The Yale literary magazine (Vol. LXXXIX, No. 3, December 1923)

In Short

This periodical is a curated collection of essays, short stories, poems, and literary reviews produced by the students of Yale University in December 1923. It functions as a bridge between the sheltered, tradition-bound world of the American university and the broader, often disillusioned literary currents of the post-war era. The magazine has endured as a primary source for understanding the "lost generation" mindset, showcasing a restless tension between a desire for classical beauty and the encroaching, modern anxieties of a world increasingly dominated by mass culture and material cynicism.

The Story

The magazine opens with a polemical essay by Walter Edwards Houghton, Jr., which acts as a rallying cry against the "national crowd complex." Houghton laments the modern student’s tendency to abandon solitude in favor of mindless social rituals—bridge, golf, and the constant consumption of popular fads—arguing that this collective life is the death of the individual soul. He urges his peers to reclaim their capacity for independent thought, framing this struggle as a moral duty to prevent the decline of the individual into an automaton.

Following this call to arms, the magazine shifts into a series of creative explorations that reflect this desire for depth and individual meaning. In "The Great Buddha of Kwang Ki," the narrator recounts a tale of art, romantic longing, and mysterious, perhaps supernatural, coincidences. His journey to secure a rare artifact leads to a chance reunion with the woman he loves, suggesting that the pursuit of beauty can act as a catalyst for personal destiny. Parallel to this, the short story "Yzlita-Audrey" tracks the internal journey of Henry Mayo, who returns to Cuba to confront the ghost of a childhood sweetheart. His disillusionment with the "gaudy" decay of his former home is mirrored by his fear that the girl he once knew is lost to the passage of time. His eventual reconciliation with her serves as a quiet, romantic resolution to his existential dread.

The poetry and prose vignettes scattered throughout the issue provide the atmospheric glue for these narratives. Works like "Dusk" and "Roads" lean heavily into the imagery of the forest path and the lonely trail, emphasizing the internal nature of the struggle for clarity. The "Portfolio" section further highlights this theme, with poems like "Song" expressing a longing for connection amidst the transience of life. The issue concludes with a series of book reviews that place these Yale writers within the wider context of contemporary literature. They engage critically with James Branch Cabell, James Elroy Flecker, Thomas Hardy, and Frank Swinnerton, using these authors as touchstones to evaluate their own aesthetic values. The final "Editor’s Table" dissolves the previous intensity into a self-referential, playful meta-dialogue, where the staff engages in a whimsical argument over the meaning—or lack thereof—within their own publication, signaling a knowing, ironic detachment that serves as the final note of the volume.

How It Unfolds

The declaration of intent The editorial lead establishes a stern, moralistic tone by critiquing the American tendency toward conformity and the loss of individual solitude. It frames the magazine as a necessary refuge for those who wish to think rather than merely exist.

The romantic quest The prose pieces, particularly the accounts of the Great Buddha and the return to Havana, follow the classic pattern of the search for a lost ideal. The protagonists move from a state of emotional confusion or cynical detachment toward a moment of clarity or reconciliation.

The poetic interludes The poetry acts as a rhythmic break from the prose, utilizing nature imagery—dusk, forests, moonlit tides—to map the emotional states of the authors. These pieces ground the more abstract philosophical arguments in the visceral experience of beauty and sadness.

The critical assessment The book reviews shift the focus outward, testing the student writers’ own standards against the established masters of the day. This beat demonstrates how the authors define their own identity by either admiring or critiquing the work of their literary heroes.

The ironic curtain The final section abandons the preceding gravity for a humorous, collaborative conversation among the editors. This beat serves to deflate the seriousness of the issue, reminding the reader that these are, ultimately, young men playing at the serious business of letters.

The People

Walter Edwards Houghton, Jr., acts as the moral conscience of the issue, demanding that his peers reject the "herd mind" and cultivate the "particular spark of individuality." He stands as the archetype of the intellectual student, burdened by the fear that his generation is losing its capacity for substance.

The narrator of "The Great Buddha of Kwang Ki" is a man of refined tastes who seeks solace in antiquity. His desire for the Buddha is a proxy for his desire for order and romantic fulfillment, and he ends the story having successfully integrated his professional appreciation for art with his personal need for companionship.

Henry Mayo in "Yzlita-Audrey" is the embodiment of the nostalgic wanderer. He is haunted by the contrast between his childhood memories of Cuba and the reality of his adulthood. His arc concludes in the quiet, reflective relief of finding that the person he loved has grown into a mature companion, rather than disappearing into a fantasy.

The editors themselves appear in the "Editor’s Table" as a collective group. They act as foils to the high-minded tone of the earlier essays, displaying a wit and skepticism that suggests they are fully aware of the absurdity of their own literary posturing.

In Its Own Voice

“Oh, let us not have a spare moment to think! Let us never be alone!—by ourselves!—completely at the mercy of our own ingenuity.”

In his opening essay, the author warns against the modern fear of solitude and the tendency to fill every moment with distraction.

“The dark has sometimes made you mine— / A vision formed by tears, looked-through.”

This couplet from the poem "Dusk" captures the melancholic, ephemeral nature of the romantic longing expressed throughout the magazine’s poetry.

“Life for Henry Mayo was from then on as the blank street into which he stepped as he left the hotel.”

This line describes the protagonist’s sudden, crushing sense of aimlessness after realizing his childhood love had changed.

What It's Really About

At its core, this magazine is a document of the tension between the "crowd" and the "individual." It asks whether it is possible to live an authentic life in a world that incentivizes distraction and conformity. The authors are obsessed with the idea of the "spark"—the unique interiority that prevents a human from becoming a machine. There is a deep, underlying anxiety that the world is becoming more artificial, and that the only remedy is a return to art, nature, and the "High Place" of aesthetic and emotional truth. It is a work concerned with the preservation of the self against the eroding forces of modern speed and mass-market culture.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the atmosphere of early 20th-century collegiate life will find much to appreciate here. It feels like stepping into a wood-paneled study in 1923, filled with the scent of tobacco and the earnest, slightly pretentious ambition of young men who believe that literature is the ultimate battleground for their souls. It is a valuable read for anyone interested in the pedigree of the "lost generation" and the specific, high-minded moralism that permeated the elite universities of the era.

The writing is occasionally heavy-handed, and the obsession with "romance" and "dusk" can feel repetitive to a modern ear accustomed to more spare, cynical prose. However, the sincerity of the writing is its greatest strength. You will not find the polished, market-tested prose of today; instead, you encounter the raw, flickering ambition of writers testing their mettle. It remains a poignant reminder of a time when the "Little Magazine" was the primary vehicle for cultural identity, and when a poem or an essay was considered a vital, life-saving act of defiance against the mundane. It is a slow, thoughtful read that lingers on the quiet, often overlooked aspects of the student experience.