The Twenties (Edmund Wilson's Notebooks and Diaries) by Edmund Wilson

The Twenties (Edmund Wilson's Notebooks and Diaries) Reviews

• 
  Henry Sturcke

  What makes Edmund Wilson interesting to me is the insight he brings to such diverse bodies of literature as the Civil War, a two-thousand-year-old desert sect, Utopian and Communist movements, and the influence of the French Symbolists on the great works of the early twentieth century. Such versatility and acuity made me curious to read more.
  The fact that he was part of several intersecting circles of intellectuals during the decade covered in this book added to my curiosity. There was his college classmate and friend Scott Fitzgerald; then Walter Lippmann and the rest of the New Republic staff; Dorothy Parker and the Algonquin Round Table crowd; Eugene O'Neill and the Provincetown Players; and the ethereal yet adventurous poetess who broke Wilson's heart, Edna St. Vincent Millay.
  What I found when I read this was something other than what I expected. I thought the book would be a chronicle of great writers and their works. Instead, there was juicy gossip about how libatious and libidinous he and his friends were. And since he seems to have known “everyone,” it’s hard to keep track. Those with lasting fame are mixed indiscriminately with those I’m unfamiliar with. It’s more complicated than a Russian novel. There was only so much curiosity I could muster for the record of his many bedmates or the inordinate attention he and his friends paid to the question of where they would get the next drink. Was this latter the distortion of prohibition?
  Generous chunks of the book are devoted to scenic depictions. Wilson’s notebooks are more sketchbook than diary. In the decade treated in this book, Wilson’s ambition as a writer shifted. In the beginning, writing for publications such as Vanity Fair and the New Republic, he is a master of the review, the essay: ephemeral literature. His friends, meanwhile, produced novels, volumes of poetry, history: works that threatened to have lasting value, so his attention turned to longer forms as well. As part of his preparation, the author is practicing his hand at description. Those treating scenes I know, such as the first glimpse of New Jersey when leaving the Holland Tunnel, recreate my mental image, so I expect his descriptions of places I know less well are equally accurate.
  In the last third of the book, the accounts of Wilson’s sexual exploits became more graphic. I think this may well have been rooted in his hope to be known as a serious writer. In the course of the 1920s, writers were grappling with how to describe sex in a way that was both graphic and literary. Ninety years on, we’re wondering whether it’s possible to achieve both at the same time, but back then, skilled writers seemed to believe it was. Wilson’s sketches in this vein predate the furor of the Lady Chatterly trial, so he seems to have been slightly ahead of the curve. One could also make the case he succeeds better than Lawrence. Certainly better than Henry Miller.
  The book contains some fascinating reflections on the art of writing and the nature of literature, though fewer than I had hoped to find. If you're interested in finding the eminent critic analyzing the achievements of literature, I'd suggest you look at books such as Patriotic Gore, To the Finland Station, and Axel’s Castle. I’m looking forward, meanwhile, to reading his novels, I Thought of Daisy and Hecate County, to see how Wilson succeeded when he turned his hand to fiction.
  Somewhere in between comes this book, fascinating not only for its small revelations about famous writers but also for the chance to peek over the shoulder of a craftsman honing his art. Admittedly, aspects of the book reflect the attitudes of its time. The casual anti-semitism, a view of Afro-Americans most charitably described as paternalistic, and the woman as a disposable item cause more than a few winces along the way. And while the scenic descriptions are evocative, precise, and fresh, I’ll admit that I skimmed some of them. But all in all, a good read.
  
• 
  sslyb

  Raw material from Wilson's notebooks and diaries compiled by someone else after Wilson's death. Not the book Edmund Wilson would have put together - fascinating reading.
• 
  Ietrio

  Is it a novel? A biography? A journal? Weird writing style with pieces that are put one after another, yet the connection is missing. I also did not know anything about the people in the text which contributed to increasing the distance between the contents of this book and me. At a certain point I didn't care about turning the pages.
• 
  Olivia

  Read this for research; wouldn’t recommend for use otherwise.
• 
  Olaf Koopmans

  This is book that should never have been published. And I am going out on a limb to say that Edmund Wilson would have thought so himself.
  This is clearly the editor trying to make a quick buck of publishing the notebook writings of one of the big names in writing, shortly after he died, but which were clearly never intended for showing to public like this.
  I quickly skipt to survey reading when I figured out that most of the notes are about connections with people who meant a great deal to him, but mean not so much for a normal reader, if there not set in the structure of a story. Typical case of "you'd probably had to be there".
  The same points go for sometimes marvelous detailed descriptions of cities and landscapes he encounters, but which have no relevance when not set in to a story or essay.
  Left over are few good observations about the state of humanity and the struggle of mankind. But you probably will find those back in one of the books that he actually wrote based on these notes.
• 
  Bob Primosch

  The literary equivalent of sitting in your great-grandmother's parlor during the Super Bowl, with no TV, friends, windows or food aside from hard candy.