The American novel to-day

In Short

This book serves as a scholarly bridge between French critical tradition and the burgeoning American literature of the early twentieth century. Originating from lectures delivered at the Sorbonne, it analyzes how writers like Theodore Dreiser, Sherwood Anderson, Sinclair Lewis, and Edith Wharton wrestled with the stifling weight of Puritanism and the rising tide of industrial materialism. By dissecting these authors’ portrayals of social hypocrisies and psychological repression, the work offers a detached, European perspective on how the United States began to forge a distinct, albeit troubled, literary voice.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book begins by establishing a fundamental tension: the conflict between a nation of immense physical prosperity and its perceived intellectual and artistic poverty. The author posits that America, while excelling in technical and industrial realms, remains in a state of cultural childhood, largely because its Puritan heritage suppresses the instincts of its most creative minds. The argument progresses through the works of key figures who, in their respective ways, attempt to break free from these ancestral constraints.

We see this struggle play out in the psychological realism of Nathaniel Hawthorne, whose characters, such as the tortured Dimmesdale, serve as precursors to the modern "repressed" individual. The analysis then shifts to Edith Wharton, who explores the spiritual indigence of the American elite. Her characters, uprooted and drifting, lack the deep ties to tradition that might otherwise ground them, leaving them to improvise their lives in a state of moral confusion.

The focus then turns to the "extreme realists," led by Theodore Dreiser. Here, the story is one of rebellion against censorship and moral platitudes. Dreiser is framed not as a traditional novelist, but as a chronicler of facts—a reporter who uses his "microscopic attention" to document the stark, often brutal realities of life in America. Yet, the author notes a paradox: Dreiser’s reliance on a rigid, quasi-scientific determinism strips his work of true dramatic dynamism, as his characters often move through life without the capacity for meaningful moral choice or conversion.

From the grim realism of the city, the inquiry moves toward the mystical, sensory prose of Sherwood Anderson. Anderson represents a different path—one that seeks to reconcile the physical body with the soul, championing sincerity over social propriety. This search for meaning is contrasted with the biting satires of Sinclair Lewis, whose characters, like Babbitt and Elmer Gantry, embody the high-blood-pressure vitality of a society obsessed with material success yet spiritually hollow. Finally, the narrative arrives at the "optimistic realism" of Willa Cather and the dream-haunted allegories of James Branch Cabell. The arc concludes by suggesting that while the American novel has begun to find its stride, it remains trapped in a cycle of skepticism and searching, as younger writers struggle to define their identity in a world where the old ideals have collapsed and the new ones—largely defined by money and status—fail to satisfy the human spirit.

How It Unfolds

The cultural diagnosis The author opens by asserting that American fiction is a vast, unified satire of the nation's own civilization. He argues that the dominance of Puritan moral codes has consistently thwarted the intellectual energies required for true artistic greatness.

The shadow of the past The analysis moves backward to Hawthorne, presenting him as the master of the repressed personality. This chapter establishes the "Puritan Tartuffe" as a recurring archetype in American literature, laying the groundwork for how later authors would handle confession and secret guilt.

The rise of the realist Attention shifts to the uncompromising journalism of Theodore Dreiser. The text details how his "muck-raking" approach to fiction reflects a belief that reality is too raw and complex to be filtered through the lens of traditional romanticism.

The indictment of the elite Edith Wharton is examined as the observer of spiritual drift among the well-to-do. Her novels are categorized as critiques of an ethics based solely on external actions, where characters possess no heritage to anchor their moral lives.

The path of the mystic Sherwood Anderson is introduced as a vital, primitive force in literature. The text explores his focus on sexual inhibition as the primary cause of social hypocrisy, positioning his work as a more lyrical, internal contrast to the city-based realists.

The satirical lens Sinclair Lewis is analyzed through his recurring character types, such as the realtor and the clergyman. The author concludes that these works, while vivid in their social critique, risk sacrificing art for the sake of public muck-raking.

The People

The figures analyzed in this book are as much symbols of cultural shifts as they are literary creations. Theodore Dreiser stands as the central polemical figure; he is the "historian" of the mundane who rejects sentimentality for a cold, bio-chemical view of human behavior. Edith Wharton is presented as the acute observer of the "behaviorists"—those whose lives are hollowed out by a reliance on social convention over genuine moral conviction. Sherwood Anderson serves as the mystical contrast to these realists, a "dreamer" who views sexual sincerity as the only path toward true liberation from the stifling atmosphere of the American town. Sinclair Lewis provides the energetic, satirical voice, creating figures like Babbitt and Elmer Gantry to illustrate the vitality—and the vanity—of a society that measures itself by its successes rather than its soul. Finally, characters like Hester Prynne and Dimmesdale from Hawthorne’s canon reappear throughout the text as the ancestral ghosts whose repressed passions continue to haunt the modern American psyche.

In Its Own Voice

Theodore Dreiser cannot refrain from chuckling, he tells us, when he sees more than one hundred millions of his countrymen loaded with a wealth which passes the imagination of the most enthusiastic miser and unable to count among themselves a sculptor, a poet, a singer, a novelist, an actor, a musician of the first rank.

The author uses this assessment by Dreiser to highlight the perceived disconnect between American material success and its cultural output.

Life will not be boxed in boxes. It will not be wrapped and tied up with strings and set aside on a shelf to await a particular religious or moral use.

The author quotes this passage from Dreiser’s own essays to define the novelist’s "pagan" and biological philosophy of life.

Man’s dreaming is for both of them a topic of foremost importance. Are not they produced by it? But to judge by dreamers’ pace in Cabell’s novels, and by the wreckage of dreams strewing their path, what does the future have in store for archangels and demons?

The author poses this rhetorical question while discussing how James Branch Cabell’s work deals with the dangerous, often destructive, nature of human idealism.

What It's Really About

The central argument posits that American literature is a long, arduous process of shedding the "Puritan mask." The book asks whether a society can ever be truly creative while it remains shackled to obsolete traditions and a preoccupation with material gain. It grapples with the tension between "behaviorism"—the reduction of life to mere external actions—and the deeper, often darker, subconscious impulses that the American novel has only recently begun to explore. Ultimately, the work asks if America can produce a thinker or artist of global stature, or if it is destined to remain a country of "wonderful technicians" who lack the spiritual depth to reflect on their own existence.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy literary history with a philosophical edge will find this book a rewarding, if demanding, companion. Its value lies in its distance; written by a French academic in the late 1920s, it looks at the "lost generation" of American writers with a clinical, analytical eye that differs significantly from contemporary American reviews. It is a time capsule of critical thought that captures the exact moment when American literature began to take itself—and its social responsibilities—seriously.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the book's specific limitations. It is deeply rooted in the sensibilities of the early twentieth century, occasionally relying on generalizations about "national temperaments" that feel dated today. The prose is academic and dense, and the frequent references to forgotten mid-century controversies may require a bit of patience. Yet, the reward for this effort is a profound look at how we once defined the "American character." It remains a sharp, insightful critique of a nation in the middle of a nervous breakdown. For those interested in how the canon of American realism was first interpreted by the international community, this book offers a clear, steady gaze at the tensions that still define the country’s artistic soul.