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PEN FOR HIRE

Nancy's Ghost

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those years in captivity?"
"Sharansky is very stubborn, but he's
also open-minded. He finally agreed to an
epilogue. I feel wonderful about that. Also,
more of his humor could come through
that way. The first time I met Sharansky,
he said, 'Everywhere I go in America, peo-
ple say three things to me: "Nice to meet
you. You are an inspiration to me. Have a
nice day." ' As soon as I heard that, I
thought, 'That line has to be in the book.' "
Indeed, Fear No Evil's eight-page
epilogue is perhaps the most relaxed, con-
versational — and outright funny — part
of the book. The previous 416 pages re-
count numerous KGB interrogations,
Sharansky's wily and, often, witty strategy
in dealing with Soviet authorities, his
hunger strikes, his months and months in
cold, damp isolation cells — and his
mesmerizing reunion with his wife. Not, of
course, to minimize any of this, but much
of it — or, at least, much of the general
outline of Sharansky's gulag years — has
entered contemporary Jewish con-
sciousness. So powerful in its mythology,
it has almost become folklore.
The epilogue gives us new insight into
how someone from a culture steeped in
paranoia and totalitarianism, after eight
years in prison in that culture, reacts to the
vagaries and choices of freedom — and to
suddenly being catapulted into the
limelight. To the West, Sharansky was a
hero, the man who outfoxed the KGB. To
Sharansky, Sharansky was Sharansky, a
stubborn fellow, but essentially a reflective
man.

W

hen Sharansky first
met Novak, he said,
"Everywhere I go in
America, people say three
things to me: 'Nice to meet
you. You are an inspiration
to me. Have a nice day." "
Novak immediately thought,
"That line has to be in the
book."

"In freedom," he tells us in the epilogue,
"I am lost in a myriad of choices. When I
walk on the street, dozens of cheeses, fruits
and juices stare at me from store win-
dows . . . An endless series of decisions
must be made: What to drink in the morn-
ing, coffee or tea? What newspaper to read?
What to do in the evening? Where to go for
the Sabbath? Which friends to visit?"
"In the punishment cell, life was much
simpler. Every day brought only one
choice: good or evil, white or black, saying
yes or no to the KGB ... I had all the time
I needed to think about these
choices ... Now, lost in thousands of mun-
dane choices, I suddenly realize that there's
no time to reflect on the bigger questions."

But some of the smaller questions have
easier resolutions. How to cease being a
symbol and be more of a human being?
Sharansky is relieved when several people
fail to recognize him in the street. In a
hotel elevator, he is startled when a tourist
from Brazil first shakes his hand, then em-
braces • him, then hugs him. Finally, the
Brazilian says proudly, "Now I'll go home
and tell everyone I met Sakharov."
Walking one day by the kindergarten
near Sharansky's apartment, the
youngsters poke their fingers through the
fence, pointing in his direction and calling
out. He quickly straightens up "with a
proud look" and "gives them a kindly smile
— like a hero."
"But why are they pronouncing my
name so strangely?" ponders Sharansky.
"What were they shouting — Sus? Horse?
I turned around and discovered the true
object of the children's attention — a man
riding a handsome horse. Sic transit gloria
mundi."
Working with Sharansky, said Novak,
was "wonderful. I felt like I was working
with someone out of the Bible. Sharansky
is an opinionated, thoughtful man. He also
doesn't take himself too seriously."
Both Sharansky and Novak are disap-
pointed with the reviews of Fear No Evil,
contending that they are "boring." Sharan-
sky has told the New York Times that his
book is "much more fun" than its reviews.
"Maybe," he ventured, "American review-
ers have no sense of humor."
"I'm not an impartial observer," con-
ceded Novak, "but I would not allow
myself to be a party to a boring book.
Sharansky is anything but boring. As
A.M. Rosenthal said in his [New York
Times] column, 'This is a book for the ages.'
It has great themes. I was hoping there
would be at least one major review as in-
teresting as the book."

Flexibility is a Must
lb some extent, it is easier to envision
Novak working with Sharansky than with
Nancy Reagan or Lee Iacocca. Both Novak
and Sharansky share a puckish, very up-
front sense of humor. For all his showman-

26 .,F911DAY,,AUUST, 12, 1980-,

ship on Chrysler commercials or during the
Statue of Liberty hoopla two years ago,
Iacocca seems to have a sense of humor as
sprightly as Miss Liberty herself. As for
Mrs. Reagan's penchant for rolling in the
aisles when she hears a good one, we'll just
have to take her ghost writer's word for it
for now.
But if anything, ghosting has demon-
strated Novak's flexibility. Anyone whose
subjects traverse the auto business, the
renascent New Dealism of Tip O'Neill, the –(
ordeals of Natan Sharansky, the high-
priced pimping of Sydney Barrow and,
now, the woman's side of the Reagan White
House, had better be flexible.
On the other hand, Novak clearly knows
on which side his literary life is buttered.
When he was asked by Bantam Books in
the summer of 1982 to work on the Iacoc-
ca book, Novak had already struck out on
his first book (High Culture), achieved a
modest success with his second (The Big
Book of Jewish Humor) and was finishing
his third (The Great American Male Short-
age, which would duplicate his first book's
resounding failure.)
Novak denies friends' speculations that
he is wearying of ghosting. "I enjoy this,"
he said. "I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't.
It's interesting, stimulating, challenging,
ego gratifying and it sure pays the bills!'
Novak never intended to become a hired
pen. Raised in Tbronto, he attended a
"semi-Orthodox" day school and was a
camper and then a counselor at the Con-
servative movement's Camp Ramah for ten
years. In 1969, he moved to New York to
be the 21-year-old editor of Response, the
magazine of the then-fledgling chavurah
movement.
"Bill was a leader of the literary side of
the chavurah movement," recalled Rabbi
Arthur Green, president of the Reconstruc-
tionist Rabbinical College outside
Philadelphia.
Added Ira Silverman, executive vice-
president of the American Jewish Commit-
tee, "Bill and his associates at Response
were among the most creative people in
Jewish life."
Novak stayed with Response for five
years. He stayed with New York for one
year. "Liked my involvements," he said.
"Did not like the city. Found I could do the
same things in Boston and have lived there
ever since."
In 1975, he joined the new independent
Jewish magazine, Moment, as an editor.
"Bill knew more about magazines than I
did," said Moment founder and former
chief editor Leonard Fein.
Ikvo years later, caught in a staff cutback
at Moment, he turned to book writing.
When the call came to work on the Iacoc-
ca project, he was so discouraged with the
sale of his previous three books that he was
thinking about becoming a business
reporter.
Old-time friends say success has not