The New Age, September 11 1913

It's been a few weeks since I read The New Age, always a risky decision. Apparently I've missed out on the first half of an article by Ezra Pound about how English poetry has been nothing but stealing from the French all along. 

Naturally, this being TNA, they print his article and then make a frontal attack on it:

"But the best thing that Mr. Pound has yet been able to say of Paris is that it contains a little group of café habitués who imagine themselves to be the only Israelites in a world of Philistines" (573).

Alright--fair enough. But the plot thickens very quickly. TNA has taken on an even more desperate air than it had in the past. Orage, the editor and writer of this particular article, moves directly from putting Pound in his place to chastising his readership for not writing praise for the caricatures by Tomt:

"...there was silence.  You cannot imagine, unless you have tried it, what public production under these circumstances means to an artist, be he literary or draughtsman. It is like lecturing to the dumb in a hall of pitch darkness. Riot, I frankly say, would be a better tribute" (574).

The 1913 equivalent of trolling for likes on a friend's Facebook gallery? Note particularly the slipping-in of the literary artist, especially in the context of what comes next. Orage attempts to diagnose the general crappiness of English literature by blaming the authors, reviewers, publishers, and readers in turn--but reserves his most powerful anger for the publishers:

"I have known many obscure writers; c'est mon métier. I know obscure writers to-day who, properly encouraged, could do honour to English literature. I have never known one who, without preliminary jobbery, was approached by a publisher to submit a work for publication. You think, doubtless, that publishers--as it is often said of editors--are "on the look-out" for fresh minds and promising writers. Myth, pure myth! It required a personal 'pull' to procure the publication of the work I referred to the other day as the purest work of genius our brief age has produced."

The rhetorical circuit closes. The crafty craftsmanship of Orage layers obliquely until the real stakes emerge: Pound is wrong because he's too into France to notice English genius, also ignored by publishers, reviewers, and (like the caricatures) readers. This layering of smaller pieces to establish larger positions is extremely characteristic of TNA--it even happens again in this very issue, when Beatrice Hastings launches a multi-pronged response to The New Freewoman and others who disagree with guild socialism--her defense boils down to TNF not understanding them and having silly ideas. I love how the dueling-banjos feel of these two helps them each cast a proper shadow. 

Can't dwell on that right now though--I've gotten work as a copyeditor and my assignment has arrived. Not that I ever edit these posts (forgive any errors, plz).