The Little Review, May 1915 (Vol. 2, No. 3)

In Short

This issue of The Little Review functions as a vibrant time capsule, gathering poetry, cultural criticism, and political commentary from the spring of 1915. It serves as a laboratory for the Imagist movement and a platform for radical thinkers navigating the onset of the First World War. By juxtaposing delicate, precise verse against the blunt, terrifying realities of global conflict and domestic labor unrest, the collection offers a vivid portrait of a generation struggling to articulate a new kind of beauty amidst the ruins of the old world.

The Story

The narrative arc of this periodical is defined by the tension between the sanctuary of art and the encroaching shadow of war. It opens with intimate, melancholic poetry—Mitchell Dawson’s evocations of broken illusions—before quickly transitioning into the urgent, broader ideological battles of the day. The core of the issue is a sweeping survey of the cultural landscape, ranging from Amy Lowell’s affectionate account of the London Poetry Bookshop to intense, analytical appraisals of new, starker poetic forms like Imagism.

As the reader moves through the pages, the focus shifts from the aesthetic to the social. The magazine turns its attention to the front lines of human experience, specifically the labor movement, with sharp, perceptive portraits of activists like Mother Jones and Elizabeth Gurley Flynn. These figures are presented as the true, vital counterparts to the poets; they are the "social artists" building a new world while the old one tears itself apart. The publication does not shy away from the horrific irony of the era: while poets reach for the sublime, they are simultaneously forced to read accounts of trenches and the sounds of shelling, as described in Fritz Kreisler’s war impressions.

The middle section delves into the theater and the failures of the establishment to provide genuine intellectual nourishment. There is a palpable frustration with institutions, from the Panama-Pacific Exposition’s neglect of contemporary verse to the heavy-handed censorship of books on reproductive health. The tone is consistently combative, mocking the "smugness" of bourgeois morality and the "artificiality" of those who refuse to see the tragedy of the times.

The arc concludes not with a resolution, but with a call to continued, restless inquiry. The closing pages turn toward the future, highlighting the work of revolutionaries and the persistent labor of the poet. By the final entry, the reader is left with the sense of a journey in progress. The magazine posits that although the world may seem to be falling into darkness, the duty of the artist and the reformer remains the same: to remain "disinterested," to seek truth in the "depths," and to carry a white banner, even if one has yet to find the right words to write upon it. It is a document of profound transition, where the beauty of a "sea iris" exists in the same breath as the brutal, mechanical sounds of modern warfare.

How It Unfolds

The aesthetic search The issue begins with evocative, sparse poetry that establishes a mood of introspection and austerity, framing the artist as a lonely figure building a citadel out of broken illusions.

The call to collective welfare The editor shifts the tone to a philosophical manifesto, arguing that both individuals and nations must move beyond the "passion for possession" to achieve true social order.

The defense of the new arts Detailed essays explore the rise of Imagism and the significance of the Poetry Bookshop, asserting that poetry is a hard-won, rigorous trade rather than a sentimental pastime.

The critique of the status quo The magazine turns its gaze to the public sphere, lamenting the absence of poetry in major expositions and railing against the stifling effects of censorship and traditionalist critics.

The portrait of radicals The focus lands on labor leaders and social agitators, framing their activism as an essential, heroic extension of the same creative spirit found in the most modern verse.

The collision with reality The final beats reconcile these artistic goals with the carnage of World War I, using descriptions of trench warfare to underscore the urgency of the poet’s mission to articulate human experience.

The People

Margaret C. Anderson, the publisher and guiding force, appears as an incisive, uncompromising voice who prioritizes the welfare of "humankind" over nationalistic fervor. She seeks to align the magazine with those who possess the "staying quality" of true leadership. Remy de Gourmont is championed as the representative of European intellectual tradition, a figure of irony and depth whose skepticism serves as a model for the modern mind. Mother Jones and Elizabeth Gurley Flynn emerge as the issue’s vital center; they are the "redeemers" of life, representing the raw, dynamic power of the working class. Amy Lowell provides a bridge between the artistic and the practical, her account of the Poetry Bookshop illustrating the struggle to maintain a space for beauty in a commercial world. Finally, the "Imp" of Sade Iverson’s poetry serves as a metaphorical companion—a mocking, secret creature that guides the artist through poverty and social alienation, ensuring that the poet remains unbowed by the "fat landlord" of conventional society.

In Its Own Voice

I have strewn the ground with the shards of broken illusions, and I will build of them a citadel of austerity with towers whence I can search the sky for a rainbow that is stronger than painted china.

(This reflection on the nature of poetic creation opens the issue, signaling the magazine’s rejection of hollow sentimentality.)

I would still hear the cry of the fallen recalling me back from above, to go down to the side of the people who weep in the shadow of death.

(This stanza from Maeterlinck’s poems underscores the magazine’s insistence that art must remain connected to the suffering of the masses.)

The American citizen even when about to be hanged is unable to rise above the commonplace reactions “imagined” for his predicament by such authors as belong to the Indiana Society.

(This sharp critique by Ben Hecht highlights the magazine’s disdain for the "bourgeois" limitations of American literature.)

What It's Really About

At its heart, this collection asks how one can possibly live, create, or think clearly when the world is undergoing a seismic collapse of values. It is a book-length argument for the necessity of "disinterested" expression—an insistence that artists and reformers must act for the "general good" rather than for self-interest or nationalistic gain. The issue confronts the tension between the fragile, crystalline beauty of the new poetic forms and the crude, violent reality of the war-torn 20th century. It asks whether poetry, in its most modern and stripped-down form, can function as a tool for social and spiritual liberation, or if it is destined to be a mere ornament in a world that prefers the "business" of war and commerce.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy literary history and the raw, unpolished energy of manifestos will find this a fascinating read. It feels less like a finished book and more like a live conversation, capturing the precise moment when the 20th century began to shed its Victorian skin. The writing is fiercely intelligent, often combative, and entirely free of the polished, retrospective gloss of later literary critiques.

The reader should be prepared for the difficulties of the era: the text reflects the period's specific, sometimes bewildering, preoccupations with "isms"—Imagism, Unanimism, Paroxysm—and carries the heavy, often jarring context of a world sliding into the First World War. The prose can be dense, and the critical voice is frequently biting, reflecting the intense factionalism of 1915. However, those who value the "astringent flavour" of early modernism will find it immensely rewarding. What stays with you is the sheer, defiant vitality of these writers; they are absolutely convinced that their words matter, even while the world outside their windows is proving that it has little use for them. It is an honest, often prickly, but ultimately exhilarating look at what it meant to be a person of letters in an age of upheaval.