One of the mysteries of education is the place in its curriculum of works whose survival can be credited to little except their claim upon those baser emotions that the young may in time outgrow, but their tutors never seem to.
The Theory of the Leisure Class is such a case, representing, as it does, the sacrifice of Veblen’s notable powers of observation to his personal distempers. It lacks even the exuberance that is spleen’s only excuse; its execution is as leaden of foot as its subjects are tedious. How are we to explain the endurance of this dreary chaff except by its appeal to the envious?
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