“Settles once and fornall ttie question ofnmedia bias in America.”n– Mono Charen, formernspeechwriter for PresidentnReagan.nFrom the publishers of Media-nWatch, a new book. And That’snthe Way It Isdit) provides 350npages of summaries, excerpts andnreprints of more than 45 studiesnthat demonstrate the media’snhberal bias. A one-stop resourcencontaining all the facts and figures,nexamples and quotes youllnneed to prove the media’s bias tonyour friends and colleagues.n”A great resource. Voluminouslyndocuments and analyzesnthe unmistakingly one-sided,nliberal bias of the media.nShould be required reading innevery joui-nalism class. Itnwon’t be.” — Michael Rosen, talknshow host, KOA Radio, Denver.n’Every conservative shouldnbuy one and mail it to annanchorman.” ~ Elliott Abrams,nformer Asst. Secretary of State.n”One heck of a book.” -nHarvey.nPauln$14.95, including shipping andnhandling. Visa & MasterCard orders,ncall 1-800-346-BIAS.nOr send check (Va residentsnadd 67 cents sales tax) to:nMedia Research Center Bookn111 S. Columbus St.nAlexandria, Va. 22314n34/CHRONICLESnabout American history. Another isnTate’s response to Lytle’s drafts of ThenVelvet Horn (1957), a powerful masterworknwith as many affinities to ParadisenLost as to Absalom, Absalom!nHere, in a December 23, 1954, letternto Lytle, Tate digresses to a meditationnon “society” in a way that leaves thentechnique of fiction behind—but notnthe ultimate concern of the novel, nornof two aging Agrarians.nThe society comes into fictionalnbeing only as a quality ofncharacter and action, not as annend in itself I can deliver myselfnof this wisdom because I havenbeen and still am to a greatnextent the victim of its lack. Itnhas occurred to me in recentnyears, in retrospect upon ourneariy days, that we made thenSouth, and especially the OldnSouth, an object of idolatry, innthe strict sense of the word: wenwere worshiping a “perishablengod.” I have come to the viewnthat no society is worth savingnas such: what we must save isnthe truth of God and Man, andnthe right society follows. Wenthought that the South was anhistorical problem; it wasnactually a theologicalnproblem. . . . Place in itself isnnothing . . . “place” does notnsustain us; we sustain place,nand through it nature will givenback to us only what we havenput into it.nLytle’s reply picks up the argument atnthe crucial point, in a statement that wenrehearse today though in other terms:nI don’t see how you can saventhe truth of God and mannexcept in terms of thenconventions of some society.nYou might have a privatensalvation, but we were bornnat such a time and werenformed by conventions whosenfragmentations had not reachednsuch a stage of dissolution asnthey have now. They hadnmeaning. Indeed there wouldnhave been no Oedipus withoutnan ordered state, and certainlynno Antigone without Creon.nNaturally religious belief is thenspiritual core, but theology isn’tnnnthe only discipline.nBut the letters exchanged by Lytle andnTate are also practical, affectionate,nhumble, and provisional. Often theynconcern politics in the small sense,nmoney, marriage, family, health, travelnarrangements. Finally they are the lettersnof “Brothers” — as each man callednthe other — who quit corresponding becausenthey had finally managed to livenso near to each other that they had nonneed for letters.nThe letters tell the story of a literarynfriendship that was richly productive; ofnthe personal lives of two remarkablenmen; of the evolution of Southernnliterature in the minds of two of its mostnformidable creators; and of the strugglenin the 20th century of serious writers tonsurvive. The struggle for money, thenadjustments for the sake of family, thenagonies of creation, and the reception ofnthese writers by the academy — all anticipatenthe present day, but without thentone. The collapse of American independencenin the global suction of thenSecond World War and the Cold War,nas well as the collapse of civility in then1960’s into what is today an encodednpackage of non-manners, non-speech,n”civil rights,” and sundry other barbarities,nis a world away from the mannerlynstyle of Tate and Lytle. (Yet NormannMailer complimented Tate for his testimonynwhen Hubert Selby, Jr.’s “Tra-lala”nwas on trial for obscenity in Provincetown.)nStill I find a grim amusementnin Allen Tate’s account of how hentried to deal with an irresponsible stepson;n”We simply can’t get through tonhim. For example, he read this winternThe Portrait of the Artist, and identifiednhimself with Stephen Dedalus. Inreminded him that when Dedalus, atnthe end of the book, left to ‘forge thenconscience of his race,’ he knew Latinnand Greek, and six modern languages.nThis made no impression at all.”nWhen we consider who is talking,nthat’s quite a generational and culturalngap, but one much elevated from thenones we know now.nAllen Tate shows himself again asnthe man of letters and literarynfriend in Professor Doreski’s study of hisnrelationship with Robert Lowell. Thenyoung Robert Lowell was told by thenTates in 1937 that their house was sonfull he’d have to pitch a tent on the lawnn