“I think I discovered the Far West and some subject matter of my earlier fiction at almost the same time,” wrote Bernard Malamud about his decade in Oregon, during which he produced some of his best-known books: The Natural, The Assistant, The Magic Barrel. It was “an interesting conjunction, in imagination,” he went on, “of Oregon and the streets of New York. One’s fantasy goes for a walk and returns with a bride.”
I first read these words a year or so after I myself had moved from New Jersey to Oregon, and at first I didn’t understand what Malamud meant by them. Not that I didn’t understand intellectually—of course he was talking about writing of one place while living in a very different one—but I didn’t yet know how your imagination could conjoin Oregon and the streets of New York; I didn’t know how your fantasy could find a bride, and how you would recognize it if it did.
At the time, I was a graduate student at Oregon State, where, from 1949 to 1961, Malamud had taught composition and literature and won his first National Book Award before returning eas. As I walked the placid sidewalks of Corvallis and (more…)