36 I CHRONICLESnEpigones of thenLost Generationnby Carl C. CurtisnAfter the Lost Generation by JohnnW. Aldridge, New York: ArbornHouse; $6.95.nNear the end of this fine book, JohnnAldridge observes: “The history of thenperiod from 1890, roughly, to 1940nmight . . . have been the history of thendisappearance of the novel as an artnform in society. . . . Yet there has seldomnif ever been a time when morennovels of distinction as well as novels ofnmore distinction have been produced ornwhen writers have been more intent onnexploiting and extending the possibilitiesnof the novel as an art form.”nThis statement, which might seem ancontradiction, really falls in line withnwhat we have come to accept as orthodoxn20th-century literary history. Thennovel, as men had known it in the daysnof Dickens and TroUope, was producednin a world where men ardendy believednthat the triumph of justice and goodnessndepended primarily on the solicitude ofnjust and good men; the form itselfnexisted to facilitate the practice of thesenvirtues. That confidence persistednthrough the 19th century. It recedednfrom the minds of men between thentime of Arnold and the end of WorldnWar I, when men first began to questionnand then to reject the viewnof nature underlying the traditionalnposition.nIn this intellectual climate, the novelnwent through two major transformations:none leading the novelist awaynfrom the dead world of society andnshared values into one of private consciousnessn(Joyce, Conrad, and Woolf),nthe other turning away from the oldnmorality toward the pronouncement ofnnew attitudes of social protest and nihilisticnrebellion (Hemingway, Fitzgerald,nand Dos Passos).nIt is to this last group that Aldridgendevotes roughly one-third of his book.nThe Lost Generation writers could notnbring themselves to adopt the traditionalnstance of the novelist for the obviousnBOOKSHELVESnreason that the values that had animatedntheir literary ancestors did not impressnthem as real. They were determined,ntherefore, to smash idols, andnsmash they did. Even if their books hadnnot been good, their ability to write innthe very teeth of a hostile traditionnwould be reason enough to grant themnour grudging respect. But what booksnthey were! U.S.A., The Sun Also Rises,nand The Great Catsby were stunningnachievements that moved a generationnof young intellectuals in the 1920’s andn30’s and still move readers today, albeitnin a different way.nYet granting their talent, one mustnquestion whether the immediate effectsnof the Lost Generation were for thenbest. Perhaps more adeptly than anynother group of revolutionary artists beforenthem, they succeeded in destroyingnthe assumptions that underlay their civilization,nand in doing so left the nextngeneration with nothing to believe in.nClearly they did their job too well, withneffects that can be seen if we comparenthem with their successors. The youngnmen who marched off to World War Indid so idealistically chanting the phrasesnof Woodrow Wilson. Their youthfulnsuccessors, weaned on A Farewell tonArms and Three Soldiers, approachednthe next war with the jaded attitude ofnaged prostitutes. Life with all its idealsnwas simply false, and all it could offernthem was an early grave in war or a latengrave in peace. Arguments for the superioritynof democracy over totalitarianismndid not interest them and do notnappear in their postwar novels, exceptnas the platitudes of hypocritical, selfservingnofficers.nTo a disconcerting but perceptiblendegree, this cynicism emerges in Aldridge’sncritical commentary. More thannonce he refers to the upper echelons ofnthe Allied armies as Fascist, as if theirnopposition to Mussolini and Hitler wasnsome hideous conspiracy. But Aldridgenprimarily focuses his criticisms on thenhollowness of the Vidals, Mailers,nShaws, and Millers (only Vance Bourjaillynescapes with sympathetic treatment).nThese writers were remarkablynprolific and usually sold well. Yet somethingnwas missing. As Aldridge ob­nnnserves, their novels tend to be eitherninsipid and hopelessly contrived exercisesnin myth and symbol (FredericknBuechner’s A Long Day’s Dying) ornjournalistic ventures masquerading asnnovels (Mailer’s The Naked and thenDead). Whatever they are, they are notnliterature—not in the older mode ofnthe 19th century, since they lack moralnperspective and since they display neithernthe revolutionary form nor theninner consistency that characterized thenworks of the Lost Generation. Beyondnthat, these authors present a cheap andntrivial world beyond human endurancen(even Hemingway, for my money thenmost cynical of the Lost Generation,ncould not be charged with that).nOriginally published in 1951, Afternthe Lost Generation remains worthwhilenreading, with insights as fresh asnthe day they were made. One may notngo along with all of Aldridge’s conclusionsn(though I fourfd myself in agreementnmore often than not), but he willnclose this book with a clearer understandingnof the deficiencies of the writersnof the early 50’s, with the satisfactionnof having encountered an acutenand critical mind, and with the confidencenthat he needn’t waste his moneynon a group of authors who are notnworth anyone’s time.nCarl G. Curtis is assistant professor ofnEnglish at Liberty University.nFrom Jeb andnAbigailnManuscripts: The First Twenty Years,nedited by Priscilla S. Taylor; coeditednby Norbert E. Klingelhofer, KennethnW. Rendell, and John M. Taylor,nWestport, CT: Greenwood Press.n”The sin against the spirit of a worknalways begins with a sin against itsnletter,” thought Igor Stravinsky. Theneditors of this anthology have collectednmore than 50 essays and notes from thenjournal Manuscripts, dealing with literarynand historical documents fromn