The Little Review, August 1916 (Vol. 3, No. 5)

In Short

This volume is an issue of The Little Review, a foundational avant-garde periodical from 1916. It serves as a rallying cry for "Art for Art’s sake," demanding that creators reject compromise, censorship, and provincial morality. Through sharp critiques of contemporary poetry, political commentary on anarchist thought, and raw, experimental verse, the magazine functions as a laboratory for the new consciousness. It has lasted because it captures a pivotal moment when literature broke away from Victorian decorum to confront the brutal, beautiful, and chaotic realities of a rapidly modernizing world.

The Story

The narrative arc of this issue begins with a searing editorial by Margaret C. Anderson, who confesses her shame at the magazine’s past failures. She declares that the publication has reached a breaking point: it will henceforth publish only the "miracle" of true art, or it will cease to exist. This creates a high-stakes atmosphere, casting the magazine not merely as a collection of pages, but as a living, breathing entity struggling against the sterility of the age.

The middle section shifts from internal aspiration to external confrontation. The contributors turn their gaze toward the hostile forces standing in the way of this aesthetic revolution. R. G. recounts the tragic destruction of rare Chinese art by customs officials—a literal burning of beauty by a government they label "Puritan" and "lily-livered." This theme of the artist as a target is echoed in Jean de Bosschere’s allegorical poem about Ulysses, who builds a private space to cultivate his own vision, only to be burned at the stake by a town that demands his conformity. The tone here is one of defiant mourning; the artist is a martyr, yet the work remains a source of vitality.

The momentum moves toward a critical assessment of the "modern" landscape. Caesar Zwaska praises Carl Sandburg for capturing the grit of American life, contrasting his honesty with the "strutting weak-willed" performers who populate the stages of the time. This leads into a sharp, unsentimental dissection of Edgar Lee Masters, who is accused of bowing to Victorian literary critics rather than embracing the radical promise of his own Spoon River Anthology. The critique is unsparing; the editor demands that poets stop "dangling at the heels" of past giants.

As the issue draws to a close, the focus settles on the human condition. Sue Golden’s "Julia to Jim" acts as a philosophical anchor, arguing that the true tragedy of modern life is not sex, but the "sentimental" urge to force others into fixed, tidy packages. She champions the "free" individual who changes like a blooming flower, refusing to be owned or understood by a partner. Finally, the magazine pivots to its own future, announcing a contest for vers libre (free verse). By encouraging new, untethered forms of expression, the issue concludes on a note of active defiance—a transition from mourning the death of beauty to actively creating the conditions for its rebirth.

How It Unfolds

The declaration of intent The editor opens with a blistering critique of the magazine’s own past, establishing a standard of perfection that values art above life. She demands a "miracle" and warns that future pages will remain blank if they do not meet her stringent criteria.

The war against censorship The focus shifts to the external obstacles facing the artist, specifically the government’s destruction of "obscene" Oriental art. This segment frames the struggle for beauty as a violent conflict between the enlightened creator and a repressive, philistine state.

The poetic landscape A series of reviews and critiques evaluates the work of contemporaries like Carl Sandburg and Edgar Lee Masters. The magazine measures these poets against the high bar of "universal needs" and "original makers," dismissing those who settle for mere imitation.

The individual liberated The prose and poetry reach a climax in the discussion of personal freedom and the rejection of social roles. The contributors argue that the "hysteria" of the age stems from the stifling boredom of domestic expectations, advocating instead for a life lived in constant, honest flux.

The final challenge The issue closes by inviting its readership to participate in a poetry contest. This transition from criticism to direct action ensures that the magazine remains an active participant in the artistic evolution it champions.

The People

Margaret C. Anderson, the publisher and editor, acts as the moral center of the magazine. She is impatient, fiercely idealistic, and deeply self-critical. Her demand for "Art" is not a request for politeness, but a radical requirement for authenticity that drives the entire issue.

Ulysse, the protagonist of Bosschere’s poem, represents the archetype of the modern creator. He wants only to exist in his own space—to build his bed and look through his own window—but his refusal to perform for the "bourgeois" town leads to his destruction. He is the embodiment of the artist who realizes that isolation is the only way to retain integrity.

Sue Golden’s "Julia" is a voice of earthy, practical intelligence. Unlike the romanticized figures of literature, she wants no part in the "ideal" of love. She represents the rejection of sentimentality, preferring the instability of a life that is "free" over the comforting but restrictive cages of marriage.

Carl Sandburg is portrayed as the benchmark for the modern poet. He is lauded not for his polish, but for his courage in documenting the "gaunt and vivid" realities of working-class life. He is the antithesis of the "weak-willed" performers the editors loathe, representing the grit and honesty they seek to foster.

In Its Own Voice

"The ultimate reason for life is Art; you don’t make art so that you may live; you do just the reverse of that."

The editor justifies her radical editorial policy by placing the value of art above the preservation of everyday life.

"I am a stranger, wandering always; only the dark trees know me and the dark skies."

In this poem, the artist defines his isolation from a society that prefers "little words and little visions" over the raw honesty of true expression.

"Why, I’d die in a week if I had to keep on being the particular kind of primrose that you think me."

The narrator rejects the gendered expectations of her partner, insisting on the right to change her nature as frequently as she pleases.

What It's Really About

At its heart, this collection is an argument for the primacy of the individual spirit. It rejects the idea that life should be static, reasonable, or subservient to social norms. The contributors grapple with the tension between the artist’s need for isolation and the human desire for connection, ultimately concluding that connection is only possible when individuals stop attempting to "absorb" or "bundle" one another. The book asks whether the modern world—with its censorship, its wars, and its stifling traditions—can accommodate the "miracle" of true creativity. It argues that if the world cannot, then the artist’s duty is to live in a state of perpetual, honest revolt.

Why Read It Today

Readers will appreciate this collection for its uncompromising, electric energy. It is not a polished museum piece; it feels like a heated conversation in a smoke-filled room, where the stakes are high and the opinions are sharper than the prose. Those who value the history of literary modernism will find the roots of later experimental movements here, particularly in the early efforts to define vers libre.

However, a modern reader must be prepared for the specific, sometimes abrasive, intellectual tone of 1916. The contributors speak with the certainty of radicals, and their disdain for "philistinism" can feel elitist. The excerpts also reflect the period’s preoccupation with Nietzschean "beyond-man" concepts and an intense, sometimes difficult, focus on the "sexual question." While the language is occasionally dense or allegorical, the underlying demand—that we stop being "incomplete people" and start living with courage—remains strikingly relevant. You read this not for a gentle story, but to witness a group of people daring to clear away the debris of an old world to see what might grow in the ashes. It leaves you feeling restless, challenged, and perhaps a little more suspicious of the "bundles" you have allowed others to tie around your own life.