The Little Review, September 1916

So, real work has come between me and my blog project lately--even though it was the beginning of much of that real work. But I have to hop on for a quick post on this month's issue of The Little Review. It's the famous blank issue, where the arts pages have been left entirely empty as a statement of the magazine's high standards--there was nothing good enough to print this month, so they print nothing. Awesome.

But... they didn't print nothing, strictly defined. They also printed little comics of what Margaret Anderson, the editor, was doing instead of editing. They are delightful. Here she is, depressed and eating a ziggurat of fudge for breakfast, for instance:

She also plays piano for 18 hours a day (and brings it to bed at night), converts the sheriff to "anarchism and vers libre," etc.

Also, the issue has no art, but it wasn't empty save for the comics. Its political coverage (of bomb attacks in San Francisco!), reviews, and correspondence are intact. There's even a letter from Frank Lloyd Wright, encouraging the journal.

A legendary moment in a legendary journal. That's all for now, though...

The Little Review, January 1915

I've been back to visit The Little Review after missing a few issues, sent in particular because The Egoist's last issue referred to TLR as its "firstborn." Rare praise for another journal! Perhaps possible because transatlantic distance diffuses competition, though note that TLR advertises The Egoist in its back pages.

Before beginning, Albert Spalding's performance of Mendelssohn in New York is reviewed on page 43, so why not put a little on in the background? The intro to this Youtube video is funny, too (recorded 1936). This recording emphasizes his established reputation, The Little Review, his growth into maturity.

I found several pieces to mention here. One is a poem by Nicolas Beauduin, and its accompanying introduction by Edward J. O'Brian, "The New Beauty" and "A Note on Paroxysm in Poetry," respectively. In a classic modernist little magazine power play, O'Brian positions paroxysm between a retrospective romanticism and prospective futurism, "paroxysm is deep-rooted in today" (15). Note that paroxysm is a word that ends in -ism naturally. Very clever. This introduction includes a short manifesto that does confirm O'Brian's analysis, containing elements of neo-romanticism ("we are not afraid to be cosmic"), and technological futurism ("It will sing the new man, the man-machine, the multiplied man, the Man-Bird"). It risks appearing like a watered-down futurism, though, and by so effortlessly connecting the romantic and the futurist reveals (to me) the inherent romanticism in futurism. The poem is an excellent example of work that attempts to absorb high-tech terms and effects. Here's the last stanza:

Cool, right? But not too cool. Like when people use quantum mechanics in poems nowadays.

Moving on, there's a review of Frank Lloyd Wright and Japanese art (18-19). Wright's philosophy meshes well with the revolutionary tendency of The Little Review, one that is concerned about the state of the world and of the United States and highly critical of established society, but one that has no revolutionary program as of yet. Wright's thesis, reflected in the essay, is that great artists create a "right conventionalization of life," and he himself admits that it takes an artist to understand what he means.

Several points in the issue refer to lectures by "Mrs. Havelock Ellis," Edith Ellis. She wants to reform sex and marriage. Here's her takedown of eugenics: "But later she cleared herself of the charge of cultism by her laughing remark to some one who discussed eugenics with her: "Eugenics? A mere spoke in the wheel, and a very dogmatic spoke at that. Heaven knows we don't want a race of averages" (32). This editorial comment also mentions that Margaret Sanger is currently on the run from the authorities.

A word on Eugenics: like I mentioned above, The Little Review is omnivorous, devouring theories from many sources, from Emma Goldman, to eugenics. I'll track it when I can.

Quick notes:

Amy Lowell opens the issue with a prose poem about the war. It seems so silly that I wonder if the added note that it was written in August is intended to satirize it lightly? Probably not, but one can hope.

Marguerite Swawate contributes a poem, "I Am Woman," a good example of 1915 feminist poetry. The poetic speaker is learning to sing her own songs, "my own way, without kiss, without child." This allows the male side of things to figure out how to sing in counterpoint to her, rather than alone, and ends up with a more perfect marriage. A somewhat disappointing ending.