The Little Review, October 1917 (Vol. 4, No. 6)

In Short

This periodical is a dense, combative collection of avant-garde poetry, fiction, criticism, and editorial commentary. It functions as a manifesto for the intellectual resistance of its time, featuring contributions from figures like Ezra Pound, Wyndham Lewis, and Arthur Symons. The magazine persists as a historical landmark because it aggressively championed the "new"—from Chinese translations to psychoanalytic theory—while explicitly rejecting the sentimental, mainstream literary values of the early twentieth century. It is a portrait of a creative vanguard fighting for artistic autonomy amidst a world engulfed by industrial warfare.

The Story

The magazine opens with the quiet, reflective beauty of ancient Chinese poetry, specifically the work of Po Chu-I, as translated by Arthur Waley. These verses offer a meditative counterpoint to the aggressive modernism that follows. The tone shifts abruptly with Wyndham Lewis’s "Cantelman’s Spring-Mate," a visceral piece of fiction that tracks a soldier named Cantelman. He is a man who, while navigating the "strenuous fields" of military training, attempts to strip away his humanity to better mirror the animalistic, instinctual world around him. His internal journey is one of cold, calculated alienation; he encounters a young woman named Stella and treats the interaction as a purely biological, even predatory, event. He remains fundamentally detached, laughing at his own grunts and behaviors, standing in stark contrast to his dull-witted, conventional roommates.

Following this, the narrative thread moves into the realm of intellectual debate through Ezra Pound’s "Imaginary Letters." In the voice of Walter Villerant, Pound mounts an attack on the "inefficient" and "futile" habits of contemporary literary culture, specifically targeting the obsession with Russian literature and the "professorial" constraints placed upon writers. This leads into a series of pointed, personal editorial outbursts by the magazine’s editor, Margaret Anderson. She directs her ire at the collapse of other cultural institutions—like The Seven Arts—and bemoans the lack of nerve in the American public, whom she finds increasingly susceptible to moralizing censorship.

The middle section shifts back to dramatic form with Arthur Symons’s play, "Barbara Roscorla’s Child." This is a claustrophobic, dark drama set in a Cornish manor, where the looming birth of a child is treated not as a joy, but as a curse. The central figure, Peter Roscorla, is obsessed with securing his lineage, fearing that his land will pass to his rival, Gregory, should he fail to produce a son. He is blind to the fact that his wife, Barbara, is paralyzed by dread—a "morbid horror" of motherhood that the attending doctor correctly identifies as a psychological haunting. The play concludes in a state of unresolved dread, as Roscorla insists that the birth occur "at any cost," disregarding the physical and mental ruin of his wife.

The issue closes with a barrage of correspondence and editorial notes. These pages reveal the magazine’s reception: it is alternately praised by figures like Frank Harris and dismissed as "dry bones" by disgruntled readers. The final arc is one of defiant positioning; the editors double down on their mission, promising to publish James Joyce and Ford Madox Hueffer, while explicitly mocking those who prefer the comforts of conventional, "safe" literature.

How It Unfolds

A meditative opening The magazine begins with translations of Po Chu-I, providing a serene, lyrical contrast to the modern turmoil that dominates the subsequent pages. These poems focus on the passage of time, the beauty of the old, and the isolation of the traveler.

The descent into instinct Wyndham Lewis’s prose introduces the character of Cantelman, whose cold, analytical engagement with nature and sexual conquest serves as a deliberate rejection of romantic sentimentality. This section serves as a sharp study in psychological detachment during the onset of the Great War.

The intellectual assault Ezra Pound’s "Imaginary Letters" shifts the focus to a scathing critique of the modern literary establishment. By mocking the "vacuity" of current trends and the limitations of American education, the text asserts the superiority of a more rigorous, cosmopolitan sensibility.

The domestic nightmare Arthur Symons’s play brings the abstract concerns of the earlier essays into a tangible, Gothic setting. The tension between Roscorla’s desperate obsession with legacy and his wife’s profound terror creates a suffocating atmosphere that questions the value of inheritance.

The final stand The closing pages document the magazine’s volatile relationship with its readership. Through letters and editorials, the editors finalize their identity as a combative, uncompromising force, bracing themselves against a public they view as largely uncomprehending.

The People

Cantelman is a soldier who views the world with a cynical, dissecting eye. He rejects human emotion in favor of what he perceives as a more honest, "animal" chemistry, using his interactions with women like Stella to prove his own detachment from the "madness of natural things."

Peter Roscorla is a man of landed obsession, driven entirely by the fear of losing his family estate to his relative, Gregory. He is the antagonist of his own domestic life, refusing to see that his singular pursuit of an heir is the very force destroying his wife.

Barbara Roscorla remains a ghostly, central presence. Though she barely speaks, her physical and mental suffering under the weight of an unwanted pregnancy acts as the silent, tragic anchor of the play.

Walter Villerant (Pound’s persona) acts as the magazine’s intellectual provocateur. He is dismissive of nationalistic movements and current literary crazes, advocating for a refined, elitist standard of art that refuses to cater to the "vulgus" or the average reader.

Margaret Anderson appears as the fierce, protective editor. She views the magazine as a vessel for truth, showing little patience for patrons or readers who attempt to impose moral or political limits on the art she publishes.

In Its Own Voice

"And those who sit and listen to the tune he plays / Of soul and body lose the mastery."

In the opening poem, Po Chu-I describes the overwhelming power of the old harper's music, which renders listeners powerless to resist its ancient, haunting notes.

"The female bird, for her particular part, reflected that, in spite of the ineptitude of her sweetheart’s latest song... she was a fluffy object from which certain satisfaction could be derived!"

In his story, Wyndham Lewis uses the behavior of birds to mock the human tendency to over-romanticize biological urges, stripping away the pretension of courtship.

"If I seek to 'do' anything it is only to stimulate a certain awareness."

In the concluding editorial, Ezra Pound clarifies his role as a critic, framing his aggressive prose not as simple propaganda, but as a challenge for readers to see their reality without the help of "patent cut-size" machines.

What It's Really About

The central argument of this collection is that art must be liberated from the "stertorous wheeze" of tradition and the narrow moralism of the contemporary American public. The contributors are concerned with the "new chemistry" of human experience in a world where the old, romantic narratives have proven inadequate. Underneath the plot lines of war, birth, and literary criticism, the magazine asks a fundamental question: can the individual maintain a sense of authentic self and artistic integrity when faced with the "nightmare of conditions" that characterize the modern era? It is a rejection of the superficial in favor of the visceral, the difficult, and the uncompromisingly honest.

Why Read It Today

Reading this magazine feels like peering into the engine room of modernism. It is not a smooth, curated experience, but a jarring and often exhilarating encounter with the raw anxieties of 1917. Those who are interested in the evolution of twentieth-century literature—or who appreciate the "little magazine" tradition of biting, unfiltered commentary—will find it fascinating.

However, the reader must be prepared for the magazine’s inherent difficulties. It is unapologetically elitist and at times deliberately abrasive. The prose is often dense, laden with the specific cultural and political references of its day, and infused with the period’s sometimes cold or misogynistic attitudes toward gender and class. It does not invite the reader in with gentle prose; it demands that the reader keep up with its shifting moods. What stays with you is the sheer, kinetic energy of the contributors. It is a document of people who believed that art was not merely a decorative hobby, but a life-or-death necessity in a crumbling world. If you want to understand the fire that fueled the early modernists, this is exactly where it burned.