Definitions: Essays in Contemporary Criticism [First Series]Canby, Henry Seidel
History
Definitions: Essays in Contemporary Criticism [First Series]
Canby, Henry Seidel
American literature -- 20th century -- History and criticism; Criticism; English fiction -- History and criticism
As a reviewer of books, my experience has been lengthy rather than
considerable. It is, indeed, precisely twenty-two years since I
wrote my first review, which ended, naturally, with the words "a
good book to read of a winter evening before a roaring fire." I
remember them because the publishers, who are lovers of
platitudes, quoted them, to my deep gratification, and perhaps
because I had seen them before. Since then I have reviewed at
least twice as many books as there are years in this record--about
as many, I suppose, as a book-page war-horse in racing trim could
do in a month, or a week. My credentials are not impressive in
this category, but perhaps they will suffice.
As an author, my claim to enter upon this self-contained symposium
which I am about to present is somewhat stronger. Authors, of
course, read all the reviews of their books, even that common
American variety which runs like the telegraphic alphabet: quote--
summarize--quote--quote--summarize--quote, and so on up to five
dollars' worth, space rates. I have read all the reviews of my
books except those which clipping bureaus seeking a subscription
or kind friends wishing to chastise vicariously have neglected to
send me. As an author I can speak with mingled feelings, but
widely, of reviews.
Editorially my experience has been equally poignant. For ten years
I have read reviews, revised and unrevised, in proof and out of
it. I have cut reviews that needed cutting and meekly endured the
curses of the reviewer. I have printed conscientiously reviews
that had better been left unwritten, and held my head bloody but
unbowed up to the buffets of the infuriated authors. As an editor
I may say that I am at home, though not always happy, with
reviewing and reviewers.
And now, when in one of those rare moments of meditation which
even New York permits I ask myself why does every man or woman
with the least stir of literature in them wish to review books, my
trinitarian self--critic, author, editor--holds high debate. For a
long time I have desired to fight it out, and find, if it can be
found, the answer.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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