talists; he would have cheered them on.nHe would have also cautioned themnagainst believing that cleaning up thenBay would absolve them of their sins. Henmight have turned in at an art gallerynqua flophouse and would have despairednthat aiter all this time the decadents ofnthe fin de siecle still rule the arts. PursuingnWells into the countryside, aroundnMill Valley, say, he might have come uponna sleepy commune and recalled hisnthoughts on distribution, concludingnthat although the motto “Three Acresnand a Cow” was still sound, men tendednto turn it into “Three Cows and An Acre”nand preferred their livestock to be twolegged.nBut one thing is certain: Chestertonnwould have still been in love with thenworld, even with the morass of modemnsociety. He might even have been overjoyednto find that Liberalism of the sortnhe held had made it through the secondnglobal war he’d prophesied, and thatnsome adherents still practiced it, thoughnineflfectually, as usual.nWriting a biography about Chestertonnmust be a lot like chasing a man throughna Time Machine. It would be frightening;nit would be fascinating. The fascinationnexplains itself to anyone who has evernread anything by Chesterton. The frighteningnpart would be the prospect of tryingnto come to grips with explainingnsome of the wittiest and most profoundnprose of our century. Alzina Stone Dalenhas done a remarkable job of keepingnthe life of Chesterton intriguing vwthoutntrying to match him in journalistic scin­nIn the Mailntillation. That would be a fruitless task.nIn The Outline of Sanity she explainsnthe intricacies of English politics andnemphasizes the world of Fleet Street, tonwhich Chesterton devoted his life. Thentemptation is there to scold him, as GarrynWills did in Chesterton: Man and Mask,nfor not pursuing the life of high literaturenat which he would have excelled hadnhe dropped “jolly journalism.” However,nDale’s painstakingily scholarly book is anhistorical, not literary, treatment ofnChesterton.nDale’s purpose is to place each ofnChesterton’s books and stories withinnthe fabric of the England of his day, givingnbrief (sometimes cursory) synopsesnthat act as prods to read the originalnworks. All of Chesterton’s biographies—nexcept perhaps Ada Chesterton’s—cleavenone amazed at how prolific he managednto be considering his habits and worknload, his distractions and amazing levity.n(Ada’s biography leaves one wonderingnwhat restrained G.K. from rising fromnthe dead and choking the life out of her.)nDale’s biography does not attempt anynnovel reconsideration of Chesterton,nwhich is all the more in her favor. Literaryncriticism would be just the sort ofnthing one would want to steer clear of inndealing with Chesterton. He intendednhis writings for the common man, takingnon the mantle of Cobbett and Stevensonnand Dickens, and performing exceedinglynwell as all three. Their shades undoubtedlynsnort when some clerk takes on thenrole of diviner, examing thefr entrails fornBook Burning by Cal Thomas; Crossway Books; Westchester, EL. Things would be a bit lessninflammatory if Mr. Thomas presented some more sophisticated arguments.nCriminaljustice Reform, edited by Patrick B. McGuigan and Randall R. Radar; RegnerynGateway; Chicago. Serious crime— rape, robbery or a^ravated assault —^is more likely to affectnan individual in the U.S. than a residential fire or an auto accident, so the editors note. Smoke detectorsnand seat belts, it seems, are more efifective than the judicial system.nKeepers of the Kingdotn by Glennila Miller; Simon & Schuster; New York. A novel aboutnthe depopulation of African elephants by thugs with four-wheel-drive vehicles.n14nChronicles of Culturennnincipient homosexuality; some have triednthis on Chesterton, capitalizing on hisnclose friendships with the Junior DebatenClub. These writers did not have excessivenamounts of literary ego, and althou^nthey were personable and the act ofnwriting is by nature egotistical, theirnfunction was not to provide themes fornEdmund Wilson or Leslie Fiedler.nFrom Cobbett Chesterton obtainednmuch of his political insight: his fiiry atnthe enclosures, his remorse at the act ofnHenry VIII by which the commoner wasndivorced from the land and the Churchnproperties absorbed into the nascentnaristocracy. From Dickens he learnednthe art of characterology; from it he derivednhis “mystical minimum”—^the intrinsicnworth of each man—^before evernhaving met the Thomistic exaltation ofnthe individual soul. This was his introductionnto Liberalism, as was the guidancengiven him by his parents in classicalnVictorian Liberalism. Stevensonnbrought him the joys of a simple, grandnstyle, a rip-roaring plot, and the comfortnof a moral resolution of events.nThese were the tools of Chestertonnwhich, combined with a genius for paradoxicalnanalysis, good humor, and anphenomenally retentive memory, madenhim the unique voice of a vanishingncreed. Some would say there were twoncreeds going out the window withnChesterton: liberalism and orthodoxnChristianity. But, as one of his charactersnpointed out, confinement is not good fornsomething meant to sweep over the entirenearth. Many have wondered whatnChesterton would have thought of PopenJohn XXIII’s aggiomwnento, but thenconnotation of the word, which has comento express the gist of Vatican II, wouldnprobably have thrilled him. Of course wenshould open the windovre! Thrust thendogmas of Christ out of the stuffy aulanof the Council and into the marketplacenof ideas; what is there to fear if they arenthe Truth?nThe same goes for Liberalism, thoughnwith less assurance that its supportersnwill gain the assistance of the Holy Spirit.n