It was not at all difficult to arrange the structure in that manner; when one takes as much for granted as I did in the story, it seems that that kind of development flows freely of its own accord, with its own logic. One writes for times like that to come, when meaning and logic and image and symbol fuse organically. One knows with a certainty of feeling then that one is right, which no logical contriving with one’s mind can give. I leave it for others to try to determine the value of the various images and symbols depicted; the order in which they came is something, too, which others may think of. I don’t think anyone can ever really know, and if they should ever really know, I think they’ll find that the search was not worthwhile. I don’t think anything in the book has any value save within the limits of the overall concept which colored Fred Daniels’s mind at that particular time. In other words, none of the images and symbols in The Man Who Lived Underground have any meaning in themselves; the meaning is only to be found in relation to other things, in relation to themselves as they appear in certain sequences; their total meaning represents the totality of all these symbols and images put together and their relationship to Fred Daniels and his fate.

Now to become more concrete in my descriptions. I’ve given as much of the general background as I can. Now I want to deal more with the actual process of the writing. (But first I think I should answer a question. One might ask: What then is the value of the story if the images and symbols in themselves have no meaning? Well, I think the meaning comes from our contemplating the entire act as one whole. There is a value in disclosing a human mind at work upon its destiny. Once we grasp Fred Daniels, we surely ought to know more about ourselves. The abstract dance of Fred Daniels is our dance on whatever plane we live, even though our decisions may differ from his as widely as chalk differs from cheese. It seems to me that a serious mind would want to know how some of the basic movements of any mind work, for in knowing, it will know how its own mind works.) I imagine it would be wise right here to say one or two words before I start, so I will not be risking kickbacks. I do not espouse the cause of surrealism in art, or a Freudian interpretation of life, or the psychoanalytic structure of the dream. I’m merely trying to explain what I felt was happening to some of the material in The Man Who Lived Underground as I dealt with it. Surrealism, as an end in itself, has no value that interests me. It is only when the device is used to communicate that it interests me; and I think that it can be used to communicate; it has been used to communicate; and it will be used for purposes of artistic communication. So much for that.