initially or disrupts it along the way, andnwhich therefore virtually guarantees thatnthe projected work of art will fail. Let usnconsider the case of the novelist again.nIdeally speaking, a novelist, at any pointnduring the long, arduous process ofnwriting a novel, is engaged in his literarynlabors for the sake of the novel. He isnwriting a novel for its own sake. It mightnbe helpful to be reminded here of Emerson’sndictum that “Beauty is its own excusenfor being.” The point is that thenwriter is not writing a novel for something.nWere he to do so, were he, for example,nto sit down to write a novel fornthe purpose of persuading people of thensuperiority of socialism, or of the injusticesnof the Argentinian judicial system,nor of the intellectual and moral flabbinessnof American higher educatii n, or werenhe to write with any numbs r of othernpurposes primarily in mind, the booknmight very well be ftill of verve, an effectivenpiece of polemical prose, but as annovel it would be a flop; it would foil becausenof the these. The these debilitatesnthe creative process. It explains the presencenof didacticism in literature.nIt is important that we understandnwhat Maritain is not saying on this subjectnHe does not imply that there is somethingnthat we might want to designate asnthe “pure novel,” an aseptic, contentlessnentity whose virtues are to be explainednin terms of formal criteria only, as if wenwere dealing with some kind of Platonicnreality. Neither, on a different level, doesnMaritain suppose that the novelist is onenwho, unlike other human beings, has nonideas or passions concerning such subjectsnas education, practical justice,neconomics, philosophy, or religion. Thennovelist is in &ct like other people in thatnhe is possessed of many ideas and passions,nbut what sets him apart, whatnidentifies him as a successful novelist, isnprecisely his ability to subordinate thosenideas and passions, when he is involvednin artistic activity, to the proper end ofnthat activity. Everything becomes secondarynto his need to create a good novel.nKeeping one’s priorities in order in thisnrespect is not an easy thing to do, andnChronicles of Culturenliterary history provides us with amplenevidence that many a would-be successfulnnovel has had its success thwartednbecause of the operation of a these.nZiOe Fairbaims’s Stand We At Last isnsuch a novel. It is an ambitious work innmany ways, for the large span of time itnattempts to cover, for the number ofncharacters it deals with, and for the variousnnational cultures it portrays. It becomesnoverly enterprising in its attemptnto incorporate a these within its pages.nFairbairns sets out not simply to teU anstory, but to tell a story with apointnTaken in itself, this need not necessarilynbe counterproductive. If literature didnnot contain moral import, it would havenno interest for us; Allen Tate was correctnwhen he remarked that every work of art,nto be worth its salt, must harbor a “moral.”nBut this moral must be fuUy integratednwithin the work of art. This means, innthe case of a novel, that the moral mustnbe embedded within the story; it mustnnot take precedence over the story. ButnFairbaims’s novel is written for the sakenof the moral, or, more precisely, to demonstratenan ideological point of view.nThis procedure can lead to literary successnfor an essay, a tract, a book-lengthnhistory; it is the kiss of death for a worknof fiction. The presence of the these isnparticularly evident toward the end ofnStand We At Last, where the controlnFairbairns exercised in the earlier partsnof this 600-page book is lost and thenpolemics become a bit heavy-handed.nThe characters become just too perfectnto be real in the pristine, by-the-niunbersnway they exemplify the ideals of the truenfeminist spirit.nFairbairns could have done worse.nShe is involved in the women’s movement.nIt would seem that her commitmentnto this movement is such that shenis either unwilling, or unable, to subordinatenit to the demands of art. But tonread this novel, though it is wearisomenin the preachy passages, is, on the whole, anpleasurable experience—Fairbairns is angood writer, a good storyteller. Her charactersnare three-dimensional (with thennnpreviously mentioned exceptions); theynhave flesh on their bones and warm bloodnpulses through their veins. Stand We AtnLast reinforces the unpatriotic opinionnthat perhaps the average British writernhas surer mastery of his craft than thenaverage American writer.nFor aU its formal strengths, then. StandnWe At Last, as a novel, falls. Even if onenconsiders it as a polemical work, takingnits contents at face value, it is unpersuading.nTo the extent that the lives of thenwomen depicted in the book are intendednto demonstrate progress and thenresultant benefits to civilization, Fairbaims’snargument feuls to convince. Tonher, it seems, the essence of freedom fornhuman beings, women or men, is thatnthey be so completely unencumberednthat they are able to mess up their livesnin whatever manner they wish.nToward the end of the book, a characternwrites a note to her mother:nDear Mummy,nThank you for writing to teU menabout the abortion. Of course I’m notnshocked! I’m sure if the doctor said itnwas the right thing to do, then it was,nand I hope you’U fed better sooa Keepntaking the tablets!nLove,nJackienThe logic of this reasoning, the quality ofnsuch moral consciousness as revealednby the casual attitude toward the subjectnof the note, provide not a littlenfood for thought. We are expected tonbelieve that this attitude toward abortionnrepresents some kind of progress,nfor women, for humankind. This is notnthe case. Supposedly, the woman’s consciousnessnhas been raised. In feet, it hasnbeen lowered, to the level of the nazi.nLike the nazi, she sees killing as a solutionnto human problems. Her concernsnfor the “quality of life” are of the chamelhousenvariety.nvigil by Elisabeth Young-Bmehl is anradically different book fi-om Stand WenAt Last First of all, and most importandy,nit is a bona fide novel. Young-Bruehl is an