investigate before the voyage commences; or, if in midcourse he
likes not his carrier, take off in his mental airplane and seek
another book.




II

ON THE AMERICAN TRADITION

THE AMERICAN TRADITION


I remember a talk in Dublin with an Irish writer whose English
prose has adorned our period. It was 1918, and the eve of forced
conscription, and his indignation with English policy was intense.
"I will give up their language," he said, "all except Shakespeare.
I will write only Gaelic." Unfortunately, he could read Gaelic
much better than he could write it. In his heart, indeed, he knew
how mad he would have been to give up the only literary tradition
which, thanks to language, could be his own; and in a calmer mood
since he has enriched that tradition with admirable translations
from the Irish. He was suffering from a mild case of Anglomania.

Who is the real Anglomaniac in America? Not the now sufficiently
discredited individual with a monocle and a pseudo-Oxford accent,
who tries to be more English than the English. Not the more subtly
dangerous American who refers his tastes, his enthusiasms, his
culture, and the prestige of his compatriots to an English test