-v: ‘p-nown way will relegate himself to obscurity; the literary tastenmakers are too smart to ignore a Saul Bellow—besides, evennthe daftest of critics occasionally snares a stray insight.nThe real problems lie elsewhere. The Liberal Culture ignoresnor derides writers of exceptional talent who cannot commandnthe recognition that a Bellow does. Andrew Lytle, for example,nhas, over the course of his long lifetime, written four superbnnovels, one of which—TAe Velvet Horn—v/ezves symbolnand myth into a story of such coqiplex grandeur that a JohnnCheever or a William Styron would hang his head in shamenif he honestly compared his own paltry endeavors to Mr.nLytle’s work. Robert Drake, Marion Montgomery and MadisonnJones have written fiction that goes unread, while thenmob clamors for Erica Jong and John Irving. And what ofnJohn O’Hara, America’s closest response to Balzac, or JamesnGould Cozzens, a man who spoke of honor with somethingnother than derision.-*nXlven worse than the way in which the tastemakers treatnthe work of these men is the Liberal Culture’s glorificationnof literary dwarfs whose books become cynosures which arenproclaimed as evidence of American cultural achievement.nTo write a Ragtime or a World According to Garp is the tormentingndream of every callow undergraduate English majornwho longs to transmute his endocrinological urges into thenGreat American Novel. Like fleas on a coonhound’s belly,nthe land crawls with aspiring writers who lust to see theirndreary scribblings in print, and, given the state of the publishingnindustry, a good deal of this rubbish will eventuallynappear between hard covers.nThe discriminating reader can be forgiven if the contemporarynAmerican literary scene drives him to the bottle. Thenthought of posterity judging our culture by a Norman Mailernor a Gore Vida! is almost more than a decent man can bear.nBut despair is the most grievous of sins, so one must havenfaith that time will take its toll on the reputations creatednby the Liberal Culture; as white-haired Southern ladies likento say: “Breeding and class will tell.” When the dust hasnsettled on our era, the fakers and poseurs will have been forgotten,nand the real writers will -be honored. But this maynnot be consolation enough for those who are condemned tonlive in this age of drivel. We need not stand by helplessly,nthough, for we can act without waiting upon posterity tonseparate the weevils from the cotton. We must uncover thensham, the phoniness, the sleaziness of the fiction glorifiednby the Liberal Culture. We must strip the cloak from thenposeur and reveal the tawdriness of the artist manque. Muchnof the literature of our time will then stand exposed fornwhat it is: The Monumental Literature of Dwarfs.n—James J. Thompson, Jr.nDr. Thompson is associate editor of the Chronicles.n• THE MONUMENTAL LITERATURE OF DWARFS •nnn1 -,’ ~%i^^^Xi£ 4’^ •nSocial Registern^Hi’^nA new book has been written by a professor of literaturenat Cornell University—a lady with peculiar taste and lopsidednirony. It is exactly the impenetrability of her messagenand style, the lack of distinction between what the authoressnfinds amusing and what shenconsiders an enlightening in-n^ght, that destines her oeuvrento become a triumph amongnfashionable circles. It’s callednThe Language of Clothes, andnit’s must reading for anyonenwho expects to hold his/hernown during animated conversationsnin the lofts of Soho,nCentral Park West salons. EastnSide penthouses and Malibuncabanas. Literacy is not required,nas the volume aboundsnin illustrations. Here is a representativenexcerpt:nPsychologists say that the walking stick or rolled umbrellanis a male symbol when it appears in dreams; and in wakingn• life men can often be seen using these symbolic objects tonpoke and prod or to signal for taxis in a way that bears outnthis interpretation. Walking sticks are now rare exceptnamong men who really need them, but the umbrella remainsnpopular. As might be expected, the male version tends to benlarge and heavy, and to gain prestige from a capacity for instantndeployment. A shabby, small, or—worst of all—illfunctioningnumbrella is a source of shame which often seemsnexcessive unless some erotic meaning is presumed. Of course,nwhen the umbrella is actually unfolded it assumes a lessnphallic shape—which may be why upper-class British malesnoften keep theirs tightly rolled even in a heavy drizzle.nThe male hat too has been considered a sexual symbolnAnd on and on it goes, with the same coy certitude, thencharming seriousness of a major research statement. We feltnperplexed at first—we’ve been to England countless timesnand have seen a staggering number of upper-class Britishnmales with ««folded umbrellas during even a light drizzle.nWere they all hermaphrodites?nJanuary/February 1982n