The Little Review, January 1917 (Vol. 3, No. 8)

In Short

This issue functions as an intellectual manifesto for the modernist movement. Through a mixture of essays, poetry, and spirited reader correspondence, it challenges the conventional understanding of art, aesthetics, and the role of the creator in society. It has lasted as a historical artifact because it captures the raw, argumentative energy of a period that sought to discard Victorian sensibilities in favor of something sharper and more personal. It is less a cohesive narrative than a snapshot of a lively, often contentious, cultural laboratory operating at the intersection of Chicago’s arts scene and global modernism.

The Story

The arc of this publication is one of intellectual provocation. It begins by examining the "Great Emotional Mind"—a critique of the amateur art-lover who mistakes personal sentiment for objective aesthetic judgment. The editorial voice establishes early on that art is not a democratic consensus, nor a soothing escape from reality, but a carefully selected expression of the artist’s unique personality. This foundational argument sets the stage for the rest of the issue, which proceeds to apply this rigorous, often uncompromising, lens to a variety of subjects.

From these theoretical opening salvos, the publication shifts into a more atmospheric mode. It presents "Chinoiseries," a series of vignettes that move through dreamscapes, history, and folklore, providing a stylistic contrast to the fierce editorials. This leads into the heart of the issue’s aesthetic program: the championing of specific figures who embody the "decorative" and the "intelligent." The singer Mary Garden becomes a central touchstone, praised as a "great decorative actress" whose body and movement are compared to the work of Rodin. The commentary is not limited to praise; it is equally occupied with "atrocities," such as the poor staging of a Shaw play or the misguided criticism of George Moore’s work by Frank Harris.

The arc then turns toward the internal life of the creator. A story titled "Huppdiwupp" acts as a fable for the artist’s journey—a young boy carves a wooden horse and seeks to sell it to an indifferent, Philistine city. His struggle mirrors the wider struggle of the magazine itself: the quest to have one’s creative vision recognized in a world that values money and pragmatism over the "gift" of the artist.

Finally, the magazine opens its doors to its readers, who are as sharp and critical as the editors themselves. The "Reader Critic" section allows for a back-and-forth, with contributors questioning the publication’s elitism, its lack of social vision, and its obsession with "miracles." The editors respond with characteristic vigor, refusing to apologize for their stance. The issue concludes not with a resolution, but with a continued call for the promotion of modern art, leaving the reader with the sense that the debate is far from over—it is, instead, the very engine of the magazine’s ongoing project.

How It Unfolds

The critique of the amateur The editorial establishes the distinction between the "lay mind" and the "artist," arguing that art is an expression of personality rather than a universal truth. It systematically dismantles the common myths that art is a form of escape or a test of one's emotional depth.

The shift to the decorative Short, impressionistic prose pieces introduce a world of myth and ancient history, grounding the publication in a poetic sensibility. This transitions into a defense of "decorative" art, using Mary Garden as the prime example of an artist who understands the intelligence of form.

The struggle for recognition A narrative fable illustrates the divide between the creator and the marketplace, depicting the artist’s work as misunderstood and undervalued. The story reinforces the publication’s theme that true art is often seen as "eccentric" by those who do not understand it.

The reader’s rebellion The final section transforms the magazine into a public forum where readers challenge the editors on their definitions of art and their political neutrality. This back-and-forth confirms that the publication is not a static list of opinions, but a living, breathing conflict of ideas.

The People

Margaret C. Anderson serves as the primary architect of the publication’s voice. She is uncompromising, sharp-tongued, and deeply invested in the idea that art is a specialized pursuit for the few who possess genuine creative personality. She is the gatekeeper, frequently dismissing the "lay mind" with intellectual disdain.

Mary Garden stands as the publication’s ideal model of the artist. She is described not merely as a performer, but as a living work of art—a "decorative" force who uses her body and intellect to transcend the limitations of the stage.

Friedel, the young protagonist of "Huppdiwupp," represents the artist in his most vulnerable form. He is innocent, determined, and possesses a "gift in his hand" that the adult world cannot see. His journey into the city is a microcosm of the artist’s alienation from a world driven by money and utility.

The Reader Critics, such as the soldier Alan Adair and the correspondent Stephan Böchlin, function as the necessary foils to Anderson. Adair brings the harsh, brutal reality of war to the discussion, challenging the notion that art can exist in a vacuum, while Böchlin pushes for a more "progressive" social vision, urging the magazine to move beyond its own perceived art-for-art's-sake dogmatism.

In Its Own Voice

"If you tell a man that he mustn’t argue with an artist, not being one himself, he considers your remark insulting."

This opening observation sets the tone for the publication’s defense of artistic expertise against the interference of the casual observer.

"Art is the carefully-selected expression of his personality."

This line crystallizes the central philosophy of the magazine, shifting the focus of creation from the "whole man" to the specific identity of the artist.

"The Arts, if they do not lose influence, do at least change in the significance that they have for his soul."

A contributor writing from a military camp offers this reflection on how the proximity of death forces a reevaluation of what art is actually for.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the definition and defense of the artist’s autonomy. The publication interrogates whether art is a social good, a tool for human progress, or a purely individualistic expression of genius that owes nothing to the public. It asks whether beauty is something inherent in the world or a "falsification" we impose upon reality to make life bearable. There is a recurring tension between the "decorative"—the idea that art should be a carefully designed, intelligent object—and the "realist"—the belief that art must document the grit and truth of human life. Ultimately, the publication explores the loneliness of the creator who refuses to simplify their work to suit the tastes of the "Philistine" world.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the history of intellectual debate or the development of modernist aesthetics will find this volume fascinating. It is a time capsule of a period when the "new" was being forged in the heat of argument. Reading it feels like eavesdropping on a heated conversation in a smoky cafe, where the stakes—the definition of art itself—are felt to be exceptionally high.

However, it is not an easy read for those looking for a polished, singular narrative. Its structure is fragmented, and its tone is frequently arrogant, reflecting the exclusionary habits of early 20th-century artistic circles. The language is dense with the period’s specific anxieties and assumptions, and some sections, particularly the advertisements and the "Reader Critic" disputes, require a willingness to navigate the specific cultural baggage of 1917. What stays with you, however, is the sheer, unyielding conviction of these writers. Even when the magazine’s positions seem outdated or elitist, their commitment to the "quickened" life—the idea that one must be intensely alive and deeply perceptive—remains a powerful, if provocative, challenge to the reader today. It is a record of people who were not content to let the world just happen to them, but insisted on shaping it through their own creative will.