Part 7

The question of how race hygiene must be applied is a profound and complex matter, impossible of solution by any individual. It will be solved gradually, and as a resultant of honest intellectual work by all forward looking people—more especially by your despised scientists. It will be a matter of inspired scientific education, of proper industrial conditions, of profound art stimulus, of sex reform, in short, of most of the things advocated today by the socialist party. I have a fair-to-middling imagination, but I totally fail to see how these things may properly be put into action without intelligent governmental organization. We simply must not narrow our minds by perfectionist generalities. It is the duty—and the inspiration—of the poet to understand and use science, of the scientist to develop the poet in himself, of all to face grimly every fact which concerns him and banish forever from his mind sentimentalism. Sentimentalism about ribbons and candy is sometimes pretty, but sentimentalism about the human race is a terrible form of blasphemy and the greatest of the sins of pettiness.

Now that I have spoken honestly, don’t think I have joined the ranks of irascible conservatives, and that I yell because I’ve been prodded. No one realizes more than I the necessity of greater emotion, or more sweeping vision. But let’s not make our vision sweeping by the simple process of cutting off our view!

OBLOMOFFDOM

_Minnie Lyon, Chicago_:

We are told by literary authorities that a certain Goncharoff occupies the place next to Turgeniev and Tolstoy in Russian literature. As to this I cannot vouch, but I can say that he has written a most profound and wonderful book called _Oblomoff_ wherein he has depicted in convincing terms the enthralling bondage of Russia’s intellectuals in her days of stagnant inactivity. From this book was coined the phrase—“Russian Malady of Oblomoffdom”, so well did it dissect her diseased and irresolute will—a malady so universal as to make one feel that _Oblomoff_ was written for us as well as for Russia. It certainly is a direct emphasis upon a condition which prevails so largely both in our personal and social life that few can read this inimitable pen portrait without a sneaking feeling that some of his own lineaments are limned therein.

Goncharoff writes of his hero: “The joy of higher inspiration was accessible to him—the miseries of mankind were not strange to him.... Sometimes he cried bitterly in the depths of his heart about human sorrows. He felt unnamed, unknown sufferings and sadness, and a desire of going somewhere far away,—probably into that world towards which Stoltz had tried to take him in his younger days. Sweet tears would then flow upon his cheek. It would also happen that he would feel hatred towards human vices, towards deceit, towards the evil which is spread all over the world; and he would then feel the desire to show mankind its diseases. Thoughts would then burn within him, rolling in his head like waves in the sea; they would grow into decisions which would make all his blood boil; his muscles would be ready to move, his sinews would be strained, intentions would be on the point of transforming themselves into decisions.... Moved by a moral force he would rapidly change over and over again his position in his bed; with a fixed stare he would lift himself from it, move his hand, look about with inspired eyes ... the inspiration would seem ready to realize itself, to transform itself into an act of heroism—and then, what miracle, what admirable results might one not expect from so great an effort! But—the morning would pass away, the shades of evening would take the place of broad daylight—and with them the strained forces of Oblomoff would incline towards rest—the storm in his soul would subside—his head would shake off the worrying thoughts—his blood would circulate more slowly in his veins—and Oblomoff would slowly turn over and recline on his back; look sadly through his window upon the sky, following sadly with his eyes the sun which was setting gloriously.... And how many times had he thus followed with his eyes that sunset!”

How easy to fall back upon a soft bed of _concessions_—and drift into a world of forgetfulness! It is just into terrible inertia—this every day and _every_ day humdrum conservatistic acceptance of things as they are—that THE LITTLE REVIEW comes with its laughter of the gods; it is so joyous, so fearless, so sure of its purpose, and hurls itself against it with its vital young blood and its burning young heart, and pleads with it for a re-creation of ideals in living, life, and art, and a bigger comprehension of what life and art can mean to the individual and to the race, if the individual will only open his heart and mind to these limitless freedoms. And it does not say: “Look, this is the only way;” but “come all ye who have something to offer—only let it be sincere, true, and unafraid.” And because of this big inclusiveness, we sometimes hear our friend, the sophisticated critic, say: “It lacks sophistication.”—What is sophistication anyway? Isn’t it something that has been baked and dried a long time? I wonder if every thoughtful reader does not grow weary of petty criticism! It is the twin sister (it has not the virility to be a boy twin) of Oblomoffdom, and lives as a parasite upon the brains of others. (I like that word _Oblomoffdom_; it covers such a multitude of indictments with an economy of words.) Let us have criticism—yes, by all means; but let it _be_ criticism—critical in values, illuminating in meaning, clear in exposition, telling us how and _why_. Then we’ll give you our respectful and unbiased attention. Too much of the stuff that passes as criticism is merely a “personal attitude,” a channel for expressing a prejudice for (often) something too big for the critic’s grasp. How often, too, does one grow a bit heart-weary on hearing some big personality, some fine intellect limit itself to one vision—its own.

Why not throw that attitude aside as an outworn garment, and welcome any force, simply and gladly, that can stimulate a spark of life-urge within us? A more courageous and intense love of truth, of men, of life.

And so, we welcome you, LITTLE REVIEW, with a _Happy New Year_ and a _long life_—as a Rebel spirit amongst us, fighting our deadly Oblomoffdom.

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Transcriber’s Notes

At the bottom of page 1, within Amy Lowell's _The Allies_, there is the centered word

(_Over_)

which seems out of place and is not found in later editions of the text. Speculating whether this was printed on purpose, e.g., to inform the reader to turn over the page to read the rest, we decided to reproduce it here as it was printed.

Advertisements were collected at the end of the text.

The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect correctly the headings in this issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW.

The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here (before/after):

[p. 10]: ... My petunias like censors, snowy white and full of honey? ... ... My petunias like censers, snowy white and full of honey? ...

[p. 18]: ... of the spiritual formulalist. Yet both are wrong. The Problem can be ... ... of the spiritual formulaist. Yet both are wrong. The Problem can be ...

[p. 18]: ... imposes on matural forms. The law-giver and reformer of social customs ... ... imposes on natural forms. The law-giver and reformer of social customs ...

[p. 31]: ... of his cane and withdrew from men, waiting like a sower who hath thrown ... ... of his cave and withdrew from men, waiting like a sower who hath thrown ...

[p. 31]: ... loses his way, becomes isolated, and is torn piecemeal by some manatour of conscience. ... ... loses his way, becomes isolated, and is torn piecemeal by some minotaur of conscience. ...

[p. 41]: ... Under the rock, our trusting place in the wood, ... ... Under the rock, our trysting place in the wood, ...

[p. 49]: ... rather than expose by inquisitive aestheticians. Of such is the magical ... ... rather than exposed by inquisitive aestheticians. Of such is the magical ...

[p. 53]: ... morbid, commonplace treatment of Peter, “the maginative child,” as an ... ... morbid, commonplace treatment of Peter, “the ’maginative child,” as an ...

[p. 55]: ... Mr. Thorley, who did the Balzac, has proved that in the rôle or a translator he runs ... ... Mr. Thorley, who did the Balzac, has proved that in the rôle of a translator he runs ...

[p. 58]: ... for the Catlan drama (Catalonia is a province in Spain) by picturing the characteristics ... ... for the Catalan drama (Catalonia is a province in Spain) by picturing the characteristics ...