Orphe is my fourth novel. It actually began as a short story, written in Australia in the early 1960s. It never seemed quite right as a short story--it itched at me for years. In 1968 I took it with me, on my motorcycle, to Panama. I recall sitting in a Chinese cafe, reading it over a cup of coffee. I jotted down a few ideas, a few more lines. I sold my motorcycle to a man on a yacht, and continued south. I followed the Amazon from Pulcallpa, Peru, to Belem at the Atlantic coast of Brazil. I lived on a raft in Iquitos. I wandered the streets of Manaus...

My first novel, The Wilderrness, had been sent to three publishers and immediately rejected, which baffled me: I knew it was not just a good book, but a remarkable tour de force, something new and special. (It was finally published, some 35 years later, by FC2/Florida State University.) My second novel, Mofa, I sent to an agent. He wrote me a three page letter, essentially saying, "Novels like this should not be written, and if they are written, they should never be published." I was rather flattered, but I never sent the novel anywhere else. For my next book--The Pilgrim--I resolved to take a break: to write a novel that didnt attempt to explore new ground, but stayed within a more conventional framework. When finished, I sent it to another agent, who sent it to a publisher. The editor wrote back a nice letter, saying, well, this was a better book than most of what they published, but he could not see a way to advertise a story dealing with an obscure Christian heresy in the 8th century...

I brooded over this while I drifting down the Amazon. I resolved that in the future I would simply write my novels, and not concern myself with publishing them. There was something liberating in this idea. Thus, for Orphe, I decided to make no allowances for a reader. I did not care what publishers or anyone else thought. I would write what I wanted to write, in the way I thought best.

For some time I had been fascinated by the legends around Orpheus. Everyone knows the story of his descent into Hades, attempting to rescue his wiife, Eurydice. But there were many stories about Orpheus: he was the central figure in one of the Greek mystery religions. St Paul, when he was still Saul, was probably an adherent. Much of early Christian iconograpnhy is a blatant copy of Orpheus iconography. There were legends of his descents into Hades--he made many such journeys--returning with his songs. This, I felt, was the template of all artists: we descend into our own hells, and return with our novels, our paintings, our music. One story in particular interested me, an early version of the Oedipal myth, containing many references to the creation of the world. I decided I would use this myth as the backbone of the new novel, and build it around my recent voyages to central and south America.

I didnt attempt to publish Orphe until many years had passed, and my other books were appearing. But my publisher declined to bring it out. There were issues, it seems, about its eroticism. Perhaps some day I will try again.