Sinclair Lewis is by far the most optimistic of all contemporary American novelists, at least in his first novels. And yet the sting of the bee is there, and, the more he progresses in his career, the more disillusioned he seems to become concerning the things and people around him. What sort of United States does he show us? First of all, an immense country, prosperous, comfortable and self-satisfied on the surface, and in which more than one hundred million human beings live a sort of vegetative life. This indeed is surprising to the traveler from abroad, who visits the American shores. He sees optimism and joy all around him. Joy is the product of action and the only incentive to it. Neither action nor joy are possible without optimism. That Puritanism should permit Americans to remain gay sounds paradoxical, but Americans are not all Puritans and their joviality as a people is indisputable. Optimism and contentment are the daily colors of American life. Europe is a gloomy country in comparison with America. “Smile and be happy!” could never be a motto for the Old World. How could the average American help being content? To confine ourselves to “Babbitt” and “Main Street,” Americans in Sinclair Lewis’ novels are happy people. They enjoy material comfort, sociability, confidence in what the future has in store for them. Anybody who has had the privilege of living in America knows well what that means. Comfort and material ease first. There is in the United States a striking unanimity of contentment. In no other country has the average man so many practical reasons for believing in material success. Success is the rule in America for the average person with an average intelligence. Not everybody makes a fortune, many vegetate, a great many fail, but, materially speaking, the United States is the land of plenty. There are comparatively few paupers. Nearly every one is assured of a fair minimum of comfort and ease. Large or small, the average American has a home, a hearth, a house which is, as a rule, more comfortable than the average European dwelling. Clean, neat and freshly painted, the American bungalow or cottage is not necessarily artistic, but it is agreeable. Friendly and yet distant from the neighbors, it is the image of its owner. Each house is isolated, and yet sufficiently near another to facilitate neighborliness. It is surrounded by a lawn carefully and almost religiously mowed. Inside, there is a furnace heater, one or several bathrooms, electric lighting, an icebox, not to forget the phonograph and the radio. And who in America has not a garage, were it only for a “Ford”? Living is simple, as is the furniture--and in still greater degree, the cooking.