‘P^.s^ms^-^’ ^ln”.J *-*’>fn• TO SEE THE WORLD AND MAN <n•’.^’TnJ_pens to be thenauthor’s fether-in-law.nThe New Yorker was once synonymous with terms includingnelegancy refinement, urbanity, and sophistication. Nowadays,nhowever, simplemindedness is becoming operative, as evidencednin the social sciences by Jonathan Schell’s The Fate of the Earth andnin belles lettres by At the Bottom of the River. Ms. Sontagnnotwithstanding, the latter is a collection of almost-stories, demivignettes.nKincaid was bom in Antigua and draws on local color innher postcard-sized pieces. Back when The New Yorkervfzs a tyronthere were those who were still drunk on the dregs of Gauguin andnwho touted what they characterized as “vital” and “gMuiine” in thenartistic forms of “primitive” societies. The more rudimentary thenform, whether it be sculpture or dance, the better. Kincaid isnrecycling this sort of thing in the prose of a wide-eyed, West Indianningenue. The pose didn’t ring true in the 1920’s, and even thenimprimatur of The New Yorker doesn’t help it today. DnApril 1984n