Who runs American publishing? Nobody runs it....

Who runs American publishing? Nobody runs it. This country has no ministry of culture. The jurisdiction of the ever-threatened Department of Education does not extend to publishing. As for the industry itself, it chops off and grows a few new heads each month.

Who runs Soviet publishing? Goskomizdat, the USSR Committee for Printing, Publishing and Book Trade, runs it. Every Soviet organization concerned with publishing, copyrighting, book trade and book exhibition comes under Goskomizdat jurisdiction.

Last month, an exhibition of Soviet health books took place at UCLA under the unlikely co-sponsorship of Goskomizdat and the Esalen Institute. Esalen, long-established in Big Sur as a center of the Human Potential movement, announced the exhibition as a part of its “Soviet-American Exchange Program.”

“We are guided,” the announcement read, “by the idea that a deeper awareness of human possibilities could contribute to personal and social development in both Soviet and American societies and help improve Soviet-American relationships. Our work is informed by the perspectives gained through 20 years of study at Esalen Institute of skills to enhance interpersonal relations.” Esalen, one recalls, is where the encounter group first took hold on the West Coast.

The announcement continued: “Our Track II (i.e. non-governmental) approach to furthering international cooperation emphasizes the need to understand the similarities and differences among disparate cultures in developing a more constructive attitude toward the interdependence of all life. We facilitate this understanding through informal communication, personal contact and dialogue between informed individuals in an open and trusting atmosphere.”

The Soviet delegation, headed by Goskomizdat Deputy Chairman Vasily Slastenenko, seemed decidedly more Track I than Track II; but for that very reason, I was curious about it. I accepted an invitation to the exhibition’s informal opening reception that was to be held in the home of publisher Jeremy Tarcher.

About 25 American guests were mingling with seven Russians when I arrived. Of the seven, five were in publishing and two were directly in medical and psychiatric research. I managed to shake hands with six and eventually found myself listening in on a conversation between Prof. Aron Belkin, head of the department of psychoneuroendocrinology at the Moscow Institute of Psychiatry, and a Beverly Hills psychotherapist, a middle-aged woman dressed entirely in black leather. Belkin--blushing pink and (as it seemed to me) smiling bashfully--was discussing his specialty: the psychological and medical problems of Soviet citizens who have had sex-change operations. “I am first sexologist in Soviet Union,” he said; he added that his work combines counseling and hormonal therapy. The lady in black complimented him in a husky voice. The United States, she said, was backward in the use of hormones: She had had to go to Switzerland for her own injections of sheep placenta.

Our conversation was interrupted by the start of the more formal part of the informal evening. Shari Lewis, Jeremy Tarcher’s wife, introduced Dulce Murphy, wife of Esalen co-founder Michael Murphy, who said that the Esalen-Soviet program in Track II diplomacy sought to find non-controversial areas--like health and fitness--where a conversation could begin between nations that, otherwise, were enemies. She then introduced Vasily Slastenenko, who made no mention of Track II but did express the hope that the book exhibition would contribute to Soviet-American understanding. Sheri Lewis returned with her famous puppet, Lambchop, who cheered the Russians in Russian (squeaky Russian) before introducing the guest of honor, newly re-elected Mayor Tom Bradley. Mayor Bradley, at his most relaxed and affable, his huge hands clasped quietly before him, greeted the visitors warmly on behalf of us all. The reception was over.

A basket of friendship pins--the crossed flags of the Soviet Union and the United States--was set out on the Tarcher piano. I scooped up a few as I left, but was there anything here to pursue? I was skeptical. And yet, as these were unquestionably some of the world’s most powerful publishers, I decided to give Esalen-style, Track II diplomacy a try. The next day, I phoned the Esalen press secretary and invited Vladimir P. Kartsev to visit me at The Times.

Kartsev is director of Mir, the main Soviet publisher of science and technology, most especially of scientific and technological translations. At the reception, we had spoken of translations and translators. He oversees scientific translations from Russian into 40 other languages and, as he added with a chuckle, “from one other language into Russian.” There was nothing daring in his remarks, but--how can one say this?--he seemed more European than Russian in his reaction to Dulce and Shari and Lambchop and Tom. A small spark had been struck. I thought the invitation worth a try.

To my dismay, Kartsev arrived at The Times in the company of Slastenenko, who spoke no English, and N. Furmanov, who was billed as a deputy but had an odd, slightly off-putting air of command. Apparently the delegation did not want me to meet with Kartsev alone. The Soviet intentions could have been made unmistakable had I insisted on leaving Slastenenko and Furmanov to cool their heels in the lobby while I met alone upstairs with Kartsev. Unfortunately, I lacked not only the chutzpah to do that but also the presence of mind even to think of doing that. The result, for Times writer Lee Dembart and me, was 45 minutes of Russian speechifying by Slastenenko, translated into sour English by Furmanov. Kartsev said little, deferring to Slastenenko throughout. I noted, however, that his few interventions were just what I had half-expected they would be.

Slastenenko was at great pains to point out that the Soviet Union had an active program for the translation of American literature, even contemporary literature, into Russian. I asked which American authors were most popular. “Jack London,” he said, “Kurt Vonnegut, Joyce Carol Oates.” “Oates?” I said, a little surprised; I knew the other two were Russian favorites. “Oh yes,” Slastenenko replied through Furmanov, “we do a lot of Oates.” “Too much,” Kartsev added in English.

A little later, when we walked down to the Book Review cabinets, which were packed, as usual, with, literally, a few thousand books, Kartsev said, “Very impressive.” Slastenenko grunted. Furmanov sniffed. The three were most concerned, naturally enough, with books about their own country. Victor Terras’ new “Handbook of Russian Literature” (Yale) pleased them. An anthology of Soviet dissident writing did not. I heard only Russian words about this book; but to judge from the tone of voice, the approximate translation was “There they go again.” I pointed out Thomas G. Butson’s biography “Gorbachev” (Stein & Day). “We don’t have one ourselves yet,” Kartsev said. Slastenenko gave the book a long look.

I showed them the shelves of bound proofs and explained the promotional philosophy: Finished book and finished review are to be ready at the same time. “Clever,” Kartsev said. Slastenenko said nothing. Too polite by half, I tucked the proofs of a book on Soviet psychiatric abuses in hospitals out of sight. Back in my office, Kartsev picked up a book on my desk, Robert V. Daniels’ “Russia, the Roots of Confrontation” (Harvard). “It should say, ‘Russia and America,’ ” he said. “There are two roots.”

Well, fair enough, Vladimir, but send your boss back to the hotel and let’s talk about it--you know, editor-to-editor, man-to-man, Track II. But it wasn’t going to happen that way. When we finally got round to Mir, Kartsev’s own operation, he was required to speak in Russian, so that Slastenenko could understand and, worse, to have his remarks translated into English by Furmanov, whose English was not nearly so good as his own. Once or twice, Kartsev corrected Furmanov’s English sotto voce. Was a smile playing at his lips? Impossible to say: He kept his eyes carefully down; a glance, the mood broken, and all had been lost.

The subject of Kartsev’s brief remarks: a forthcoming Mir book on nuclear winter entitled “The Night After: Climatic and Biological Consequences of a Nuclear War.” “The Night After” will be issued in several languages simultaneously. Interestingly, it was the dummy for the German edition that we were shown.

My one mildly probing question touched the alleged Soviet paper shortage. Americans hear much at the time of the Moscow Book Fair about American and Russian emigre titles blocked by Soviet customs. More tragic and much less publicized is the practical unavailability to ordinary Soviet citizens of the Russian classics themselves: Tolstoy, Dostoevski, Turgenev, etc. Handsome editions of these authors are on sale in shops that many foreigners visit, I am reliably informed, but few visitors realize that the shops are for foreigners only. Officially, a paper shortage makes the classics perennially scarce-to-unobtainable for the Soviets themselves, though works of contemporary Soviet Realism are always in abundant supply.

This was the paper shortage I asked about. Slastenenko gave, in response, the afternoon’s longest answer, and yet he did not say, even when I asked a second time, whether there was or was not a shortage. He only recited statistics: how many millions of volumes produced by category, by language, by region, etc. I had asked about several specific Russian writers by name. He mentioned only Pushkin in his answer--Pushkin, the most nationalistic of the Russian poets.

So, my skepticism about Track II diplomacy seemed justified. Nonetheless, the following day, I decided to give it one last try. I selected three books--one on health, one on Soviet geography, and Daniels’ “Russia, the Roots of Confrontation”--and had them couriered crosstown to Kartsev at UCLA, where the Soviet health books were by then on display. I invited him to review any or all of them, reading the English text, as I knew he could, and providing us a Russian-language review that I promised to have translated. That was a month ago. I have heard nothing in reply.