A Touch of Class by Thomas P. McDonnelln”The market may have its martyrdoms as well as thenpulpit; and trade its heroisms, as well as war. “n—John RuskinnHonorable Men by LouisnAuchincloss, Boston: HoughtonnMifflin; $15.95.nWe were two old parties, my visitingnbrother and I, sitting under the grapenarbor at the end of a mild summer day.nWhen I say “two old parties,” however,nin the manner of SomersetnMaugham, I do not mean that wenwere either ancient or as acrimoniousnas the great British novelist was said tonhave been in his last days. The fact is,nI don’t think that my brother and I arenin our last days, as such, but we havenseen enough early ones to know thatnwe are well on our way. I mention thisnat all only because something he saidnto me may in turn have something tondo with the way one settles down tonreading a traditional novelist like LouisnAuchincloss.nAnyway, my brother said to me:n”You know, Tom, we are the last stablengeneration.” I gathered immediatelynwhat he meant by this, that the manynmarried children of the severalnbranches of the clan were simply riddlednwith broken families, divorce,nand ill-willed lawsuits. Since, too, wenhad both served with overseas forces innWorld War H, I said in response: “Wenwere also the last great middle-classnArmy. There will never again benarmed forces in this country of thencaliber and education we had then.”nIn saying this, the aim was not pride ornself-congratulation but a kind of mutuallynwistful acknowledgment that annage had passed.nThe age we mourn is the age ofnLouis Auchincloss. It was the age ofnclass. I do not mean class, of course,nin the sense of a British caste systemnand all that; but there was a trulynshared sense of decency abroad andnmaybe, above all, a sense of responsibilitynat almost every level of the socialnstructure in those days. The generationnjust coming into its maturity be-nThomas P. McDonnell is a free-lancenwriter living near Boston.nfore World War II had somehow alreadyngrasped, despite an ominousnfuture, the idea that we were about tontake our place in the world. We werento be held responsible for the quality ofnour efforts and for the choices wenmade. This may sound like a trainingnmanual for the upper classes, but itnwas in fact the very stuff taught to us byndedicated, if also anonymous, teachersnin the average American publicnschoolroom.nThe novels of Louis Auchinclossnnndeclare, in their quiet way, that thesenthings still matter. He is even nownold-fashioned enough to say that ansense of decency in family and business,noften in both of these aspects atnonce, matters a great deal and shouldncontinue to be the standard by whichnwe are judged. People do not oftennthink of themselves as being judgednthese days, the liberties already havingnbeen won to do just about anythingnwe please. That is to say, ourselvesnto please. This has become so muchnthe case, I’m afraid, that LouisnAuchincloss is not the kind of novelistnthat the Serious Critics can take seriously.nA sense of responsibility, moreover,nis too easy for them. Alienationnis the big theme today.nAnother reason the Serious Criticsndo not pay much attention to LouisnJANUARY 1987 / 25n