The Little Review, July 1917 (Vol. 4, No. 3)

In Short

This midsummer issue of a pioneering avant-garde periodical serves as a battleground for early twentieth-century modernism. It collects abrasive rules for intellectual isolation, sharp satirical verse, atmospheric prose, and dramatic dialogues concerning art, society, and bodily hygiene. Interspersed with these creative works are furious letters from bewildered readers and defiant responses from the editors. The volume survives as a vibrant, uncompromising artifact of a literary revolution that deliberately alienated the mainstream to forge a difficult, enduring new aesthetic.

The Story

The issue opens with a rigorous, aristocratic code for mental self-preservation, penned as a set of rules sent to a young disciple. This text instructs the reader to avoid parables, exploit human stupidity, reject herd-hypnotism, and maintain an isolated mountain of intellectual purity against the vulgarity of the multitude. This austere beginning shifts into lyrical territory with sharp French-language poetry and evocative English verse that contrasts urban squalor with ancient monuments, followed by a whimsical poem about a fragile hippopotamus resting in the mud while the True Church collects its dividends in safety.

The momentum then transitions into a philosophical dialogue set at a public bathhouse. Two interlocutors, Poggio and Maunsier, debate the historical divergence between clean pagan antiquity and Christian asceticism, which successfully turned physical dirt into a matter of moral purity. They muse on human uniformity, the rarity of independent thought, and the brief historical windows where unique minds manage to flourish before society forces them back into rigid, departmentalized molds. They ultimately question whether an established literary style might become just as oppressive as any other religious or social establishment.

Following this philosophical interlude, the text descends into darker, more fractured psychological spaces. Nighttime prose pieces evoke sudden nocturnal terrors, the oppressive weight of waking up from nightmares, and the ghostly, lecherous processions of shadowy figures encircling a helpless sleeper. Short, imagistic poems compare human thoughts to twilight fish, climbing apes, and changing seasonal habits, capturing a fleeting sense of internal rhythm, isolation, and strange domestic delights.

The literary journey culminates in a surreal dramatic piece where a group of archetypal figures—a mad shepherd, a narcissus peddler, a slender nun, and a wine jar maiden—gather before a glowing purple window. Tempted by an endless dream of spiritual transcendence, several characters leap through the barrier, only to wander through a high corridor and return in a trance, confronting a poet who arrives in a deep crimson robe to survey the group and question their existential journey.

The volume concludes with a volatile reader-critic section filled with correspondence from outraged subscribers. Disgruntled readers write in with stinging accusations, calling the publication rubbish, insipid, and stupid for printing pacifist wartime literature, radical social theories, and avant-garde experiments. The editors refuse to apologize, publishing these attacks alongside defiant justifications. They argue that humanity is inherently foolish and that a contempt for the crowd is the inevitable reaction of anyone weighing true artistic values. The issue finally closes with sharp book advertisements, including notices for Mark Twain and James Joyce, cementing its identity as an active catalyst for modern literary warfare.

How It Unfolds

The aristocratic manifesto Benjamin Richard Wing outlines a strict, uncompromising set of rules intended for his young friend Philip Seddon. He commands the youth to shun herd-hypnotism, exploit human stupidity, and protect his individual intellect upon an isolated mountain. This opening text establishes a tone of fierce intellectual elitism and total defiance against popular culture.

The satirical verse T. S. Eliot presents biting poetry and foreign-language verses detailing urban decay, restlessness, and spiritual complacency. A central poem contrasts the frail, mud-bound physical nature of a hippopotamus with the secure, dividend-collecting institution of the True Church. These verses mock modern banality with sharp, precise, and unsettling imagery.

The bathhouse dialogue Poggio and Maunsier converse at a public resort about physical cleanliness, pagan philosophy, and Christian asceticism. They analyze how society relentlessly enforces uniformity and discuss whether established literary styles risk becoming oppressive cultural institutions themselves. Their wide-ranging dialogue bridges ancient history and contemporary human habits.

The nocturnal terrors John Rodker captures a chilling midnight awakening and the oppressive psychological weight of recurring nightmares. The prose evokes shadowy, lecherous processions of figures slowly circling a helpless sleeper in the dark. It lays bare a profound, agonizing vulnerability to unseen psychological threats.

The surreal drama Maxwell Bodenheim stages a symbolic encounter near a glowing purple window where a mad shepherd, a narcissus peddler, a slender nun, and a maiden confront dreams and reality. Several characters leap through the barrier and return in a trance before a silent poet in a crimson robe. This theatrical dreamscape questions the nature of human aspiration.

The editor's defense The volume closes with hostile reader mail criticizing the magazine's pacifism, difficulty, and avant-garde obscurity. The editors fiercely defend their open contempt for the crowd, insisting that true art must state enduring truths rather than pander to the public. It forms a remarkably defiant manifesto for modernist publishing.

The People

Benjamin Richard Wing wants his young friend to achieve absolute intellectual independence, but the overwhelming pressure of herd mentality and social vulgarity stands in the way; he remains an uncompromising mentor shaping a solitary disciple. Philip Seddon seeks guidance in maintaining his individuality, hampered by the constant temptation of societal conformity.

Poggio and Maunsier want to understand the erratic currents of human history and culture, though the rigid uniformity of civilization and religious dogmas about bodily dirt block their path; they end up forming nuanced conclusions about the transient nature of intellectual freedom.

In the dramatic interlude, the Mad Shepherd wants to weave a pure musical tune, the Narcissus Peddler seeks an endless dream of beauty, and the Slender Nun desires a soul anchored in spiritual clarity. Doubt, despair, and the terrifying trap of illusion stand in their way. The peddler and nun leap into the unknown and return in a trance, fundamentally altered by their brush with transcendence, while the shepherd remains behind, playing fragments of his reed.

Finally, Margaret C. Anderson wants to establish uncompromising artistic values and present unvarnished truths, but outraged subscribers and mainstream societal expectations block her path; she ends up defending her publication with fierce clarity, refusing to yield to the hostile crowd.

In Its Own Voice

When instructing his young protégé on how to maintain intellectual independence against the pressures of society, Wyndham Lewis outlines a harsh psychological rule:

Never maltreat your own intelligence with parables.

During an extended philosophical discussion regarding the cultural history of hygiene and human behavior, the character Poggio remarks on religious ideology:

The christians have made dirt a matter of morals: a son of God can have no need to be cleansed.

When responding directly to outraged readers who accuse the periodical of publishing insipid rubbish and unpatriotic literature, the editor explains her stance:

A contempt for the “vulgus” is the inevitable reaction of any man or woman who observes the antics of the “flies in the marketplace.”

What It's Really About

Beneath its eclectic mix of polemics, poetry, and dialogue, the book addresses the violent friction between individual consciousness and mass conformity. It investigates how society enforces ideological and behavioral uniformity, turning art and morality into tools of control. The texts persistently question whether true intellect can survive untainted in a world driven by herd instincts, war hysteria, and commercial vulgarity. Furthermore, it explores the burden of artistic freedom, suggesting that authentic creation requires a deliberate, uncompromising detachment from public approval. By juxtaposing elite avant-garde manifestos with furious reader backlash, the work examines the painful cost of cultural innovation during a time of immense global crisis.

Why Read It Today

Readers who love uncompromising modernism, sharp intellectual provocation, and historical literary artifacts will find this collection endlessly fascinating. To read it feels like stepping directly into the ideological battlefields of 1917, experiencing the raw, unfiltered energy of writers carving out a new aesthetic amid intense global conflict. What stays with you long after finishing is the sheer audacity of the contributors and editors, who steadfastly refused to soften their vision for a comfortable audience or nationalistic sentiment. Modern readers must be honest about its difficulties: the period attitudes, esoteric classical references, and abrasive elitism can feel jarring, eccentric, and deliberately provocative. Yet, these very challenges offer a rare, unmediated look at the birth pangs of literary modernism. It rewards patient attention with brilliant flashes of poetic imagery, deep philosophical inquiry, and a bracing reminder of what it means for art to stand entirely independent of public consensus and commercial demands.