The Little Review, June-July 1915 (Vol. 2, No. 4)

In Short

This issue of The Little Review is a curated collection of essays, poems, reviews, and polemics that defined the modernist spirit of 1915. It functions as both a literary journal and a manifesto, documenting the cultural transition from Victorian sensibilities to the fragmented, skeptical, and urgent voice of the new generation. By platforming radical thinkers and avant-garde writers, the publication captures a moment when traditional order was being stripped away, leaving a generation of artists to grapple with the meaning of freedom, the ethics of war, and the necessity of personal integrity.

The Story

The issue opens with an assessment of the literary climate in Chicago, setting a tone of fierce intellectual independence. Contributors argue that the city, once a vibrant hub for daring journalistic criticism, is losing its edge to commercial pressures, yet they refuse to concede the field. This sets the stage for a broader meditation on education and the "new generation." Writers explore the idea that children possess an innate, uncorrupted sense of truth—a spark of divine expression that the stifling, conventional adult world seeks to extinguish. The text argues that the current literary establishment is bleak and weak, contrasting this with the radiant possibility of the "artist in life" who possesses the strength to pursue a vision independent of societal approval.

As the narrative shifts to international matters, the mood darkens. The First World War looms over every page, not merely as a military event but as a force that unmasks the hypocrisy of international diplomacy. The discourse moves from the philosophy of national hatred—where the lowest levels of culture are identified as the most prone to jingoism—to the specific horrors of the Lusitania sinking. A biting, translated satirical poem imagines the German ambassador attempting to offer condolences to the United States, a performance of manners that barely conceals the brutality of the conflict. The text juxtaposes this with the interior life of a dying soldier, Anton Tarasovitch, who lies in an Austrian cornfield. Stripped of his nationalistic fervor, he finds that the only reality left to him is the memory of his beloved, Sasha, and the terrifying, solitary awareness of his own existence ending.

The latter portion of the magazine turns inward, attacking the "slobberdom" of salons and the superficiality of modern life. There is a profound disgust for those who treat ideas as fashion accessories, using them only to perform culture for an audience. The issue culminates in a defiant "Credo" from publisher Margaret C. Anderson, who aligns the magazine with "Applied Anarchism" and the "Will to Splendor of Life." The final pages serve as a battleground between the editors and their readers, featuring a contentious exchange over the value of radical politics. A reader questions why a champion of high art would support a "horrible" socialist magazine, only to be met with a sharp, clarifying response from the editor: she is not a socialist, but an individualist, a woman committed to an anarchic freedom that demands the reader rethink their own definitions of responsibility.

How It Unfolds

The Chicago legacy The issue begins by mourning the decline of the city’s most alert literary supplements, framing the current intellectual environment as a struggle against the mechanical limitations of commercial journalism.

The dawn of the new generation Attention shifts to the potential of the youth, who are described as possessing a "word-portrait" sensibility that mirrors the precision of Japanese poetry and a refusal to accept the "world-lie" of their elders.

The unmasking of diplomacy The discussion pivots to the war, characterizing the conflict as a "rude simpleton" that destroys the diplomatic niceties and reveals the true, naked state of international power and militarism.

The soldier’s final horizon The focus narrows to the singular, tragic experience of an anonymous man in a cornfield, whose meditation on his own death strips away all ideological justification for the war.

The war on mediocrity A series of scathing critiques targets the "Rev. Bradleys" of the world—those individuals who perform intellectualism in public to mask a lack of genuine depth or artistic conviction.

The declaration of the Credo The magazine formally defines its purpose, rejecting the demand for "Ultimate Conclusions" and asserting its commitment to "Life for Art’s sake" and the radical independence of the individual.

The defense of the outlook The final section engages the reader directly, using a heated exchange of letters to solidify the magazine’s stance as a home for individualist, anarchic thought rather than party-line politics.

The People

Margaret C. Anderson acts as the guiding force, holding the space for "intelligent people who can feel" while explicitly rejecting the role of a political party leader. She is joined by figures like Ben Hecht, who provides a cynical, sharp-edged commentary on the "slobberdom" and intellectual vanity of the salon class. Alexander S. Kaun serves as the cosmopolitan voice, translating the anxieties of Europe and the biting satire of the war into a Chicago context. Anton Tarasovitch stands as the book’s human heart; he is a man of no education who finds himself forced into the role of a national symbol, only to realize in his final moments that his entire world is built on his own singular perception. The "Rev. Bradley" serves as the antagonist of the intellect—a caricature of the insincere, performative thinker who loves the idea of art more than the substance of it.

In Its Own Voice

"I am sick of words—spoken words—verbal refuse thrown off by the mental hypochondriacs who imagine themselves suffering from thought and afflicted with ideas."

This outburst captures the magazine's visceral frustration with the performative, shallow nature of the contemporary intellectual salon.

"The Slavs are not adventurous people in the Western sense of the word; for the most part an inland race spread over the great monotonous Plain, they are inclined for melancholy introspective searchings and spiritual struggles rather than for actual physical adventures."

This observation, appearing in a book review, highlights the editor’s interest in the distinct, often somber psychological depth of Eastern European literature compared to Western tropes.

What It's Really About

At its core, this collection investigates the tension between the "Artist in Life" and the "Incomplete person." It argues that true culture requires a radical, individualist strength—a willingness to face the "voids beyond the stifling tomb" of social convention. The text is deeply concerned with the decay of language and the corruption of ideas by commercial or political interest. It asks whether it is possible to remain an individual in an age that demands uniformity, and whether art can be a form of truth in a world that uses words as a mask. It is a defense of the "Will to Splendor" against the encroaching grayness of modern, mechanized, and militarized life.

Why Read It Today

Readers today will find this issue fascinating for its raw, unpolished honesty. It does not possess the sanitized, retrospective view of history; instead, it vibrates with the specific anxieties of 1915—the fear of the war, the disdain for "platitudinizing" socialites, and the desperate search for something authentic. It is not an easy read; the prose is often dense, frequently shifting between multiple languages and abrupt, polemical shifts that demand full attention.

However, anyone interested in the origins of modernism will find it essential. The experience of reading it is like finding a cache of letters from an ancestor who was simultaneously terrified and exhilarated by the shifting sands of their century. The most lingering quality is the magazine's fierce, often abrasive belief in the individual. While the period attitudes—specifically the casual, often essentialist generalizations about national characters—may strike a modern reader as jarring, they serve as a stark reminder of the intellectual atmosphere from which our contemporary debates on identity and politics emerged. You come away from these pages not with a settled argument, but with the feeling of having witnessed the birth of a more aggressive, more demanding, and more deeply personal kind of literary criticism.