Editorial Secrets Revealed

Paul Johnson says an important part of it in his introduction to The Norman Podhoretz Reader (Free Press, 479 pages,, $35). Of Podhoretz he writes, “He is a bit of a prophet himself, gritty and angular, nonconformist and egregious, a purveyor of harsh and often unwelcome truth.” That is Podhoretz the political and cultural polemicist or, as his enemies prefer, the ideologist”and my friend Norman provides ample grist for the mills of both admirers and detractors who see him only in that mode. The Reader , however, contains much from the 1950s to the present that reveals other sides of the man: the literary critic, the observer of manners, the amateur (in the best sense) theologian, the autobiographer of an inexhaustible gratitude that someone like him could become who he is. (His 1967 book, Making It , scandalized many by its confession”and accusation”regarding the dirty secrets of ambition and hubris in the service of getting to the top. Almost all reviewers missed the wonder and gratitude that, admittedly, are less muted in his later autobiographical writing.)

The Reader is a gift to first-time readers and rereaders alike. Among the many excerpts on offer, I had not read or had read and forgotten”sorry, Norman, that is possible”an essay titled “In Defense of Editing.” Written when he was only six years into his thirty-five-year tenure as editor of Commentary , the essay addresses questions pertinent to any magazine of ideas, and not least this one. Podhoretz writes, “Most people, I imagine, if they think about it at all, think that the job of an editor is to pick and choose among finished pieces of work which have been submitted to him and deliver them to the printer; that is to say, he acts as a middleman between individual authors and an expectant public.” Some people no doubt do think that. Certainly some authors think the editor should be no more than that. In my experience, however, more people hold the editors responsible for every word published. In (I am glad to say) the relatively infrequent instances of readers asking that their subscriptions be cancelled, that is always the case. (I’ve always rather liked William F. Buckley’s response: “Cancel your own damn subscription.” As a priest, I could never say that, but my colleagues can.) It is true that the editors are responsible. What is not understood is that they do not necessarily endorse every idea or argument they think deserving of consideration. That touches on what might be called the character of a magazine, if indeed it has a character.

“Every magazine that deserves the name,” Podhoretz writes, “has a character, a style, a point of view, a circumscribed area of concern, a conception of how discourse ought to be conducted; if it lacks these things, it is not a magazine but a periodical anthology of random writings.” We receive many unsolicited submissions; all are welcome, all are considered, relatively few are published. Phrases such as “Not for us” or “Unsuitable” or “Doesn’t quite work” often accompany letters of rejection. Such phrases, says Podhoretz, “are used partly to soothe the wounded feelings of authors, but there is a truth in them by which magazines live or die.” Sometimes authors write back demanding to know why their article was unsuitable or why it doesn’t quite work. See Podhoretz on what every magazine that deserves the name has.

I know that sounds somewhat arbitrary, but there it is. De gustibus there is endless disputation. It is not only a matter of taste, however, as important as taste certainly is. It is a matter of coherence of argument and grace of style. The question repeatedly asked in editorial meetings here is, “Does it advance the argument?” Does it have something fresh to say, and does it say it freshly? Although, as a general rule, an author who thinks clearly writes clearly, there are sometimes good arguments badly written. In such cases, we ask whether it is worth a “typewriter job.” That is a phrase introduced to this shop by Midge Decter, Norman ‘s wife, during the wonderful years she was with us. A typewriter job means that you basically rewrite the piece. If the author will hold still for it. And of course it entails an enormous investment of editorial time and effort.

The great Methodist theologian and ethicist Paul Ramsey was a famously clear thinker and notoriously bad writer. When I was with another publication, I used to edit his prose, and it was almost always a typewriter job. With a high degree of regularity, Ramsey was very pleased with the result and would triumphantly display the published article as evidence against his reputation, of which he was keenly aware, of being a bad writer. I would bite my tongue, knowing that a requisite virtue in an editor is humility, a quality on which I am still working, with slight discernible success, or so colleagues and authors say.

For instance, in this shop we never ask the last of the questions in Podhoretz’s list of those questions editors regularly ask: “Is it right for us ? Can it be made right for us? How? Will the author be willing to revise? Are we being unfair or too rigid? Should we perhaps publish the piece more or less as it is? Are we perhaps a little crazy?” I don’t think Norman ever asked the last question either. But we do ask how the author will react to our editing. As Podhoretz writes, “Seeing the edited manuscript, the author, as likely as not, is more than a little outraged. This is, after all, his article; he takes responsibility for it; it is to appear under his name. By what right does anyone presume to tamper with it?” He then adds, “On the other hand, some authors, curiously enough including many who write very well, are often grateful for editing.” That is also our experience. A few good writers resist any editing, but more typically good writers appreciate good writing and welcome suggestions on how the very good might be made even better.

At Commentary Norman was a line-editor, meaning he massaged manuscripts line by line. Most of that is done here by Damon Linker and John Gray. Norman describes well that undercelebrated craft: “It takes a great deal of work, an enervating concentration on detail, and a fanatical concern with the bone and sinew of the English language to edit a manuscript”to improve an essentially well-written piece or to turn a clumsily written one into, at the very least, a readable and literate article, and, at the very most, a beautifully shaped and effectively expressed essay which remains true to the author’s intention, which realizes that intention more fully than he himself was able to do.” Or, I would add in some cases, was willing to take the time to do.

“Is it all worth it? Over and over again one asks oneself that question, tempted as one is to hoard some of the energy that goes into editing for thinking one’s own thoughts or doing one’s own writing.” Podhoretz answers: “In the end an editor is thrown back, as any man doing any job faithfully must be, on the fact that he cares and that he can therefore do no other. He cares about the English language; he cares about clarity of thought and grace of expression; he cares about the traditions of discourse and of argument. It hardly needs to be said that even good editors will sometimes bungle a job and that bad editors invariably will, but it nevertheless remains true that the editorial process is a necessity if standards are to be preserved and if the intellectual life in America is not to become wholly compartmentalized and ultimately sterile in spirit.”

Well, I’m not sure about that Luther-like “can do no other.” And there is a touch of hyperbole in the notion that we editors are preserving civilization as we know it. It is an excusable hyperbole, however, and, pushed to the wall, I do believe we play some unspecifiable but not inconsiderable part in maintaining a measure of clear thinking and literary grace in a largely debased intellectual culture. In any event, it is what I believe I have been given to do, and in doing it I am probably doing less damage than were I doing something else. On a lighter note, Podhoretz ends his essay by remarking, parenthetically, that it was not edited. He adds, “Perhaps”I hope not”it should have been.” In the years when I wrote with some frequency for Commentary , my pieces regularly emerged untouched by editorial hands. I’m sure they could have been improved. I do recall one instance in which I resisted Norman ‘s proposed concluding sentence, but then relented. He was right. He usually is. Usually.

For hours of pleasure and provocation with one of the most spirited thinkers and writers of the last several decades, you might want to check out, or even buy, The Norman Podhoretz Reader.