constructive American role in the world.nAn aspect of Chamberlain’s work thatnis most appealing is the portrait it givesnof emergent American conservatism.nThe author moved from a kind of vaguen1920’s Progressivism to an old-fashionednlibertarianism. The memoirs show thenwhy and how. In the process many forgottenngiants emerge—^men and womennwho maintained their intellectual integritynthrough the political whirlwinds ofnthe 1950’s and 1960’s. Chamberlain callsnback to vivid recollection and duenacknowledgment John Dos Passos,nWhittaker Chambers, Leonard Read,nCharles Lindbergh, Isabel Patterson, AlbertnJay Nock, Caret Garrett, FranknMeyer, and a host of others who keptnalive the independent mind of Americanat a time when to do so was to condemnnoneself. And in telling the story he bestowsnhonors eclectically and resists thentoo-common temptation to divide thenconservative ranks into sheep (“ourncrowd”) and goats (unfashionables).nVjhamberlain came from a comfortablenbut not wealthy, securely but notnaggressively WASP background. He cutnhis journalistic teeth in New York at justnthe right time, the 1920’s. American tastenwas mass but not debased. The medianwere powerful but competitive and independent.nThey were still professionalnnews-gatherers, tribunes of the people,nnot complacent partners in the rulingncoalition. Journalism was still a genuine,nif minor, branch of literature. His stylenand his view of the world reflect his backgroundnand training: dear, simple, direct,ncandid, restrained, charitable, lackingnthe smugness and killer instinct that arenthe distinguishing characteristics of contemporarynreporters.nThese qualities reflect not only an earliernday of journalism but also an importatitnconstituent part of American conservatism.nChamberlain represents annEastern upper class sincerely devoted tonthe free market, not as a cover for economicnpiracy or hedonism but as a necessaryncondition of culture and achievement.nHe represents that remnant of thenAmerican establishment of the earlyn20th century that has not capitulated tonthe Zeitgeist of recent decades. Chamberlain’snvariety of conservatism is anrather small part of American conservatism.nIt is not identical with the ideologynof Catholics or Southerners, Midwesternnentrepreneurs, Westerti formers,nguardians of high culture and tradition,nor embattled common folk. But in termsnof its impact, it is a major force. One cannsee in Ronald Reagan, along with tracesnof other strains, the deep imprint of thisnparticular variety of conservatism—nhonorable, principled, genuinely committednto freedom (in contradistinctionnto the liberal, who has sophistically redefinednfreedom to mean only an opennroad toward specified goals). Chamberlainnshows us the roots of that kind ofnconservatism and how^ it evolved throughnDepression, New Deal, and global war.nThe memoirs are disappointing, however,nin thefr lack of deep political reflection.nThe author takes individualnmediacrats to task for their intellectualnand moral failures. He can portray, forninstance, how the crotchet of one mann(Henry Luce) could turn an opportunisticnnonentity (Wendell Wilkie) into anPresidential nominee; or how the ambitionnof one man (Herbert Matthews)nhelped to consolidate a communist coupnin Cuba. Chamberlain could have reflectednon the systemic causes and consequencesnof such perversions of the demo­nnncratic process, but he remains at the surfacenof things. But Chamberlain is a venerablenveteran of many batties. It is rightnthat he be allowed to recount his oldnskirmishes and recall his old comradesnwithout having to rejustify the bill ofnparticulars in the declaration of war.nIhe materials in This Quiet Dustnand Other Writings, collected from betweenn1953 and 1982, though orderednby neither logic nor chronology, constitutenan autobiographical account of WilliamnStyron’s experiences and ideas.nThey also present Styron’s direct politicalnand social polemics rather than hisnindirect artistic conmientary. The picmrenthat emerges of Styron as social andnpolitical commentator is that of a Virginian,nsprung of what once would havenbeen referred to as “good stock” andnblessed with not-inconsiderable literaryngifts, who caters to the tastes of the NewnYork intellectual community. At thensame time, with a kind of aristocraticncapriciousness, he occasionally flauntsnhis refusal to be absorbed completely bynthat community.nTo grow up and find a place in thenworld is difiicult. It is more onerous fornthe intelligent and sensitive youth whonfeels the urge to create and express, tonmake his way as a writer. The greater thenintelligence, the more authentic the desire,nthe harder the way is in an age whennthe path to cultural success is strewnnwith commercial barriers and ideologicalnland mines. The plausible, the adaptable,nand the opportunistic can quicklynfind the way to preferment, while thosenwho bear the genuine burden of the godsnapproach awestruck and encumbered.nMake the young person a Southernernand the difiiculty is multiplied. Even if henis as pliant and ambitious as a PR man orna ward heeler, there is probably somethingnin his experience that will put himnout of step. And there wiU certainly bensomething in the reaction of the gatekeepersnof the great world of culturalnsuccess that will add obstacles to his approach.nThe Southerner’s insight may benno more profound than others; but itnAugust 1983n