LETTERSrnRememberingrnCleanth Brooksrnby William MillsrnCleanth Brooks, one of the giants ofrnliterary criticism, died last May 10.rnHe was 87 years old. He taught thousandsrnof us how to read a poem or arnstory. Some he taught over a halfcenturyrnby way of the classroom, some inrnhis numerous public lectures across thisrncountry and abroad, and many of usrnthrough his textbooks. I am thinkingrnparticularly of Understanding Poetry andrnUnderstanding Fiction (both written withrnDispatches fromrnThe Last DitchrnAnarcho-pessimists,rncrypto-Copperheads,rnpost-neo-Objectivists,rnand other enemies of thernpermanent regimernopining monthly, fromrnindividualist and European-rnAmerican perspectives, onrnthe end of civilizationrnWrite for free issuernTrial subscription (4 issues), $15rn12 issues, $42 24 issues, $77rnWTM EnterprisesrnP.O. Box 224 DepiCHrnRoanoke, IN 46783-0224rnRobert Penn Warren). These were therntexts of choice in the 1950’s and 60’s,rnand as we prepared our lessons and answeredrnthe questions posed at the end ofrneach selection, we all became “New Critics.”rnBrooks was a native of Murray, Kentucky,rnand graduated from Vanderbiltrnand Tulane. It was at Vanderbilt that hernfirst became involved with the writersrnand critics later known as the New Critics,rna group that included Warren, AllenrnTate, and John Crowe Ransom. In 1935,rnat Louisiana State University, he andrnWarren established the Southern Review,rnone of the most distinguished literaryrnmagazines of its time. He publishedrnModern Poetry and the Tradition (1939)rnduring his tenure at LSU and the equallyrnimportant The Well Wrought Urn:rnStudies in the Structure of Poetry (1947)rnduring his first year at Yale. These books,rnin addition to the textbooks, produced arncultural revolution in literature.rnBrooks’ approach to literature was arnreaction to the criticism exemplified byrnthe following passage from a popularrntextbook of the 1930’s: “The song of thernnightingale [in Keats’ “Ode”] brings sadnessrnand exhilaration to the poet andrnmakes him long to be lifted up and awayrnfrom the limitations of life. The seventhrnstanza is particularly beautiful.”rnBrooks argued that if the poem is worthrnteaching at all, it is as a poem. He neverrnargued that the poet’s intention, thernreader’s response, or the historical contextrnof the poem were not useful for criticism.rnHe simply believed they did notrnhave the same importance as the poemrnitself.rnAs the new lions and lionesses of therncriticism of the 1970’s and 80’s roaredrnonto the literarv savannah, several responsesrnoccurred. One was a willful distortionrnof what Brooks had written,rnnamely, that only the text was important.rnAnother response was what Warrenrnreferred to as “Frenchified” criticism.rnStructuralists argue that language is anrnarbitrary system committed to no referencernto reality, and without cognitivernvalue. Thus, a sign before a curve sayingrn”Bridge Out” has the same value as arnsign in the same place that says on thernsame occasion, “Speed, 55 miles anrnhour.” As one American editor of structuralistrnessays remarks, “there is no a priorirnreason to believe that the system ofrnsigns in Superman is any less coherentrnthan in King Lear. Values are a functionrnof ideologies.” While the structuralistsrnwere searching about for the “deep”rnstructure beneath language and socialrncustoms, the French deeonstructionistsrnwent them one better and deconstructedrnthe “deep” structure. But bothrnagreed that literature deals with nothingrnoutside itself. Thus, the sign sayingrn”Bridge Out” is . . . well, you see thernpoint. As Brooks observed during thernBrick Lectures at the University of Missourirnin Columbia, “The consequencesrnof any such conception of literature seemrnto me to be devastating to any concept ofrnits humanistic value.”rnI might add that on a level of pure survival,rnpeople who ignore or misinterpretrn”road signs” do not endure or prevail.rnThose who persistently get it wrong dornnot pass on their genes to offspring freernto espouse such skepticism or solipsismrnin another generation, which mightrnbring up Foucault, but I shall forebear.rnSeveral years ago, while my wife and Irnlived in Baton Rouge, we had occasion torninvite Mr. Brooks to dinner, along withrnLewis and Mimi Simpson (Lewis beingrnone of the editors of the revived SouthernrnReview). I was bemoaning the generalrncondition of English departments, criticalrntheory, and the decline of America. Irnrecall that Brooks was as disturbed asrnI was about the pervasiveness of relativismrnin recent critical theories. Yet hisrncourtliness, his bearing as a gentleman,rnreminded me and reminds me still thatrnthe proper thing was not to despair, butrnto stand firm. He was categorically differentrnfrom the “power” critics and literaryrngangsters of today.rnOur next meeting was a melancholyrnone. His beloved wife “Tinkum” hadrndied, and he had brought her from NewrnHaven to Baton Rouge for burial. Whilernmy wife and I said what words we could,rnhe was on the lookout for the arrival ofrnthe Anglican rector who would conductrnthe service. He wanted to be sure thernrector used the 1928 prayer book. Seatedrnby Tinkum’s grave near the end of thernservice. Brooks tapped his foot to a Renaissancernsong being played by his niecernand nephew, which quietly yet emphaticallyrnaffirmed the rhythms of this worldrnand the next. Many shall miss CleanthrnBrooks—his company, his conversation.rnBut for those of us who were his studentsrnin one sense or another, he remainsrna powerful presence.rnWilliam Mills is the editor of JohnrnCorrington: Southern Man of Lettersrn(UCA Press, Conway, Arkansas).rn48/CHRONlCLESrnrnrn