The Frolics of Psyche & IntellectnGuy Davenport: Eclogues; NorthnPoint Press; San Francisco.nGuy Davenport: The Geography ofnthe Imagination; North Point Press;nSan Francisco.nby Maura DalynOome critics have called Guy Davenportnthe last of the Modernists—groupingnhim with the most illustrious writersnof our century (Joyce, Eliot andnPound among others). Davenport’s recentnpublication, The Geography ofnthe Imagination, a delightful series ofnrefined, scholarly essays which are simultaneouslyneclectic, erudite and esoteric,nwould lend credence to such anview. Despite his startling erudition—nhis subjects range from the significancenof the epsilon on the omphalos (the navelnstone) of the Delphic Oracle to the fictionalncraft of Eudora Welty—Davenport’snprose retains an impish sprightliness.nNowhere is this playfulness morenevident than in his essay on “The Anthropologynof Table Manners” in which hendescribes the ineluctable evolution of annuntutored teen-ager toward civility antable.nEven the most oafish teen-ager whonmainly eats from the refrigerator atnhome .. . will eventually find himselfnat a table where he is under the eye ofnhis father-in-law to be, or his coach,nand will make the effort to wolf his rollnin two bites rather than one, and evennto leave some for the next person whennheispassedabowlof potatoes. He will,nnaturally, still charge his whole platenwith sixglopsof catsup, knock over hisnwater, and eat his cake from the palm ofnhis hand; but a wife, the country club,nand the Rotarians will get him, and beforenhe’s twenty-five he’ll be eatingnfruit salad with extended pinky, tap-nDr. Daly is professor of French literaturenat the University of Notre Dame.nSOinChronicles of Cultorenping his lips with the napkin beforensipping his Sauterne Almaden, andntalking woks and fondues with the boysnat the office.nDavenport’s wit does not prevent hisncollection of essays from being indisputablyna work of serious scholarship whichnperhaps will initiate a renaissance ofnthe essay—not the discrete, highly stylizednessays like those of Montaigne, butnrather highly intuitive and syntheticnelucubrations which discount the prosaicnand reveal hidden, ephemeral, transcendentncorrespondences between differentncivilizations, technologies and millennia.nDaveport clearly states his goal:n”We need a geography of the imaginationnto understand the appearance andnsignificance of cultural vernaculars beyondntheir origins.” Davenport seems tonbe seeking a way of reunifying the atomizednarts and sciences of the 2 0th century.nAlthough he has definite successnwith this undertaking in The Geographynof the Imagination, the same claimncannot be made for his other recentnpublication—an anthology of eight shortnstories entitled Eclogues, after Virgil’snpastoral poems. In these stories, somenof the very same qualities which makenDavenport’s essays astounding—the usenLovenIn a mere one sentence in the NewnYork Times Book Review of Novembern29, 1981, Mr. Anatole Broyard dispelsnone of the great mysteries enshroudingnthe subject of love:nIt’s only natural for innovations innlove to appear first in fiction, fornthat’s where most of us get our ideasnabout it.nLIBERAL CULTUREnnnof several foreign languages, the cullingnof diverse cultural and historical erratanand a highly personalized style—herenbecome obscurantist and divisive. Withnthe exception of perhaps the first story,nentitled “The Trees at Lystra,” in whichnthere is a crystalline purity of prose,nDavenport’s stories seem to be atomizednfragments of solipsistic thought.nRather than producing a feeling ofnplenitude or unity, the many culturalnreferences convey the impression thatnlife itself is nothing but an imitation ofnart rather than the reverse. In addition,nDavenport layers words upon words tonsuch an extent that, by virtue of theirnaccumulation, they cease to signify.n(The reader is reminded of the commentnof the parrot in Raymond Quenear’snZazie dans le mitro: “You chatter,nyou chatter, that’s all you know hownto do.”) This would be fine if Davenportnwere writing a second Bouvard etnPecuchet and his avowed literary purposenwere parodic, satiric or implosivenprose. Such, however, is not the case,nand the many disassociated referencesncoupled with the vast vocabulary seemnto be an attempt to fill a basic emptinessnand aimlessness in the stories themselves.nTwo additional elements whichncontribute to the artificial and staticncharacter of these stories are Daven-nWe feel taken aback. We would advise Mr.nBroyard to speak in his own name. Dn