OPINIONSnNational Liberation Literature by F. W. Brownlown”The Devil understands Welsh. “nThe Old Devils by Kingsley Amis,nNew York: Summit; $17.95.nYears ago, in the North Welshntown of Llanrwst, I bought a copynof Dylan Thomas’ Collected Poems,nand a 50-year-olcl Welshman present,na Baptist, teetotalling, nonsmoking,nnondancing insurance agent, said, “Anwonderful boy and a great poet: anterrible loss to Wales.” It was the firstntime I had heard literary judgmentnpronounced on a basis of shared nationality,nand by someone who doubtlessnhad never read a word of the writernin question. A few years later, annIrishman who had treated me to severalnorations on the beauty and wisdomnof Ireland and its people slipped me ancopy of O’Casey’s Inishfalien Fare TheenWell as I was leaving his house and cutnshort my thanks with, “I don’t want itnaround the house for the girls to read.”nIronically, if ever there was a professionalnIrishman, it was O’Casey. It wasnalso true that he offered a differentnview of Ireland from the one “thengirls” were getting at St. Dominic’s.nAt the time, these grotesque incidentsnrevealed an approach commonnenough on the margins of literac}’nwhich has since become orthodox innmore central places. Whether writersncan actually write tends to be lessnimportant than their claim to representnsome group allegiance or other. Literaryncriticism is moribund, being regardednas unpleasantiy demanding, intimidating,nand elitist. Few things havenmade this clearer in recent years thannthe behavior of the Episcopal Church,nF.W. Brownlow is professor ofnEnglish at Mount Holyoke College.n—Shakespearenalways a sure guide to conventionalnattitudes. When its grandees decidednto have Cranmer’s Book of CommonnPrayer rewritten in freshman English,nand went on to treat resulting criticismnas evidence of an incapacity for life innthe modern world, they were acting onnthe well-founded presumption thatnthey had nothing to fear from literaryncriticism.nNonliterary judgments, howevernconventional, cut no ice with KingsleynAmis. His 16th novel. The Old Devils,npresents a quartet of South Welshnsexagenarians and their wives as a casenhistory of the havoc wrought by thennotion that some things are more importantnabout books than the way theynnnare written. Amis’ characters havenmessed up their lives, more or less, notnbecause the Welsh are more foolish orn’icious than other people, but becausenthey belong to a society that, havingnaccepted the idea that there is somenspecial virtue in Welshness, has createdna body of myth that makes it nearlynimpossible for a Welshman to tell thentruth about anything. As one of thencharacters says, “Somehow or othernit’s impossible to be honest inn[Wales].”nEarly on in the book, Alun —nwriter, TV personality, professionalnWelshman—is returning to Wales tonlive. The train steward recognizesnhim, and tells him, “Everybody isndelighted to learn that you and Mrs.nWeaver have determined to come andnlive among us here in Wales. Proudntoo. Honoured.” Alun talks in thenOCTOBER 1987 123n