“I never claimed to be a paragon of normal desire—”
I had no idea that Delany (78) ‘retired’ as long ago as 2015. I assume this is only from the rigours of academic life and teaching, because he is still very much publishing: Wesleyan University Press just released the first 400-page volume of ‘Occasional Views’, while Delany himself self-published the 500-page novel ‘Shoat Rumblin: His Sensations and Ideas’ in 2020. (It is somehow extremely satisfying that Delany’s concept of porn as a ‘para-literary genre’ still ruffles the feathers of propriety).
Given his extensive and diverse career, it is incredible to think that Delany was only 25 when the events recounted in ‘Heavenly Breakfast’ transpired. Included at the beginning is a wonderful black-and-white photograph of a very dapper-looking Chip with his friends, taken by Bernard Kay in 1967.
At the end, Delany describes how he told his friends about the book and if he had ‘mispresented’ anything. “Do you think I’ve left out too much?” he asks worriedly. To which Sue replies: “Well, you’ve left out an awful lot about yourself.”
Of course, this was a time long before he was the cultural icon he is today. Delany proudly notes that his ‘personal income’ from writing then was $26, which kept him afloat at the commune. While he is very much a background figure, anyone familiar with his career will easily discern his larger-than-life presence throughout. It is clear that his brief six-month stint at ‘Heavenly Breakfast’ had a lasting influence, with the ripples and refractions from this early period having a big impact on ‘Dhalgren’.
What is also abundantly clear from ‘Heavenly Breakfast’ is what a naturally gifted writer Delany is. Yes, there is the occasional braggadocio that must make even the older Chip cringe. But there is a suppleness and life to the writing, and a richness of telling detail and trenchant observation, not to mention joie de vivre, humour and general sexiness, that all combine to make this a riveting joy to read.
For the Constellation Press edition, Delany contributes some fascinating footnotes and biographical details. He mentions: “I’ve always thought of the book as an essay and never as an autobiography, although there is lots of biographical material.” He first goes to the commune after he and Marilyn Hacker “were not really getting alone” (Delany quotes one of her poems in the book). “All I took was my guitar case and some underwear,” he says matter-of-factly.
After ‘Heavenly Breakfast’ the rock band – which lent its name to the commune, both becoming synonymous with each other – disbanded when their recording company went bankrupt, Delany managed to rent another apartment. Here he wrote ‘Nova’, probably the first proto-cyberpunk SF novel, and started work on his early-phase magnum opus, ‘Dhalgren’.
The sub-title ‘An Essay on the Winter of Love’ is a counter to the popular epithet of ‘Summer of Love’ coined for that era. With this, Delany refers to the shadow cast by the assassination of Martin Luther King, Robert Kennedy and the shooting of Andy Warhol as a hint of a greater darkness to come. While ‘Heavenly Breakfast’ does seem to exist in its own temporal bubble, suspended magically outside the relentless pull of history, Delany has always argued for the value of granularity and particularity in making history live and breathe:
I couldn’t talk about life at Heavenly Breakfast without talking about drugs and sex. Yet I couldn’t mention either without their falling into value matrices set up by other people which precluded what I really wanted to discuss: the texture and affectivity of life lived humanely, day by day.