398
PARTISAN REVIEW
middle region; adapted in every way to express the middle intel·
lect, temperament, grasp of reality, powers of analysis and
emotion. Some of these poets, novelists, critics, biographen.
and belleslettrists were born middle; some either rose or sank
to where they at length find themselves. The complicated hut
smoothly oiled machinery of the publishing business, the gen·
eral run of reviewers, the committees giving out literary awards,
the more benumbed mass of academics: all these agents func–
tion, for the most part, (and changing the figure) inside the
same structure. During certain short periods, certain wild in–
dividuals stay outside and throw rocks, but since these intransi–
geants tend to disappear for long intervals, the easiest supposi–
tion is that they are absorbed. And the periods of almost com·
plete absorptions present a very amusing spectacle indeed. These
are the times when the book-sections produce, week after week,
month after month, serious judgments on books, but when
everything judged and the judges themselves are cut out of the
same piece of medium material. The commodity books are
being dealt with by the commodity critics-a spectacle which
would be purely funny if there were not elements of rather
tragic irony in it.
The intellectual should at least know the difference between
kinds, and have the courage to speak up when matters get really
out of hand. He should make some admonishing gesture when
a particularly startling piece of mutual aid comes through. He
should know how the literary mechanism works: the way blurb–
writing and prize-giving, journalists and literary impresarios
engage with each other. He should be able to sense, watching
the open pulls and twitches given reputations, all the subte:r·
ranean manoeuvring which must go on so that certain effects
are produced at eye-level. What about the distinguished spe–
cialists who write blurbs for dust-jackets? Is this a harmless
hit of fun, or a plan to get around the subsequent remarks of
the book-reviewer? What about the one American prize com·
mitted( situated rather disadvantageously, one might suppose,
for anyone not a journalist, in a school of journalism) which,
having ignored brilliant talent, young and old, falls hack ever
again upon old standbyes? What about the extra-literary influ-
