Arts and Manners

Several friendly readers have complained that under the pretext of criticizing our civilization, I criticize our civilization. They have complained, that is, that I “never praise”; that I never find anything I can be for; and, to punish me for many a sin I have yet to commit, one reader even complained, that I am “not constructive.” That last one did it. Of all the clichés that pain the soul, and cause indigestion, none hurts so badly as that of “not being constructive.” I decided to give battle.

There are, in the first place, many things I am for, and I have praised them on previous occasions. I am, to summarize in a hurry, absolutely in love with able clowns, blithe actresses, unpretentious farce, authentic music, exuberant dance, the poetry of whimsical words and thoughtful words and words spoken in the abandon of love. I am in love with Jimmy Durante, and George Gobel, Miss Claudette Colbert (which, I am afraid, dates me), Arsenic and Old Lace, Mozart, Fred Astaire and Antonio, in love with some Limericks and Clerihews, with Dostoevsky and the wonders of Twelfth Night. Such marvels I have praised, and shall praise again; and it won’t help me a bit, because to praise gets a critic in even hotter trouble than “not to be constructive.” The confession that I love Jimmy Durante, for example, cost me the respect of three men and two women who up to that point were perfectly willing to consider me civilized. And a public endorsement of Twelfth Night got me a very bad press, as it clearly indicated (it seemed) that I was bearish on contemporary writers, and a poor sport to boot, betting only on races already run. Still, I shall praise again. But I won’t be pushed. I won’t above all, praise before the event, just to be “constructive.” And thereby hangs an argument.

WS

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William S. Schlamm

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Several friendly readers have complained that under the pretext of criticizing our civilization, I criticize our civilization. They have complained, that is, that I “never praise”; that I never find anything I can be for; and, to punish me for many a sin I have yet to commit, one reader even complained, that I am “not constructive.” That last one did it. Of all the clichés that pain the soul, and cause indigestion, none hurts so badly as that of “not being constructive.” I decided to give battle.

There are, in the first place, many things I am for, and I have praised them on previous occasions. I am, to summarize in a hurry, absolutely in love with able clowns, blithe actresses, unpretentious farce, authentic music, exuberant dance, the poetry of whimsical words and thoughtful words and words spoken in the abandon of love. I am in love with Jimmy Durante, and George Gobel, Miss Claudette Colbert (which, I am afraid, dates me), Arsenic and Old Lace, Mozart, Fred Astaire and Antonio, in love with some Limericks and Clerihews, with Dostoevsky and the wonders of Twelfth Night. Such marvels I have praised, and shall praise again; and it won’t help me a bit, because to praise gets a critic in even hotter trouble than “not to be constructive.” The confession that I love Jimmy Durante, for example, cost me the respect of three men and two women who up to that point were perfectly willing to consider me civilized. And a public endorsement of Twelfth Night got me a very bad press, as it clearly indicated (it seemed) that I was bearish on contemporary writers, and a poor sport to boot, betting only on races already run. Still, I shall praise again. But I won’t be pushed. I won’t above all, praise before the event, just to be “constructive.” And thereby hangs an argument.