made a more severe indictment of the slurring-over
of esthetic values which still persists in leftwing cri-
ticism.
A genetic and historical study of this sort would
have to trace the relationship of a number of fac-
tors whose effect is very devious. It would have to
prove, it seems to me, that the "leftist" emphasis
in American Marxist criticism did not arise very con-
sciously out of a set of thought-out
principles,
but
rather out of a lack of them.
I mean that it was,
on the subjective side, a lack of thinking which
caused, and still causes, revolutionary critics to blun-
der into the kind of functional
extremism Farrell
attacks.
Even today a consistent "leftist" school of writing,
fighting consciously for a definite set of values, might
encourage a specific type of proletarian literature,
which would be diametrically opposed to other prole-
tarian schools and would stimulate a more spirited
clash of literary beliefs-always
a sign of intellectu-
al health.
But American "leftism" has never pos-
sessed even the virtue of internal consistency. W ri-
ters who are identified with this approach have suc-
cumbed to a blind empiricism; they have swung from
one extreme of their position to the other: their
political evaluation of literature has extended from
literary praise of the most mediocre writers who
eulogize the revolutionary workingclass,
to political
approval
of the most "successful" authors whose
sympathies are remote from the workingclass move-
ment. "Left" extremism has usually been the out-
come of over-simplified thinking-the
worst possible
guide through the winding, swerving paths of art.
No more telling charge could be made against
this critical, or rather non-critical,
outlook than its
intellectual
inability to resist the spontaneous,
cur-
rents of its time and achieve some degree of balance.
To a considerable extent it was the failure of revolu-
tionary critics to check the natural flow of social and
literary tendencies, which led to the victory of "left-
ism." Thus,
the sharp turn against pure estheti-
cism swung proletarian writers to the other edge of
the road, to a variety of what Farrell calls functional
extremism. This loss of control could have been pre-
vented only by a genuine sense of critical perspec-
tives. In addition to this sudden change within litera-
ture itself, the alliance of writers with a direct poli-
tical movement
obviously tended to place primary
stress upon the social
use
of writing in the most im-
mediate sort of way.
Of course it is easy to be superior when looking
back and to blame early leftwing criticism for what
happened. To some degree the errors of yesterday
were the errors of youthful growth. I refuse to be-
lieve they were unavoidable;
but they were typical
of the excess which almost every young literary
movement falls into, especially one which represents
the viewpoint of a rising class. As a matter of fact,
the early emphasis upon the use-value of writing was
PARTISAN
REVIEW
not entirely of a negative character;
it made some
contribution to the body of literary experiment.
And the existence of "leftism" in no way nullifies
the fundamental
benefits which grew out of the
writer's id.entification with the revolutionary move-
ment-positive
results which have been mentioned
too frequently to need repetition here. Nor does it
nullify the artistic value of many early proletarian
novels, plays, stories and poems-the best of which
unwittingly repudiated the dominant
critical ideas
of the period.
But the old, amorphous kind of criticism is still
with us. Surely there is no longer any excuse for its
persistence.
To allow it to continue is to stunt the
growth of proletarian literature.
Those who are
most injured by it are the writers who have unre-
servedly embraced revolutionary principles: the nar-
row view of "leftism" is cramping their progress
today. Those who are least affected are the men of
letters who stand aloof from Communism as artists
while announcing their sympathies with it as men;
they are likely to find in Farrell's point of view a
rationalization for their continued aloofness.
How-
ever, this is a chance that will have to be taken. The
point is that Farrell's criticism is chiefly relevant to
the writers who have been working in revolutionary
material
and experience:
his book is immediately
pertinent to their internal problems.
Camp Is All Right
for Kids
IRVING FINEMAN
IT WAS a fine day. The train ran whistling along
the West Shore,
between the Palisades and the
river, and it was a pleasure to look out on either
side: at the wide river gleaming grayblue in the
sun, and high wooded cliffs hanging in rich, colored
folds. It was a fine October day, coolwarm. We haa.
one end of the car, and you would never think we
were going back to the CCC. More like kids on a
picnic; shouting over the rumble and rattle of the
train; pointing-"Look
at that, look :it the sailboat,
now ain't that somethin'! How would you like to be
out there sailin', Tony?" And Tony running up and
down the aisle like a monkey, with his bottle of sour
dago red, squeezing in with one pair and getting
roughhoused and then hopping across the aisle to
another.
"Have a drink, buddy. Take a good swig.
Good, eh?" his black eyes softly shining, the brown
skin at their corners wrinkling.
You can't beat those wops. You would never think
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