PROFILE

pen the first door.
Here you meet Chance, a man who
has spent his entire life in front of a
television set.
Open the second.
Now you find Goddard, a
mysterious composer who refuses to
divulge his true identity.
Open the third and you find a
young boy who spends his childhood
days in a world that spins like a
kaleidoscope from one wicked and
bizarre adventure to another.
This is the house that Jerzy Kosin-
ski built.
Kosinski, the author of such works
as the book-turned-movie "Being
There," "Pinball" and "The Painted
Bird," was in Michigan recently to
receive an honorary degree from Al-
bion College.
In an interview, the Jewish author
described himself as an architect of
sorts when it comes to his books. He
starts with "the large plan of the
house, but I can always buy new fur-
niture."
He can take the furniture out, too.
Or replace it with something new Or
put in more. Kosinski, 54, says he is
constantly "expanding and reducing
and expanding and reducing" his
works.
Ideas for all his books were, at one
time or another, kept in a thick black
portfolio which Kosinski carries
everywhere, and which he guards
fiercely.
It's a portfolio of his thoughts, with
several slips of paper opening the doors
to his memory. Inside are photocopies
of the cover of "The Painted Bird" —
highlighted with bright colors from felt
pens. Tucked between stacks of notes
are numerous articles about the
Holocaust, the subject of many of his
writings.
Many of these notes are then
organized into packets of twos and
threes and covered with neon stickers.
The yellow ones signal ideas ready to
go. He won't say what the green ones
represent. And then there is a sticker
with a crazy face — crossed eyes and
a protrouding tongue. That one, Kosin-
ski says, "is just for fun."
Gone from the portfolio are his
notes from "The Hermit of 69th
Street;' Kosinski's latest novel, which
will be published in June. Added to the
collection are photographs of Kosinski's
recent trip to his native Poland — his
first in 30 years.
In one of the snapshots, Kosinski
is wearing a kippah and sitting inside

Author Jerzy Kosinski just
returned from his first visit in
30 years to his native Poland,
but his only real home is the
world of imagination

ELIZABETH KAPLAN

Staff Writer

a small synagogue. In another, he
stands just outside the gates of
Auschwitz.
There is a haunting quality to
these pictures, reminiscent of the
James Agee classic 'A Death in the
Family," in which a young father is
caught in fragile suspension between
the past and the future.
Kosinski lost most of his family in
the Holocaust. "A whole civilization
died," he says of the Nazi terror.
His trip to Poland represented "a
return to certain aspects of myself that
had been left dormant simply because
I left 30 years ago;' Kosinski says.
It also answered his question of
whether "I am a creature of Auschwitz
or a creature of joy" What he found was
that he was defined solely by neither,
but rather "by the force of fantasy."
Kosinski's interest in his history is
further expressed through his work as
chairman of the board of the American
Foundation for Polish-Jewish Studies,
other members of which include
Czeslaw Milosz, Elie Wiesel and
Zbigniew Brzezinski.
Established four years ago, the
foundation seeks to study and promote
Polish-Jewish culture.
"Poland," Kosinski says, "is a
Jewish country without Jews." He says
that much of Polish culture —
literature especially — is Jewish. And
Poles are "profoundly aware" of how
much of their own history they lost in
the Holocaust.
Readers may hope Kosinski's next
novel will focus on a man who is swept
into a horrible war, leaves his native
land and returns 30 years later. Then
they can draw parallels between the
lives of the central character and the
enigmatic author.
Kosinski seems amused, but hard-
ly taken with such fancies. Press as
much as you want for Kosinski to
acknowledge the clear parallel between
the writer and his characters — it is a
hopeless battle.
Yet he does admit there is a "con-
fessional" tone to his books, a tradition
he says he inherited from the mostly
Catholic Poland where he was raised.
But conscious autobiography? Kosinski
says no.
The stories, he says, "are not con-
nected to my life — but rather to my
imagination."
He acknowleges that excerpts from
his own life frequently appear in his
novels. Like the author, his characters
are immigrants, polo players and ski

Continued on Page 90

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