It was John who told me that McCarthy worked in bed—a California king with high-thread-count sheets, the Olivetti on a wooden platform with a leather pillow underneath it, and piles of typed pages, magazines, books and catalogs. Writing, McCarthy once said, was not a conscious process for him. He put a blank piece of paper in the Olivetti, the words arrived, and he typed them down. But that was just the first stage of an extensive rewriting and structuring process, and some of his books took 20 years or more to get right. “Dad didn’t like being interrupted when he was working, or when he was reading,” John said. “‘No, no, no. I’m reading. Go away!’ he would say.

Uladimir Nabokov Ithaca, New YorkDate taken:1958Photographer:Carl Mydans