This piece cuts through the romantic veneer of literary biography to expose a chilling reality: the American cultural scene in postwar Paris was not just a haven for artists, but a battlefield for intelligence agencies. Lee Fang argues that the new biography of Peter Matthiessen, while detailing his life, deliberately sidesteps the most uncomfortable truth—that the celebrated writer likely spied on his own friends and fellow dissidents. For a reader seeking to understand the mechanics of Cold War soft power, this is essential listening, as it reframes a beloved literary figure not as a lone wolf, but as a cog in a vast machine of surveillance.
The Unanswered Question
Fang opens by highlighting a glaring omission in Lance Richardson's 716-page biography, True Nature. Despite having access to the Matthiessen estate and decades of research, the book fails to answer the fundamental question: what did Matthiessen actually do? Fang writes, "Unfortunately, the new biography doesn't solve the mystery, or even really try." This is a sharp critique of a genre that often prioritizes hagiography over historical accountability. The author suggests that the silence is deafening, especially given that the files in question are nearly seventy-five years old and the primary subjects are dead. Why the discretion? Fang posits that the answer lies in the nature of the work itself.
The piece details how Matthiessen, recruited out of Yale, arrived in Paris with a romantic notion of spying on foreign communists. However, the reality was far more insidious. Fang notes that for the most part, Matthiessen seems to have spied on other expats, blurring the line between intelligence gathering and informing on friends. "For the most part, however, Matthiessen seems to have spied on other expats, which blurs the lines between spying and something less noble: informing." This distinction is crucial. Informing on peers who were fleeing the very persecution the agency represented strikes at the heart of the American literary mythos. It forces us to reconsider the safety of the expatriate community, which was likely permeated by surveillance.
"Deceiving people as to—? As to who you are, your identity, what you're up to, what you want to know... I was getting information on people."
The Shadow of Richard Wright
The most compelling part of Fang's analysis centers on the potential betrayal of Richard Wright. Wright, a towering figure in American literature, fled to France to escape the blacklist and FBI harassment, only to find himself in a city where his friends might be reporting on him. Fang writes, "We should want to know what Matthiessen did, because there have long been unsettling indications that he spied on other writers – particularly dissident writers, including Richard Wright." The stakes here are not just literary; they are human. Wright died young, and while some attribute it to stress, others suspect intelligence agency malfeasance. The biography's failure to address whether Matthiessen targeted Wright feels like a missed opportunity to confront a potential moral catastrophe.
Fang introduces the work of historian Craig Lanier Allen, a former spy who brought a unique perspective to the investigation. Unlike the biographer, Allen did not shy away from the possibility of betrayal. Fang highlights Allen's devastating conclusion: "In one devastating quote, he shows that if he did spy on Wright (which Allen believes he did), it was unquestionably a personal betrayal." Allen's analysis suggests that Matthiessen was likely a contract worker, managed by the CIA, rather than a high-level officer. This distinction, Fang argues, might not have mattered to Wright, whose FBI file was filled with reports from fellow writers. The system was designed to turn community against itself.
A counterargument worth considering is that Matthiessen, like many of his generation, was navigating a complex Cold War landscape where the definition of patriotism was fluid. Fang acknowledges that Matthiessen later defended himself by distinguishing the early CIA from the agency's later, more notorious activities. "In Matthiessen's defense, most Americans were still processing the terms of the cold war in the early 1950s," Fang notes. Yet, this defense does little to absolve the personal harm done to those who trusted him. The tragedy is that the very people seeking freedom from political persecution found themselves surveilled by the state they had fled.
The Culture of Silence
The piece also explores why the literary community seemed to shrug off the revelation. After Matthiessen was outed in 1977, he continued to win major awards, including the National Book Award. Fang writes, "Whether it was wagon-circling or indifference, Matthiessen seemed to be in the clear." This indifference is perhaps the most disturbing element of the story. It suggests a collective desire to ignore the uncomfortable reality that the cultural institutions they cherished were compromised. The Paris Review, co-founded by Matthiessen, even threatened to sue a journalist who attempted to publish details about his spying. Fang observes, "One possibility: Plimpton just wanted the spying issue to go away, which it had after the Times exposé." The silence of the peers was as much a part of the cover-up as the secrecy of the agency.
The biography's obliqueness mirrors the subject's own evasion. Fang points out that the book thanks the family for their "willing cooperation," yet the narrative remains vague. "Overall, '[w]hat Matthiessen did, day to day for the CIA, remains something of a mystery,' he writes." This lack of clarity leaves the reader with a sense of unresolved tension. The files remain sealed, and the truth about the extent of the surveillance on the expatriate community is lost to time. Fang concludes that unless the CIA releases these records, we are left with only the echoes of deception.
Bottom Line
Lee Fang's commentary effectively exposes the moral ambiguity at the heart of a celebrated literary life, challenging the reader to look beyond the romance of the expatriate experience. The strongest part of the argument is the focus on the human cost of this surveillance, particularly regarding Richard Wright, which transforms a historical curiosity into a profound ethical failure. However, the piece's biggest vulnerability is its reliance on the absence of evidence; without the declassified files, the full scope of Matthiessen's betrayal remains speculative. Readers should watch for any future declassification efforts, as the truth about the CIA's infiltration of the literary world is a story that refuses to stay buried.