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