For Lukacs, Wills, and Novak, Allittrnmakes clear, the designation “conservative”rnremains a positive one linked torntheir Catholic faith: they are quarrelingrnonly with its application to those ofrnwhom they disapprove. One might noternthe dissimilarity between these Catholicrnintellectuals and the Jewish neoconservativesrnwho were and are their contemporaries.rnThough the latter might havernchosen by the late 70’s to define themselvesrnas “conservative,” they acceptedrnthat label only reluctantly from others.rnUnlike the Catholic ethnics who embracedrn”the c-word” enthusiastically,rnthese Jewish former radicals for at least arndecade could find no social or culturalrnadvantages in claiming to be on thernDespite its many insights and welleditedrnprose, Allitt’s study has some defects,rnamong them a taxonomic problem.rnWhat exactly does Allitt mean byrna Catholic conservative? About half ofrnhis study deals with the Catholic anticommunismrnof the postwar era, particularlyrnwith the National Review circle andrnits liberal Catholic critics. It providesrnengaging vignettes of Molnar, Lukaes,rnand other Catholic intellectuals who arernconservative in some sense. Yet it offersrnno explicit criteria for its choice of subjects.rnWhy does the Catholic BurkeanrnRoss Hoffman rate detailed treatment,rnwhile Russell Kirk, Francis Canavan, S.J.,rnand Peter Stanlis—all more prolificrnCatholic Burkeans—receive only briefrnor passing mention? Why do somernCatholic conservative movement activistsrnmerit discussions, but not suchrnThomists of conservative political viewsrnas Jude Doherty, Russell Hittinger, andrnRobert George? Why is no discussion allottedrnto the present-day Catholic paleoconservatives,rnwho fit neither of therngenerational categories offered by Allitt?rnThe total absence of this tertium quidrnfrom his study, even as a limiting ease, isrna noteworthy defect. Finally, why doesrnFlannery O’Connor, a postwar conservativernorthodox Catholic and a literaryrngenius, receive no mention at all? Somernof Allitt’s biographical choices and omissionsrnmay be defensible in terms of hisrntheme, but the thematic basis for selectionrnshould have been stated at the beginningrnand subsequently adhered to.rnThere is also the related question ofrnwhether Allitt distinguishes significantlyrnbetween Catholics who are politicallyrnconservative and those who are theologicalrntraditionalists. Though some of hisrnsubjects fall into both categories, othersrndo not. In the dispute waged betweenrnNational Review and “Catholic liberals”rnover John XXIII’s conciliatory overturesrnto Soviet leaders in the encyclical MaterrnetMagistra (1961), it is unclear whetherrnthe embattled Catholic anticommunistsrnwere positioning themselves to the religiousrnright of their pro-papal opponents.rnEven from Allitt’s account, it seems thatrnthe Jesuit and Thomist scholar NorrisrnClarke, writing in America, may havernbeen speaking as an indignant orthodoxrnCatholic, and not as a liberal of any kind,rnwhen he attacked the inconsistentrnCatholicism of some editors of NationalrnReview. When it suited their purpose,rnWilliam Buckley and his friends demandedrnallegiance to papal encyclicalsrndenouncing communism and socialism.rnBut, as Clarke argued, they did not hesitaternto dismiss papal teachings that wererninconsistent with their own militantrnantieommunism. On the other hand,rnthe value of Allitt’s scholarship is that itsrnpresentation of such debates is evenrnmore graphic than my memories ofrnthem. Allitt brings back the near past inrna creative, plausible way.rnPaul Gottfried is a professor of humanitiesrnat Elizabethtown College inrnPennsylvania.rnNational Enormitiesrnby fames E. KiblerrnSeed From Madagascarrnby Duncan Clinch HeywardrnColumbia: University of SouthrnCarolina Press;rn312 pp., $21.95rnSeed From Madagascar, first publishedrnin 1937 and now printed for thernthird time, is an agrarian memoir. Its authorrnwas one of the last rice planters ofrncoastal Carolina, from a family who hadrnbeen in the business for two centuries.rnDuncan Heyward details the methodologyrnof rice planting as only one well acquaintedrnwith the crop could. The volume,rnhowever, is one of those literaryrntreasures that transcend social and economicrnhistory: beautifully written, of interestrnto others than students of rice culturernand the high civilization it produced.rnHeyward is our Marcus Cato ofrnrice planting. He is eminently practicalrnand writes in an appropriately clean,rnclear prose sharply edged by verisimilitude.rnBut there is as much of Vergil’srnGeorgica in Seed From Madagascar asrnthere is of Cato’s De Agricultura. Thernvolume should be seen in the context ofrnthe great Low Country Renaissancernof the 1920’s and 30’s, where it belongsrnwith the paintings of Alice Huger Smithrnand Elizabeth Verner; the prose ofrnVerner, Herbert Ravenel Sass, DuBosernHeyward, Josephine Pinckney, and JuliarnPeterkin; the Preservation Society’srnmovement to protect and restorernCharleston’s architectural heritage; andrnthe formation of the Poetry Society ofrnSouth Carolina, an institution that becamerna major stimulus to the literaryrnRenaissance in the South as a whole.rnThe human drama of loss and dispossessionrnis quietly played out before ourrneyes as we witness the destruction of anrnagrarian way of life, one that took overrntwo centuries to create: we come to knowrnthis rice farmer who, with five generationsrnof rice planters staring at him accusinglyrnfrom their portraits on the walls,rnsigns away his land to become an insurancernsalesman and stockbroker. It isrntherefore particulady unfortunate thatrnPeter Coelanis’s introduction to the newrnedition is pedestrian in its concepts andrnsuperficial in its ideas. Coclanis fails torngo beyond the narrowness of fashionablernconcerns to grasp the merits of a workrnthat can stand in the company of greatrncelebrations of life on the land.rnFor there is no mistaking that Heywardrnloved the soil he farmed and therncrop he raised. “I know of no crop,” hernwrote, “which in beauty can be comparedrnwith a crop of rice. In my dreamsrnI still see the crops I used to grow, andrnwhen I am awake, I am conscious of thernfact that my dreams failed to do themrnjustice.” He could sympathize with hisrngrandfather Charles Heyward’s feelingsrnin the year 1865 half a century later:rn”Charles Heyward’s heart was yearningrnfor Combahee, which he was destinedrnnever to see again.” In 1913, “when ricernplanting was ended on my plantations,”rnthe same silence that Charles Heywardrnhad encountered in 1865 “certainly gotrnon my nerves. . . . Especially did it hurtrnme to see abandoned the lands whichrnhad been reclaimed by my people andrnplanted by them for so many years.”rnHeyward recounts the habit of an old.rn36/CHRONICLESrnrnrn