‘Whom the gods wish to destroy,” Cyril Connolly wrote in 1938, “they first call promising.” If that is true, Norman Podhoretz is that rarest of Greek myths: a mortal who evades the designs of the gods. For his writerly career is ending as it began: with acclaim. The New York Review of Books’ Classics series has just reissued Podhoretz’s Making It, to celebrate the book’s 50th anniversary.
Making It is the story of how Podhoretz, a “filthy little slum child” from a Jewish enclave in Brooklyn, became a literary sensation in Manhattan — the journey from Brooklyn to Manhattan being “one of the longest journeys in the world,” Podhoretz writes in the famous opening sentence — and a member of the exclusive New York intellectual circle that included Lionel Trilling, Mary McCarthy, Hannah Arendt, Saul Bellow, and a number of (equally noteworthy) others. But as Podhoretz himself admits, the book is “not an autobiography in the usual sense,” nor is it an unqualified “success story.”
As Podhoretz observes, success is a confused matter in America. “On the one hand,” he writes, “our culture teaches us to shape our lives in accordance with the hunger for worldly things; on the other hand, it spitefully contrives to make us ashamed of the presence of those hungers in ourselves and to deprive us as far as possible of any pleasure in their satisfaction.” Here is the double-edged sword of the Protestant work ethic. The purpose of Making It, then, is “to describe certain fine-print conditions that are attached to the successful accomplishment of what the sociologists call ‘upward mobility’ in so heterogeneous a society as our own.”
Podhoretz is a self-professed glutton for literary eminence. He was, he says, “driven by an ambition for fame which . . . was self-acknowledged, unashamed, and altogether uninhibited.” Among the unwritten clauses in his vocational contract is a sensitivity regarding class. Although he does not realize it at the time, his first introduction to the many strata into which American society is divided comes courtesy of a high-school teacher who takes upon herself the burden of equipping him for a life beyond Brooklyn. Mrs. K “was saying that because I was a talented boy, a better class of people stood ready to admit me into their ranks,” he writes. “But only on one condition: I had to signify by my general deportment that I acknowledged them as superior to the class of people among whom I was born. That was the bargain — take it or leave it.”