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George (“Barney”) Crile considers himself a lucky man, lucky to be born when and where he was, lucky to have had the parents he did, lucky in his career, and most of all, lucky in his wives. Barney Crile’s parents were of Cleveland’s elite during that city’s self-described golden age. His father was a founder of the world-famous Cleveland Clinic and a pillar of the medical community. His mother took care of the family and in particular doted on Barney. She kept volumes of letters, photographs, and memorabilia from which her son wrote this fascinating memoir.

The early chapters give insights into a social class, football and parties at Yale, medical training at Harvard and the Mayo Clinic, and the beginnings of a distinguished medical career. With his first wife, Jane Halle, Barney Crile also became an accomplished archaeologist, scuba diver, and author. After Jane’s death he met Helga Sandburg (youngest daughter of the famous American poet), who became wife, companion, and partner in further adventures in travel and letters. But Barney Crile was and is much more than the prince of a famous family. He is the author of several books and 462 scientific papers, an Honorary Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, and known for his advocacy of conservative approaches to surgery, especially breast cancer. The last caused him some problems with other surgeons, but in this case, as in others, he was in advance of the guild.

This engaging narrative takes us behind the scenes and past the analyses and renders the inside story of the Allen County (Ohio) Democratic Party during the late 1980s and early 1990s.

More than just portraying the internal dynamics of a political party, Not All Politics Is Local affords the reader an insight into political life and the contributions to society made by local parties. For Angel, political parties do more than register voters and win elections: they engage the public in dialogue and challenge citizens to take responsibility for their government.

The definitive biography of America''s 20th president, James A. Garfield. Exhaustively researched and skillfully written.

Winner of the Ohio Academy of History Award, the Ohioana Book Award in History, and a Choice Outstanding Academic Book of the Year.

“Garfield’s military career, the congressional years, the Presidency, receive thorough attention and evaluation, and one of the delights of this massive biography is that Peskin writes so well ... This is a brilliant and skillful portrait of a man of many parts, of the political and social landscape of his time.”—Publi

The definitive biography of America''s 20th president, James A. Garfield. Exhaustively researched and skillfully written.

Winner of the Ohio Academy of History Award, the Ohioana Book Award in History, and a Choice Outstanding Academic Book of the Year.

“Garfield’s military career, the congressional years, the Presidency, receive thorough attention and evaluation, and one of the delights of this massive biography is that Peskin writes so well ... This is a brilliant and skillful portrait of a man of many parts, of the political and social landscape of his time.”—Publi

This first volume in Kent State University’s Bicentennial Edition of the Novels and Related Works of Charles Brockden Brown presents critical texts of Brown’s first published novel, Wieland, and of the fragment, “Carwin,” which he began in 1798 as a companion-piece to his novel. The texts are based on the first printings: the book edition of Wieland printed by T. and J. Swords in New York and published there by Hocquet Caritat in 1798, and the installments of “Carwin” that appeared in the Literary Magazine in Philadelphia in 1803, 1804, and 1805.

The Historical Essay by Alexander Cowie, which follows the texts, discusses the facts surrounding the composition, publication, and reception of both works and their place in America’s literary history, and the Textual Essay by S.W. Reid discusses the copy-texts for the present edition, the transmission of the texts, and the editorial decisions that have been based on these considerations. Also appended are photographs of the notebook pages containing Brown’s “Outline” of Wieland, along with our transcription of it. Moreover, as the first in a series of volumes, this volume offers, as well, a note on the principles and procedures guiding the editing of all works in the Bicentennial Edition.

This first volume in Kent State University’s Bicentennial Edition of the Novels and Related Works of Charles Brockden Brown presents critical texts of Brown’s first published novel, Wieland, and of the fragment, “Carwin,” which he began in 1798 as a companion-piece to his novel. The texts are based on the first printings: the book edition of Wieland printed by T. and J. Swords in New York and published there by Hocquet Caritat in 1798, and the installments of “Carwin” that appeared in the Literary Magazine in Philadelphia in 1803, 1804, and 1805.

The Historical Essay by Alexander Cowie, which follows the texts, discusses the facts surrounding the composition, publication, and reception of both works and their place in America’s literary history, and the Textual Essay by S.W. Reid discusses the copy-texts for the present edition, the transmission of the texts, and the editorial decisions that have been based on these considerations. Also appended are photographs of the notebook pages containing Brown’s “Outline” of Wieland, along with our transcription of it. Moreover, as the first in a series of volumes, this volume offers, as well, a note on the principles and procedures guiding the editing of all works in the Bicentennial Edition.

Conflict invariably characterizes the period following any revolution, and post-revolutionary America was no exception. After the unity inspired by opposition to a common enemy dissipates, revolutionary movements generally splinter into different groups that compete with each other for the right to shape the values and structures of the new society.

The Frontier Republic examines the form these conflicts took in the settlement of the Ohio Country, as thousands of Americans streamed onto the lands west of the Appalachians. These settlers had experienced revolution and migration: now the process of creating new communities and a new state in the Northwest Territory forced them to deliberate on, and define, what these upheavals had accomplished. At issue was the very nature of human society and the role of government in it. Jeffersonian Republican ideals of individual liberty and local sovereignty were at odds with the Federalist vision of a well-ordered society and political control on the national level. Disagreements arose over such topics as rights of squatters, establishment of authority of the national government, the statehood movement, and the location of the new state’s capital. The effects of the Panic of 1819 and the need for internal improvements changed the early focus on individualism to an understanding of Ohio’s place in an interdependent society. Although this first generation of settlers failed to resolve their disputes completely, they ensured that the ideological foundation of nineteenth-century Ohio would be a synthesis of their conflicting revolutionary visions of the future of the United States.

Conflict invariably characterizes the period following any revolution, and post-revolutionary America was no exception. After the unity inspired by opposition to a common enemy dissipates, revolutionary movements generally splinter into different groups that compete with each other for the right to shape the values and structures of the new society.

The Frontier Republic examines the form these conflicts took in the settlement of the Ohio Country, as thousands of Americans streamed onto the lands west of the Appalachians. These settlers had experienced revolution and migration: now the process of creating new communities and a new state in the Northwest Territory forced them to deliberate on, and define, what these upheavals had accomplished. At issue was the very nature of human society and the role of government in it. Jeffersonian Republican ideals of individual liberty and local sovereignty were at odds with the Federalist vision of a well-ordered society and political control on the national level. Disagreements arose over such topics as rights of squatters, establishment of authority of the national government, the statehood movement, and the location of the new state’s capital. The effects of the Panic of 1819 and the need for internal improvements changed the early focus on individualism to an understanding of Ohio’s place in an interdependent society. Although this first generation of settlers failed to resolve their disputes completely, they ensured that the ideological foundation of nineteenth-century Ohio would be a synthesis of their conflicting revolutionary visions of the future of the United States.

Often described as a "gothic novel," this is a classic American tale of mystery and murder with exciting and dramatic plot twists. Charles Brockden Brown is the most frequently studied and republished practitioner of the "early American novel," or the US novel between 1789 and roughly 1820.

This volume contains a critical edition of Charles Brockden Brown’s Edgar Huntly, the third of his novels to be published in 1799 and the first to deal with the American wilderness. The basis of the text is the first edition, printed and published by Hugh Maxwell in Philadelphia late in the year, but the “Fragment” printed independently in Brown’s Monthly Magazine earlier in 1799 supplies some readings in Chapters 17-20. The Historical Essay, which follows the text, covers matters of composition, publication, historical background, and literary evaluation, and the Textual Essay discusses the transmission of the text, choice of copy-text, and editorial policy. A general textual statement for the entire edition appears in Volume I of the series.

Often described as a "gothic novel," this is a classic American tale of mystery and murder with exciting and dramatic plot twists. Charles Brockden Brown is the most frequently studied and republished practitioner of the "early American novel," or the US novel between 1789 and roughly 1820.

This volume contains a critical edition of Charles Brockden Brown’s Edgar Huntly, the third of his novels to be published in 1799 and the first to deal with the American wilderness. The basis of the text is the first edition, printed and published by Hugh Maxwell in Philadelphia late in the year, but the “Fragment” printed independently in Brown’s Monthly Magazine earlier in 1799 supplies some readings in Chapters 17-20. The Historical Essay, which follows the text, covers matters of composition, publication, historical background, and literary evaluation, and the Textual Essay discusses the transmission of the text, choice of copy-text, and editorial policy. A general textual statement for the entire edition appears in Volume I of the series.

The diplomatic relations between Greece and the United States in the interwar period have received scant attention from historians, primarily because of the non-political and non-military role of the United States in that part of the world prior to the Second World War. The American presence in Greece after 1917, however, would be fundamental to the social and economic development of the Greek nation, while American influence would eventually permeate all levels of Greek society.

Dr. Cassimatis offers the first, full-length account of this formative period in the history of Greek-American diplomacy. The issues separating the governments of the United States and Greece in the 1920s were simultaneously self-contained and international in scope. For Greece, they were self-contained because they involved solutions to domestic problems affecting the welfare—indeed, the survival—of the Greek nation. Internationally, they were interconnected because efforts to bring about their resolution contributed to an American entanglement in the Near-East policies of Great Britain, France and Italy. Thus, American loans, commercial aggrandizement, the inroads of American capital, philanthropy, and cultural relations were but components of a larger diplomatic setting in which the interests of the United States came into conflict with the interests of the Western European powers.

The diplomatic relations between Greece and the United States in the interwar period have received scant attention from historians, primarily because of the non-political and non-military role of the United States in that part of the world prior to the Second World War. The American presence in Greece after 1917, however, would be fundamental to the social and economic development of the Greek nation, while American influence would eventually permeate all levels of Greek society.

Dr. Cassimatis offers the first, full-length account of this formative period in the history of Greek-American diplomacy. The issues separating the governments of the United States and Greece in the 1920s were simultaneously self-contained and international in scope. For Greece, they were self-contained because they involved solutions to domestic problems affecting the welfare—indeed, the survival—of the Greek nation. Internationally, they were interconnected because efforts to bring about their resolution contributed to an American entanglement in the Near-East policies of Great Britain, France and Italy. Thus, American loans, commercial aggrandizement, the inroads of American capital, philanthropy, and cultural relations were but components of a larger diplomatic setting in which the interests of the United States came into conflict with the interests of the Western European powers.

Only ten days after four white students had been gunned down by National Guardsmen at Kent State University in 1970, law enforcement officials fired upon and killed two young blacks and wounded twelve others in front of a women''s dormitory at Jackson State College in Mississippi. The first incident attracted media and public attention worldwide, overshadowing the later tragedy. Tim Spofford has not allowed the killings at Jackson State to be forgotten. Lynch Street presents the event in the context of the history of Jackson, Mississippi, as well as in the context of the student protests of the 1960s.

Lynch Street is not, as one might assume, named after lynchings, rather it is identified with John Ray Lynch, an emancipated slave and Mississippi''s first black congressman. Lynch Street is the site of the black Jackson State College, where two black men were killed during antiwar and civil-rights protests in May 1970, 10 days after the Kent State University incident where four white students were slain by National Guardsmen. According to Spofford, a writer for the Albany Times Union, the Jackson State killings have been largely forgotten in contrast to the Kent State deaths. In his account, Spofford relies mainly on interviews with the wounded students and the families of the dead. He traces the mounting tensions on Lynch Street between blacks and whites and maintains that Jackson State students were not known for their political activism; yet a mini-riot, fueled by an atmosphere of racism, escalated, and the police panicked, called for extra help and began shooting. Spofford successfully recalls the moment with primary sources. ... Illustrated.

Only ten days after four white students had been gunned down by National Guardsmen at Kent State University in 1970, law enforcement officials fired upon and killed two young blacks and wounded twelve others in front of a women''s dormitory at Jackson State College in Mississippi. The first incident attracted media and public attention worldwide, overshadowing the later tragedy. Tim Spofford has not allowed the killings at Jackson State to be forgotten. Lynch Street presents the event in the context of the history of Jackson, Mississippi, as well as in the context of the student protests of the 1960s.

Lynch Street is not, as one might assume, named after lynchings, rather it is identified with John Ray Lynch, an emancipated slave and Mississippi''s first black congressman. Lynch Street is the site of the black Jackson State College, where two black men were killed during antiwar and civil-rights protests in May 1970, 10 days after the Kent State University incident where four white students were slain by National Guardsmen. According to Spofford, a writer for the Albany Times Union, the Jackson State killings have been largely forgotten in contrast to the Kent State deaths. In his account, Spofford relies mainly on interviews with the wounded students and the families of the dead. He traces the mounting tensions on Lynch Street between blacks and whites and maintains that Jackson State students were not known for their political activism; yet a mini-riot, fueled by an atmosphere of racism, escalated, and the police panicked, called for extra help and began shooting. Spofford successfully recalls the moment with primary sources. ... Illustrated.

This volume collects essays and documents from a wide selection of sources—many now out of print and difficult to locate—to provide a highly readable story of the settlement and development of the “New Connecticut” region of Ohio. Four divisions in the book logically organize the social, economic, and political study of the region: “Conquest and Settlement: Native Americans to New Englanders”; “The Pioneers: Town Building, Society, and the Emergence of an Economy”; “The Transition Years; Slavery, the Civil War, and the Reserve in National Politics, 1850-1880”; and “A Changing Legacy: Industrialism, Ethnicity, and the Age of Reform.” The volume ends in 1920, when the unique features of the Western Reserve of Ohio—the architecture, the landmarks, the New England lifestyle—had largely faded into American history as a result of industrialism, urbanism, and the pressure of a changing ethnic base.

This volume collects essays and documents from a wide selection of sources—many now out of print and difficult to locate—to provide a highly readable story of the settlement and development of the “New Connecticut” region of Ohio. Four divisions in the book logically organize the social, economic, and political study of the region: “Conquest and Settlement: Native Americans to New Englanders”; “The Pioneers: Town Building, Society, and the Emergence of an Economy”; “The Transition Years; Slavery, the Civil War, and the Reserve in National Politics, 1850-1880”; and “A Changing Legacy: Industrialism, Ethnicity, and the Age of Reform.” The volume ends in 1920, when the unique features of the Western Reserve of Ohio—the architecture, the landmarks, the New England lifestyle—had largely faded into American history as a result of industrialism, urbanism, and the pressure of a changing ethnic base.

Because naturalism seems antithetical to modernism and literary existentialism, slight attention has been given to the existence of a contemporary, or post-World War II, naturalism. Indeed, the very term serves as a synonym for “old fashioned.” While understandable, this view has contributed to the misunderstanding, if not neglect, of several American writers who came to prominence in the late 1940s and 1950s. James Jones coined the term “the unfound generation” to describe these writers. The career of Nelson Algren exemplifies this phenomenon.

Nelson Algren has always been an enigmatic figure, even at the peak of his career. Algren himself was the source of some of the confusion but he was also the victim of a long continuing critical misperception, that as a disciple of Theodore Dreiser he stressed external reality and social protest. In fact, while he never wavered in his commitment to the “lumpenproletariat”, society’s outcasts, his vision evolved significantly, especially through his acquaintance with Sartre, Beauvoir, and Celine. Algren’s best work reflects his despair over the “absurd” at least as much as his outrage over social and economic injustice.

In Confronting the Horror, James R. Giles examines the evolution of Algren’s major themes—external oppression and internal anxiety. He discusses Algren’s fiction in relation to Maxim Gorky’s explanation of the “lower depths” and the works of two contemporary writers, Hubert Selby, Jr., and John Rechy, who combine naturalistic technique with a largely existential, absurdist vision. Giles conclusion is forcefully argued, that Algren’s novels are thematically richer and more complex than hitherto regarded and represent the work of an American writer of the first order.

Because naturalism seems antithetical to modernism and literary existentialism, slight attention has been given to the existence of a contemporary, or post-World War II, naturalism. Indeed, the very term serves as a synonym for “old fashioned.” While understandable, this view has contributed to the misunderstanding, if not neglect, of several American writers who came to prominence in the late 1940s and 1950s. James Jones coined the term “the unfound generation” to describe these writers. The career of Nelson Algren exemplifies this phenomenon.

Nelson Algren has always been an enigmatic figure, even at the peak of his career. Algren himself was the source of some of the confusion but he was also the victim of a long continuing critical misperception, that as a disciple of Theodore Dreiser he stressed external reality and social protest. In fact, while he never wavered in his commitment to the “lumpenproletariat”, society’s outcasts, his vision evolved significantly, especially through his acquaintance with Sartre, Beauvoir, and Celine. Algren’s best work reflects his despair over the “absurd” at least as much as his outrage over social and economic injustice.

In Confronting the Horror, James R. Giles examines the evolution of Algren’s major themes—external oppression and internal anxiety. He discusses Algren’s fiction in relation to Maxim Gorky’s explanation of the “lower depths” and the works of two contemporary writers, Hubert Selby, Jr., and John Rechy, who combine naturalistic technique with a largely existential, absurdist vision. Giles conclusion is forcefully argued, that Algren’s novels are thematically richer and more complex than hitherto regarded and represent the work of an American writer of the first order.

These essays are collected from the Fourth International Conference on Literature and Psychology held at Kent State University, 7-9 August 1987. In selecting the essays for this first collection to emerge from the varied conferences now being sponsored by the Kent State University Center for Literature and Psychoanalysis, Vera Camden has brought together representative contributions from two major contemporary schools of psychoanalytic criticism: object relations and Lacanian theory. These essays define the questions which emerge when both schools are brought into the kind of association engendered by this conference, offering not so much a resolution to opposing positions as a fuller articulation of the space each occupies and a fluidity of discussion which has characterized psychoanalysis since Freud’s earliest discoveries.

Each contributor is concerned with the place of the unconscious in the determination of the human subject and its representations. Whether the approach is primarily clinical or literary, each identifies and analyzes the anguish of the incomplete self—a sell which looks to construct, identify, regain, or even deny meaning. A crucial difference emerges among these authors as to how the experience of human alienation and the quest for identify is to be analyzed. Some would suggest, after Jacques Lacan, that the task of analysis is to recognize the illusion of the unitary self and to reconcile the individual to that state. Others would contend the task of analysis is to recover, by the transference relationship, the lost unity missing in childhood and reflect in adult object-relations.

These essays range from clinical perspectives in psychosis and creativity to critical readings of Joyce and Shakespeare to recent applications of brain research to traditional psychoanalytic notions of the human subject. The richness and variety in this collection bear witness to the continuing impact of psychoanalysis on literary and cultural studies.

These essays are collected from the Fourth International Conference on Literature and Psychology held at Kent State University, 7-9 August 1987. In selecting the essays for this first collection to emerge from the varied conferences now being sponsored by the Kent State University Center for Literature and Psychoanalysis, Vera Camden has brought together representative contributions from two major contemporary schools of psychoanalytic criticism: object relations and Lacanian theory. These essays define the questions which emerge when both schools are brought into the kind of association engendered by this conference, offering not so much a resolution to opposing positions as a fuller articulation of the space each occupies and a fluidity of discussion which has characterized psychoanalysis since Freud’s earliest discoveries.

Each contributor is concerned with the place of the unconscious in the determination of the human subject and its representations. Whether the approach is primarily clinical or literary, each identifies and analyzes the anguish of the incomplete self—a sell which looks to construct, identify, regain, or even deny meaning. A crucial difference emerges among these authors as to how the experience of human alienation and the quest for identify is to be analyzed. Some would suggest, after Jacques Lacan, that the task of analysis is to recognize the illusion of the unitary self and to reconcile the individual to that state. Others would contend the task of analysis is to recover, by the transference relationship, the lost unity missing in childhood and reflect in adult object-relations.

These essays range from clinical perspectives in psychosis and creativity to critical readings of Joyce and Shakespeare to recent applications of brain research to traditional psychoanalytic notions of the human subject. The richness and variety in this collection bear witness to the continuing impact of psychoanalysis on literary and cultural studies.

With the fighting in World War II over in mid-August 1945, more than one-half million American troops moved to occupy Japan. Much of the country was ruined, buried under the rubble and debris of saturation bombing and the atomic blasts over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Japan’s rulers were stunned by defeat, and its people resigned to whatever the victors might impose upon them. Aftermath of War described the American transformation of Occupied Japan to be the greatest success story of United States policy in Asian. Howard Schonberger argues that this success came at a high price. Many of the popularity supported democratic reforms promoted by Americans in the early years of the Occupation were scuttled. Asian peoples developed a fear of the new Japan as a junior partner of the United States in opposing their legitimate revolutionary aspirations. Finally Japanese exports have triggered a dangerous xenophobic reaction in the United States in recent years. Schonberger recounts the rise of the new Japan through the eyes of eight Americans centrally engaged in events of the Occupation. Aftermath of War provides insights into the recent conflicts between the U.S. and Japan and recaptures the ideological debate within the United States over the future course of Japan. It implicitly suggests that Americans and Japanese seriously reconsider the post-surrender reform agenda rejected by official American policy after 1947.

With the fighting in World War II over in mid-August 1945, more than one-half million American troops moved to occupy Japan. Much of the country was ruined, buried under the rubble and debris of saturation bombing and the atomic blasts over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Japan’s rulers were stunned by defeat, and its people resigned to whatever the victors might impose upon them. Aftermath of War described the American transformation of Occupied Japan to be the greatest success story of United States policy in Asian. Howard Schonberger argues that this success came at a high price. Many of the popularity supported democratic reforms promoted by Americans in the early years of the Occupation were scuttled. Asian peoples developed a fear of the new Japan as a junior partner of the United States in opposing their legitimate revolutionary aspirations. Finally Japanese exports have triggered a dangerous xenophobic reaction in the United States in recent years. Schonberger recounts the rise of the new Japan through the eyes of eight Americans centrally engaged in events of the Occupation. Aftermath of War provides insights into the recent conflicts between the U.S. and Japan and recaptures the ideological debate within the United States over the future course of Japan. It implicitly suggests that Americans and Japanese seriously reconsider the post-surrender reform agenda rejected by official American policy after 1947.

The conflict between modern and traditional art is one of the best known episodes in American cultural history. The modernists on the war in the sense that their styles and attitudes of mind dominated the discussion and production of new art. But the traditionalists remained strong in the arenas of public opinion and taste. It is a testament to the importance of the ideas involved that the basic issues are not yet settled in the larger cultural world. Kenyon Cox, a painter as well as critic, revealed a steadfast devotion to the ideals of a high art tradition, derived in his later years chiefly from admiration for the Italian Renaissance. He knew western art history, surveyed the current art scene in many reviews and analytical essays, and wrote with careful attention to the canons of scholarship. Royals Cartissoz, the art editor of the New York Tribune for over fifty years, was an appreciator and connoisseur. His belief in “beauty” in a well-done and recognizable form left him open to more innovation than was the case with Cox. He based his views on a self-confessed ideal of common sense that left the art experience open to any sensitive person. He was well suited to speak to and for the growing middle class in the Progressive era. This viewpoint was equally adaptable, if more debatable intellectually, when modernism triumphed. The fact that he remained a significant figure in art circles long after his tastes ceased to be dominant, testified to the nature of the audience for whom and to whom he spoke. Frank Jewett Mather, Jr., was the most realistic of these critics in estimating how art appealed in society. He knew a lot about many things and was concerned to see that the arts remained integrated in public esteem and thought. Mather took comfort from the history of art, which revealed to him that great works and their creators could survive time and criticism. This sense of historical process and his great need for the unifying power of art experience let Mather escape the bitterness that so affected Cox, and to a lesser extent Cortissoz, as tastes changed. The artist’s mission was to maintain and extend forms of art that promoted order and integration in society and in individual personalities. Society in turn had to see the artist as a harbinger of an intensified emotional life, but which accommodated changed perception in constructive ways. The chief fear of the traditionalists was that the new art, which seemed shocking in form and disruptive in intent, would separate artist and public to the detriment of both.

The conflict between modern and traditional art is one of the best known episodes in American cultural history. The modernists on the war in the sense that their styles and attitudes of mind dominated the discussion and production of new art. But the traditionalists remained strong in the arenas of public opinion and taste. It is a testament to the importance of the ideas involved that the basic issues are not yet settled in the larger cultural world. Kenyon Cox, a painter as well as critic, revealed a steadfast devotion to the ideals of a high art tradition, derived in his later years chiefly from admiration for the Italian Renaissance. He knew western art history, surveyed the current art scene in many reviews and analytical essays, and wrote with careful attention to the canons of scholarship. Royals Cartissoz, the art editor of the New York Tribune for over fifty years, was an appreciator and connoisseur. His belief in “beauty” in a well-done and recognizable form left him open to more innovation than was the case with Cox. He based his views on a self-confessed ideal of common sense that left the art experience open to any sensitive person. He was well suited to speak to and for the growing middle class in the Progressive era. This viewpoint was equally adaptable, if more debatable intellectually, when modernism triumphed. The fact that he remained a significant figure in art circles long after his tastes ceased to be dominant, testified to the nature of the audience for whom and to whom he spoke. Frank Jewett Mather, Jr., was the most realistic of these critics in estimating how art appealed in society. He knew a lot about many things and was concerned to see that the arts remained integrated in public esteem and thought. Mather took comfort from the history of art, which revealed to him that great works and their creators could survive time and criticism. This sense of historical process and his great need for the unifying power of art experience let Mather escape the bitterness that so affected Cox, and to a lesser extent Cortissoz, as tastes changed. The artist’s mission was to maintain and extend forms of art that promoted order and integration in society and in individual personalities. Society in turn had to see the artist as a harbinger of an intensified emotional life, but which accommodated changed perception in constructive ways. The chief fear of the traditionalists was that the new art, which seemed shocking in form and disruptive in intent, would separate artist and public to the detriment of both.

The short-lived but remarkable correspondence presented in Letters to Lalage took place toward the end of Charles Williams’ life. Louis Lang-Sims was not the first young woman to seek his help or to fall beneath his spell. When she wrote to him in September 1943 Williams had already had numerous admirers, pupils, and disciples who looked to him for counsel, for advice, and most especially, for encouragement. His affinity with Louis Lang-Sims was not surprising. Some thirty years younger than he was, she was in due course herself to become a forceful and individual writer whose literary output, though relatively small, was almost as varied as Williams’ own. In Lois Lang-Sims’ writings, as in those of Charles Williams, a variety of literary forms embody a singleness of imaginative vision. But at the time of their first meeting she was only twenty-six years old and, according to her autobiographical a Time to be Born, in a state of great mental and emotional confusion. Now, nearly fifty years later, she presents the letters Williams wrote to her, together with her own comments on a relationship that was to come to such an abrupt, and in some respects disturbing, end. The intense demands of Williams’ mental and imaginative life did not permit him to be readily or relaxingly gregarious, though in whatever company he happened to be, for example as part of the Inklings group at Oxford, he was a powerful presence. Letters to Lalage enables us to study his involvement in one particular relationship with one particular person. As such they form an invaluable supplement to the more general accounts of Williams’ life supplied by his biographers. As a writer Williams blends to a remarkable degree those seemingly contradictory characteristics of impersonality and mannered idiosyncrasy which were features of his daily bearing. We see here something of the hypnotic quality of Charles Williams’ character and may obtain from it a deep if glancing insight into his extremely vulnerable humanity. At times a painful document, Letters to Lalage is of the greatest value in illuminating some of the more troubled aspects of a Christian writer and teacher who, more convincingly than most, could evoke the nature of joy—and who could induce joy in other people, however precariously he may have been aware of it himself. Most especially this book gives one an insight into the price Charles Williams paid (and unwittingly exacted) for his particular gifts and vision.

The short-lived but remarkable correspondence presented in Letters to Lalage took place toward the end of Charles Williams’ life. Louis Lang-Sims was not the first young woman to seek his help or to fall beneath his spell. When she wrote to him in September 1943 Williams had already had numerous admirers, pupils, and disciples who looked to him for counsel, for advice, and most especially, for encouragement. His affinity with Louis Lang-Sims was not surprising. Some thirty years younger than he was, she was in due course herself to become a forceful and individual writer whose literary output, though relatively small, was almost as varied as Williams’ own. In Lois Lang-Sims’ writings, as in those of Charles Williams, a variety of literary forms embody a singleness of imaginative vision. But at the time of their first meeting she was only twenty-six years old and, according to her autobiographical a Time to be Born, in a state of great mental and emotional confusion. Now, nearly fifty years later, she presents the letters Williams wrote to her, together with her own comments on a relationship that was to come to such an abrupt, and in some respects disturbing, end. The intense demands of Williams’ mental and imaginative life did not permit him to be readily or relaxingly gregarious, though in whatever company he happened to be, for example as part of the Inklings group at Oxford, he was a powerful presence. Letters to Lalage enables us to study his involvement in one particular relationship with one particular person. As such they form an invaluable supplement to the more general accounts of Williams’ life supplied by his biographers. As a writer Williams blends to a remarkable degree those seemingly contradictory characteristics of impersonality and mannered idiosyncrasy which were features of his daily bearing. We see here something of the hypnotic quality of Charles Williams’ character and may obtain from it a deep if glancing insight into his extremely vulnerable humanity. At times a painful document, Letters to Lalage is of the greatest value in illuminating some of the more troubled aspects of a Christian writer and teacher who, more convincingly than most, could evoke the nature of joy—and who could induce joy in other people, however precariously he may have been aware of it himself. Most especially this book gives one an insight into the price Charles Williams paid (and unwittingly exacted) for his particular gifts and vision.

The relative importance of Civil War campaigns is a matter for debate among historians and buffs alike. Gettysburg, Vicksburg, and Atlanta have their advocates. Gettysburg certainly maintains its hold on the popular imagination. More recently has come the suggestion that no single campaign or battle decided the war or even appreciably altered its direction.

If any one battle was a dividing line, Antietam is a solid contender. In no other campaign were the political, diplomatic, and military elements aligned so favorably for the Confederacy. Yet Lee’s retreat after the terrible battle in September 1862 changed everything. Great Britain had second thoughts about intervention; Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation; and Lee’s army, while victorious on other fields, proved not to be unbeatable.

Across the years, Antietam remains the worst one-day slaughter in American history. The ghastly losses in the Cornfield, the West Woods, and the Sunken Road still appall the reader. Lee’s gamble against disaster and George McClellan’s inexplicable refusal to press his advantage remain puzzlements.