The Little Review, November 1916 (Vol. 3, No. 7)

In Short

This issue of The Little Review—a seminal avant-garde magazine—serves as a vibrant, combative snapshot of high modernism. It collects poetry, polemical essays, and sharp correspondence to challenge the provincialism of American culture. By prioritizing "significant form" over mainstream accessibility, the journal acts as a clearinghouse for international aesthetic movements, from the delicate, archaic echoes of Richard Aldington’s verse to the gritty, urgent reflections on labor and art found in reviews of Martin Anderson Nexø’s work. It has lasted as a testament to the uncompromising, often fractious, pursuit of creative freedom.

The Story

The narrative arc of this issue begins with a surrender to the beauty of the classical world, specifically the evocative, dreamlike poetry of Richard Aldington. His "Myrrhine and Konallis" sequence centers the reader in a landscape of red clay, wine jars, and the passing of gods, framing love and beauty as transient, fragile, and ultimately mournful. This aesthetic foundation is immediately challenged by the magazine’s own critical voice. The focus shifts from the ancient to the immediate, as the contributors pivot to an aggressive critique of the American literary scene. They dismiss popular "home-made" American novels, arguing that this domestic art is "strong like an ox, not like a tiger," and lack the universal reach required for true significance.

The middle of the issue expands this conflict into a broader cultural inquiry. A vivid, sensory-drenched account of seeing Rabindranath Tagore and Ignacy Paderewski in San Francisco serves as a bridge between the quiet, mysterious East and the flamboyant, "silken rage" of European art. This leads into an intense analysis of Martin Anderson Nexø’s Pelle the Conqueror. Here, the text argues that art must elevate the struggles of the working class without resorting to the patronizing tones of the middle class. The discussion of the "Ark," the home of the city poor, underscores a central belief: that the beauty created by the impoverished out of "Nothing" is a profound, artistic truth that requires no social-science interpretation.

The struggle intensifies in the latter half, dominated by the intellectual iron of Ezra Pound. He rails against the "sodden parochialism" of the United States, specifically the prohibitive tariffs on imported books that isolate the American mind from the progress of the rest of the world. This is followed by the raw, claustrophobic verses of Stefan Brazier, written from a prison cell. These poems—"Dreams," "Fear," and "Hate"—strip away artifice to confront the brutal, ox-like nature of authority, ultimately finding freedom not in escape, but in the internal power of the mind to reject false idols.

The issue concludes with "The Reader Critic," an expansive, chaotic forum where the editors engage directly with their audience. They are scolded, praised, and challenged by readers who range from the earnest to the vitriolic. The back-and-forth confirms the journal’s ethos: it is not a commercial product, but a "no compromise" project. The ending is not a resolution, but an assertion. The magazine refuses to offer the "fodder" of a standard publication, instead demanding that its readers engage in the same difficult, soul-stretching work as the artists it promotes. It leaves the reader in a space of ongoing, unresolved intellectual striving.

How It Unfolds

The invocation of beauty The issue opens with a series of classical, elegiac poems that establish a mood of aesthetic reverence and impending loss. These pieces ground the reader in a world of fragile, ancient symbols.

The critical assault The tone shifts sharply as the contributors begin dismantling the conventions of contemporary American literature. They argue that local artists are shackled by a false sense of national duty that obscures the universal nature of true art.

The bridge of performance A detailed, emotional observation of a musical concert connects the silent, mysterious presence of Tagore with the performative, feline intensity of Paderewski. This interaction highlights the gap between the internal world of the genius and the superficial, noisy world of the audience.

The study of the poor The analysis of Pelle the Conqueror shifts the discussion toward labor, arguing that the life of the working class contains its own artistic dignity. This section critiques middle-class attempts to define the poor, insisting that their reality is already a "work of art."

The call to arms Ezra Pound’s polemic against tariffs serves as the issue’s intellectual climax, arguing that intellectual isolation is the greatest threat to a nation. This provides the context for the subsequent prison poems, which articulate the feeling of being trapped by societal systems.

The final confrontation The correspondence section reveals the magazine’s dynamic relationship with its readership. It highlights the friction between those who want "radiant beauty" and those who demand a more confrontational, revolutionary approach to the art of the present.

The People

Margaret C. Anderson acts as the central consciousness and driving force of the journal. She is the resolute editor who chooses to leave pages blank rather than fill them with unworthy material. She wants to demonstrate a "no compromise" philosophy, standing as a judge of art who is unafraid to be called a "mad little self-made God" by her critics.

Richard Aldington provides the lyrical anchor. Through his "Myrrhine and Konallis" sequence, he represents the lover of beauty who acknowledges that even the most profound connections are subject to the "inexorable end of all." He desires to capture the transient nature of human experience before it slips into the final silence.

Ezra Pound appears as the sharp-edged intellectual provocateur. He wants to tear down the walls of American isolationism. Impatient and uncompromising, he views the current state of American letters as a "mud-hole" and pushes for a rigorous, international standard for all contributors.

Stefan Brazier is the figure of the survivor, writing from the confines of a prison. He wants to maintain his mental autonomy while surrounded by the "putrid inanities" of his captors. By the end of his sketches, he has transformed his fear into a cold, sharp-eyed mockery of his jailers, emerging with his spirit intact.

The Reader Critic participants, such as Roy George, Louise Bryant, and Alice Groff, represent the diverse, often contradictory, pulse of the audience. They want the magazine to be a catalyst for their own intellectual growth, sometimes demanding beauty and other times demanding rebellion, forcing Anderson to constantly define and defend her editorial vision.

In Its Own Voice

"Darkness enveloped us; I kindled a lamp of red clay to light her beauty."

This opening line from the Myrrhine and Konallis sequence sets the tone for a series of poems that treat the intimate details of love as sacred and mythological.

"The simple fact is that it is very, very difficult to get foreign books in the United States."

In his polemic against the tariff, the author argues that the lack of access to foreign thought is the primary cause of American cultural inferiority.

"There are no such things as Past, Present and Future; they are hollow hallucinations."

A disgruntled reader challenges the magazine’s focus on contemporary politics, arguing instead for an "infinite present" that transcends time.

What It's Really About

At its core, this issue is an argument about the nature of artistic independence. It explores the tension between the artist’s need to exist in an "infinite present"—untouched by the pressures of time, money, or national identity—and the reality of operating within a "prosaic and literal world." The recurring question is whether an editor should act as a passive medium for the artist's ideal or as a strict, active gatekeeper who molds the cultural climate. It probes the boundaries of what constitutes "significant form" and asks if true art can ever be reconciled with the limitations of the society that produces it. Ultimately, it questions if a magazine can survive as a pure expression of the individual soul in a world that demands commerce and consensus.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the feeling of intellectual discovery and the thrill of being in the middle of a heated, unresolved argument will find this issue fascinating. It feels like a time capsule, capturing the exact moment when the modernists were fighting to redefine what art could be. The writing is visceral and unvarnished; you can feel the desperation of the editors, the ego of the poets, and the genuine hunger of the readers.

However, modern readers should be prepared for its density and its period-specific attitudes. The tone is frequently elitist and occasionally opaque, particularly when the discussion shifts toward the technical aspects of aesthetic "form." The reliance on classical and European cultural touchstones assumes a level of education that may feel exclusionary. Yet, there is something deeply resonant about its core conflict: the battle against provincialism and the struggle to maintain one’s integrity in a world that views art as a commodity. It stays with you because it refuses to settle. It leaves you feeling like a participant in a grand, ongoing experiment, reminding you that the act of creating—and protecting—a space for "significant form" is a job that never truly ends.